CHAPTER ONE: THE FIRST MOVE
[A whisper at the edge of power]
Rain slicked the streets below like oil. The night sky wept in silence, casting silver veins of water against the windows of the high-rise building. Lightning crawled across the clouds, briefly illuminating the towering silhouette of a man striding through the empty lobby.
No guards.
No staff.
No sound, save for the rhythmic click of his boots and the low murmur of the storm outside.
He rode the elevator alone. No music. Just his reflection in polished steel. Broad shoulders. Jet-black hair pulled into a low tie. A sharp jawline, marred only by a faint scar near his temple. In his suit, he looked like someone who had once worn armor—and could again, without hesitation.
The doors slid open on the top floor. Dim corridor. One door at the end.
Black mahogany.
He approached with the unwavering confidence of a man unafraid of the unknown. At the door, a scanner flickered to life, reading the lines of his palm. The lock disengaged with a soft hiss.
The room was cloaked in shadows. No lights. Just the sound of rain tapping steadily against the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. At the center: a large table, and on it, a single circular device, matte black with no visible buttons.
He stepped forward and touched it.
A low hum.
A flash of soft light.
Then a holographic screen rose silently into the air, casting a pale glow across the room.
A figure emerged—blurry, faceless. Like something unfinished.
"You're late, Icarus."
The man raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm never late. You're just early."
A chuckle echoed, warm yet distorted.
"Touché, Icarus."
He exhaled through his nose.
"You're still obsessed with that name."
"I gave it to you. Names have power. Yours was meant to rise… and fall."
There was a pause—then movement behind the blur.
"Report."
The man folded his arms.
"We've tracked several potential candidates from the updated list: criminals, hackers, whistleblowers… even a few ghosts. All volatile. All dangerous."
"Good. We need volatility. This city is too quiet in all the wrong places."
The figure leaned forward slightly, the static shifting.
"Any progress with that girl?"
The man's brow tightened.
"You refer to her as 'that girl.' No name. No background. She eludes any official list,but you keep pushing her forward like a queen taking her position."
His voice dipped, curiosity swirling with scepticism.
"Why?"
Icarus stepped closer to the screen, the light glinting off the rain streaking the glass behind him. His tone was calm, but heavy with steel.
"You pulled me out of war, gave me orders, and handed me shadows to work with. But this... girl... she's different. Not on any list. Not connected to any known faction. Why her?"
The figure leaned forward, the distortion shifting like smoke.
"Because I've been waiting for her."
Icarus narrowed his eyes. The rain grew louder.
"Waiting? You say that like she's some kind of prophecy."
"She is. You just can't see the storm she'll bring."
"And you're certain she won't tear everything down with it?"
A pause.
"If she does… then we'll know she was the right one all along."
Lightning flashed, casting Icarus's face in sharp relief—his jaw clenched, eyes burning with suspicion.
That answer didn't sit well.
"That's not an explanation."
"It's all you need for now," the blurry man replied. "Observe her when she arrives. She'll either break the rules… or rewrite them."
"And if she's the wrong one?"
"Then she'll destroy herself."
The boss paused.
"Or— you'll destroy her."
Icarus fixed his cold, piercing gaze on the screen, his eyes shimmering with intensity as he absorbed every detail.
"You're not telling me everything."
"No. I'm not."
Icarus took a slow breath, jaw tightening.
"Then I'll watch her. Closely."
"Good. Learn her voice. Learn her silence. Everything else will follow."
The figure tilted its head.
"She doesn't know what she is yet. But when she does… she'll be unstoppable."
The screen flickered, and the light dimmed. The connection cut.
Silence returned—save for the rain.
Icarus stood there, motionless, bathed in dim reflections. Thunder rolled in the distance like a warning.
He walked to the window, rain chasing itself down the glass. The city lights below shimmered—oblivious to the forces gathering above.
He pressed a hand to the glass. Not in longing… but in calculation.
"Who are you,"
he murmured, almost to himself,
"that the boss is so proud of?"
(To be continued)