The blood on the insignia was still tacky to the touch, a grisly memento from a ghost Ares had believed was buried three years ago. The boardroom of the Valerius estate felt like a lifetime away; here, in the cold, subterranean heart of his fortress, the reality of his past was no longer a shadow—it was a declaration of war.
Clara watched, breathless, as Ares set the badge down on the metal console. His movements were clinical, almost robotic, but his eyes were a hurricane. "Who was he?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Vanguard," Ares said, his voice stripped of all emotion. "He was the man who kept me sane in Damascus. They didn't just find his remains; they exhumed them. This isn't just a threat, Clara. It’s a signature. The 'Iron Hand' has arrived."
"The Iron Hand?" Clara rep
