Hades
The ride to Montegue Manor was brutal.
Not for its pace—but for what it meant.
Two flanks. Two Alphas. One purpose.
My Gammas rode in coordinated units, vehicles sleek and soundless. Cain's operatives followed in looser formation, silent and alert—rogues in customized gear, the kind built for smuggling, not politics. Yet here we were, converging on the ancestral estate of one of Obsidian's founding bloodlines.
The manor rose ahead. Not decayed or abandoned like I once believed—but pristine in a way that was deliberate. Restored in vintage-modern elegance, with sleek security systems tucked under ivy-draped gables and clean-cut stone. It looked untouched by the wars we fought. Hidden in plain sight.
Of course it was.
I brought the satcom to my ear.
It didn't ring.
Montegue answered on the first pulse.
"Alpha Hades."
"I assume you know about the explosion," I said flatly.
