Tim Delaney wasn't the kind of man who usually broke the law. Sure, he might bend it, negotiate it, or dance circles around it in the courtroom—but break it? No. That was for the desperate. For the reckless. For the people with nothing to lose.
Tonight, he was all three.
The Cetus Foundation Office loomed before him, a glass-and-steel fortress glowing faintly under the midnight sky. From where he crouched in the shadows of a delivery bay, the building looked less like a biotech hub and more like a temple of secrets. He tightened his grip on the backpack strap slung over his shoulder.
Eva, he thought. I hope you're in there. I hope I'm not too late.
The cold bit at his cheeks as he exhaled. He checked his watch—12:03 AM. Harris' intel had been precise. The security shift change happened at midnight. That gave him approximately seven minutes before fresh eyes were on every camera feed.
Tim pulled the fake ID badge from his pocket. Maya's handiwork. She'd called it a "backstage pass to corporate hell." He ran the magnetic strip through the scanner at the side door.
Beep. Click.
Door unlocked.
"Okay, Delaney," he whispered to himself. "You're now officially trespassing."
He slipped inside. The hallway was cold and sterile, the kind of clean that didn't smell right—too synthetic, too forced. The lights buzzed faintly overhead, and the floor beneath his sneakers squeaked slightly, despite his best efforts to move quietly.
Tim wasn't trained for this. No Black Ops background. No combat history. He was a lawyer, for God's sake. His strongest weapon was cross-examination.
But he'd learned to study people, places, and patterns. He'd studied Cetus like his life depended on it—because maybe it did.
He moved quickly, ducking under a security camera's blind spot, then down a side corridor toward the Neurodivision. Harris had flagged this wing as a recent construction—odd, considering Cetus was supposedly a pharmaceutical giant. What did they want with neurological research?
More importantly, why was Eva's name linked to it?
He reached the staircase and took the steps two at a time, ascending to Level Three. His heart hammered in his chest. He wasn't afraid of getting caught—he was terrified of what he might find.
Or worse, what he wouldn't find.
The Neurodivision Office was marked by a steel plaque and a biometric scanner. Tim fished out the bypass device—another Maya special—and jammed it into the scanner's port.
Buzz. Click.
The door opened.
He slipped inside and shut it softly behind him. The room was bathed in low blue light, with rows of desks and a main terminal at the center. The hum of servers filled the air like the breath of a sleeping beast.
He moved to the terminal and plugged in the USB siphon. The screen lit up with a bypass command.
Initializing transfer... 2%... 4%...
Tim paced behind the desk, trying to stay calm. His fingers drummed against his thigh.
Just like a court case, he told himself. Stay in control. Stick to the plan.
But every tick of the percentage bar felt like a countdown to doom.
12%... 18%...
A soft beep.
Tim froze. He looked up.
A camera lens above the door turned toward him. A red light blinked.
Motion detected.
"Damn it," he hissed.
A mechanical voice echoed softly: "Security breach. Response initiated."
Panic surged. He glanced at the screen.
26%... 34%...
"C'mon, c'mon," he whispered. I just need one file. One clue.
Footsteps echoed down the hall.
41%... 49%...
Voices now.
"This is unauthorized access. Step away from the terminal!"
Tim yanked the USB. The screen flashed.
Transfer incomplete.
"Look, fellas," he started, turning toward the door, lawyer mode activated. "I'm sure we can talk this out like reasonable professionals. Maybe there's a clause in your company policy about—"
A baton crackled with electricity.
"Okay, no clauses, understood!"
He bolted.
Tim raced through the corridor, heart pounding, lungs burning. The alarms were blaring now, the walls pulsing red with emergency lighting.
He turned a corner and skidded to a halt.
"Not again—first those freaks on the roof, now this guy?" said one of the guards.
Four guards. Weapons drawn.
"Freeze!"
Tim raised his hands. "Gentlemen, I would like to file a formal objection—"
A shot was fired.
He ducked. The taser missed.
Another guard lunged.
Then the lights exploded.
A pulse of golden energy washed over everything, and suddenly, the guards were flying backward, not injured but stunned.
From the smoke, two figures emerged.
The first was a woman, tall, poised, moving with unearthly grace. Her eyes glowed faintly as she raised a hand, and the air shimmered around her. Golden energy pulsed at her fingertips, controlled and precise.
The second was a mountain of a man, at least 6'4", built like a Greek statue come to life. 255 pounds of muscle, eyes sharp, calculating. He moved like a predator, his sheer presence enough to command silence.
