The smoke over the river did not clear for two days.
Metro City woke to headlines, sirens, and fear. The old power station was gone. In its place stood a crater of twisted steel and blackened concrete. Officials called it a gas explosion. News channels repeated the same safe words.
No one mentioned the Brotherhood.
No one mentioned the Architect.
But people in The Cuts knew.
They had seen the smoke. They had felt the ground shake. They had watched the river glow orange in the night.
And they had heard the rumors.
Mark Kane walked out of fire.
Again.
—
The safehouse was quieter now.
Devon sat across from Mark at the small wooden table. Morning light spilled through the cracked blinds. It touched Mark’s hands, revealing skin that had healed too cleanly. Too perfectly.
“No scars,”
