Ethan hadn't slept.The safehouse was quiet now,but his mind felt like an engine revving in neutral,loud, burning and going nowhere.
He stood by the dusty window of the warehouse-turned-hideout, staring out at Brinlake. It looked peaceful. Clean. That kind of manufactured quiet that always came before something horrible.
Behind him, Liam was still running scripts on the decrypted hard drive. The files kept opening more names, more faces, more footage. Caligo's reach was wider than anyone had guessed.
"Can you shut that off?" Ethan muttered.
Liam looked up. "You said we were hunting now. This is what hunting looks like."
Ethan clenched his jaw. "Right now, it feels like drowning."
He walked away from the window and back toward the table where Harper and Maxwell were studying a map of Brinlake. Black pins dotted certain neighborhoods. Some were clustered like mold on bread,districts with high disappearances, no reported leads, no follow-up investigations.
Maxwell tapped one near the edge of the East Side. "This cluster started six months ago. Coincides with the earliest files we found on the drive."
"Same sector where that surveillance footage of me or whoever it was—was taken," Ethan added.
Harper nodded. "You know this part of the city?"
Ethan studied the map. "I used to deliver out there. Mostly drop-offs. But there was this one building… something always felt off about it."
"Address?" Maxwell asked.
Ethan closed his eyes, mentally sorting through routes. "Grayridge Tower. 2428 Lockley Street. Top floors always dark. Cameras outside were fake wires clipped."
Liam's fingers flew across his keyboard. "Pulling up city records. Grayridge Tower hasn't paid property tax in over three years. Owned by a shell company registered in Panama. No permits filed. No tenant lists. It's a ghost."
"Which makes it a perfect place to hide a control center," Harper said.
Maxwell cracked his knuckles. "Let's pay them a visit."
"No," Ethan said, shaking his head. "Not with guns drawn and lights blazing. If Caligo's watching he will expect that. We go in quiet."
Harper raised an eyebrow. "You have a plan?"
Ethan nodded. "I'll deliver a package."
Everyone looked at him.
He smirked. "It's what I do."
The delivery van looked ordinary. Unmarked, white, with a dent in the rear bumper. Ethan changed into one of his old courier uniforms, patched and faded but still convincing. He felt strange slipping back into it, like wearing a dead man's clothes.
Harper rode shotgun. Maxwell and Liam stayed behind, monitoring from the safehouse, comms live. The package in the back was a decoy,a hollowed-out crate filled with lead bricks to mimic weight.
"You sure about this?" Harper asked as they turned onto Lockley Street.
"No," Ethan said. "But I've walked into worse."
Grayridge Tower loomed ahead, fifteen stories of aging concrete and soot-stained windows. It looked condemned. The kind of building squatters might inhabit,if they weren't too scared to go near it.
Ethan pulled up to the delivery entrance around back. A rusted security camera pointed toward the loading dock, but its lens was shattered.
Harper gave him a look. "You go in, you've got ten minutes. If you're not back, I come in after you."
"I'll be back," Ethan said. "Or I'll be dragging trouble with me."
He hoisted the crate and moved toward the service door. It creaked open with a loud metallic groan, and he slipped inside.
The interior was worse than he remembered. Rotting carpet. Mold on the walls. Flickering lights above a hallway that reeked of mildew and forgotten time.
He moved quickly, letting muscle memory guide him. Fourth floor. That's where the strange deliveries always went. No names. Just numbers and initials.
He reached the stairwell and began to climb. Each step groaned beneath his weight, echoing up through the concrete shaft like a warning.
When he hit the fourth floor, the air changed.
Cooler. Cleaner.
He frowned.
The hallway was freshly painted. The floors were waxed. Security cameras lined the ceiling.The real ones. He stepped into the corridor, pretending not to notice the motion sensors tracking him.
At the end of the hall was a single steel door. No handle. Just a black panel with a keypad and a retinal scanner.
Ethan placed the box down and reached for his phone. He tapped a hidden app, connected to Liam's signal.
"Found a door. Need access," he whispered.
A moment later, his earpiece crackled. "Override in progress. Hold steady."
The panel beeped once.
Then again.
The light turned green.
The door opened with a hiss.
Inside, the room looked like a minimalist office,white walls, black floors, a single desk with a large monitor. And in the chair…
Someone was already waiting.
Ethan froze.
The man smiled. Older, with white hair and a calm face that didn't match the chill in the room. His eyes were gray, unreadable.
"You're early," the man said.
Ethan blinked. "Who are you?"
"I go by many names. But today, you can call me Mr. Crane."
Ethan felt his throat tighten. "Alastair Crane?"
The man nodded. "We've been watching you, Ethan. Long before your first delivery."
"Why?"
Crane gestured to the screen. It lit up, displaying a live feed from Ethan's apartment. Then from Harper's car. Then from the safehouse.
"You move through Brinlake like blood through veins. You carry messages, memories, threats, hope. You were never just a courier."
Ethan's voice was low. "You're part of Caligo."
Crane smiled. "I built it."
Ethan took a step back, hand reaching for the hidden blade in his belt. "Then this is where it ends."
Crane tilted his head. "No, Ethan. This is where it begins."
Suddenly, the lights dimmed. A piercing alarm shrieked from the hallway.
Harper's voice exploded in his earpiece. "You've been made! Multiple signals converging on your position! Get out now!"
Ethan spun on his heel, heart pounding, the steel door slamming shut behind him.
And above, from the ceiling vents, came the soft hiss of gas.