The early morning sky over Harmonfield was gray and restless, like the city itself. Rain hadn’t fallen yet, but the air was heavy, ripe with the scent of wet concrete and tension.
Inside a rusted sedan parked outside an abandoned warehouse, Jack Parker sat in the passenger seat, face lit by the glow of Sarah’s laptop. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, screens flickering with public feeds, security logs, and encrypted files they had no business accessing.
“The story’s already viral,” she murmured, eyes fixed. “The footage of you attacking Ryan’s circulating everywhere. Hashtag ParkerGonePsycho is trending.”
Jack didn’t flinch. “How fast did the Brooks PR machine move?”
“Faster than I’ve seen in years.” She glanced sideways. “They launched the campaign while we were still underground
