The converted factory's operations floor was quiet in the hours before dawn, the monitors casting their pale glow across the faces of the night shift. Rook stood at the central command station, his eyes fixed on the map of Eastern Europe, the weight of the last month pressing down on him like something that had finally found its place.
The alliance with Viktor was working—or at least, it appeared to be working. The operations were running smoothly, the networks were cooperating, and the old guard's influence was fading. But there was a tension beneath the surface, a fracture that Rook couldn't quite ignore.
The other networks—Kruger's, Petrov's, Mikhail's—were still out there, still watching, still waiting. They'd been sidelined, pushed aside in favor of the new alliance, and they weren'