They didn't say a word.
They didn't have to.
The woman turned to Tim, her hand still glowing. She didn't speak, but her eyes locked on his, as if she were seeing something beneath his skin, beneath his thoughts.
He felt it—a pressure in his mind, not painful, but probing. Curious. Searching.
Then it was gone.
She nodded, almost to herself.
The man looked at her. "You're sure?"
"He's not one of them," she replied softly.
"We don't know who he is."
"But I know what he isn't."
Tim stared, slack-jawed. "Are you magicians?"
Neither answered. And somehow, that was scarier than a yes.
The hallway reeked of ozone and fear.
Tim crouched behind an overturned desk, heart hammering in his chest as more guards poured in. The mysterious woman stood calm, a soft golden shimmer surrounding her as she raised her hand again. Another wave pulsed outward—calm, controlled—and the incoming guards staggered, collapsing without injury.
What the hell is happening? Tim thought. Am I in a sci-fi movie? Is this a dream?
Beside her, the massive man surged forward like a battering ram. He didn't need powers—he was power. His fists moved like hammers, disarming guards with brutal efficiency but never landing a lethal blow. He picked one up by the collar and tossed him into a wall like a ragdoll.
Tim scrambled to his feet, trying to stay out of their way.
"Go!" the man barked, gesturing toward the exit.
Tim didn't argue. He turned—but then froze.
"My USB! I left it in the terminal!"
The man growled, "Leave it. We're out of time."
Tim shook his head, breathless. "No—no! That's everything. I need that!"
The woman looked at him again, eyes sharp, glowing.
"Where?"
"Third room on the left," Tim said. "Desk terminal. Hurry, please—"
Without a word, she vanished in a blur of light.
Tim blinked. "How the hell—?"
The man dragged him back down behind cover. "Don't talk. Move."
The escape was a blur—Tim running, panting, dodging stunned guards while the mountain beside him cleared a path like a force of nature. They reached the south exit, alarms still screaming.
Then she reappeared—calm, graceful, USB in hand.
She tossed it to Tim.
"Thanks," he wheezed, clutching it like treasure.
"Move!" the man shouted.
Outside, a black unmarked car waited in the shadows. The trio jumped in, and tires screeched as they peeled into the night.
Tim slumped in the backseat, adrenaline crashing, every part of him shaking. "Okay. Okay. Someone tell me what the hell that was. Who are you people?"
The man drove in silence.
The woman sat beside him, eyes on the road.
Tim pressed, "Look, I appreciate the rescue. Really. But I need answers. Are you magicians? Spies? What's going on?"
Silence.
Tim laughed bitterly. "Oh, I get it. The silent type. Mysterious vigilantes. Fine. Great."
The car sped through dark streets, heading toward the industrial outskirts of the city.
Tim's thoughts raced.
Who were they? What did they want with Cetus? And why the hell were they watching me?
He glanced at the woman again.
Something about her felt… familiar.
.
.
.
Hideout – 1:14 AM
The car screeched to a halt outside an abandoned warehouse. Inside, the space was sparse—makeshift cots, crates, and tech gear scattered about.
Tim stumbled out, still shaky.
"You can't just kidnap me," he muttered. "That's illegal, you know."
The man towered over him. "You want to go back? Be my guest."
Tim held up the USB. "Not without this."
The woman gestured to a chair. "Sit."
Tim hesitated, then dropped into it.
"I want answers," he said again. "Now. You're not with Cetus. That much is obvious. But who are you?"
Silence.
The man crossed his arms. "He talks too much."
"He's scared," the woman replied. "Let him."
Tim looked between them. "You're not normal people. You did… things back there. Things I can't explain."
The woman simply watched him.
The man turned away.
Tim's voice cracked slightly. "I'm just looking for my sister. That's it. She disappeared. The last place she was seen was in Cetus. That's why I broke in."
Still, no response.
Tim slumped. "You're not going to talk, are you?"
The woman's eyes softened, just a little.
And in the heavy silence of the warehouse, Tim realized—these people knew something. Maybe they didn't trust him yet. But they weren't his enemies.
At least, not tonight.
The warehouse was cold, the air thick with dust and secrets. Tim sat on a crate, still clutching the USB like it was some kind of lifeline. Across from him, the two strangers moved in silence, exchanging glances, unpacking gear from black duffel bags like they'd done this a thousand times before.
Tim couldn't stop staring.
The man looked like a walking tank—broad-shouldered, arms like tree trunks, the kind of guy you didn't want to meet in a dark alley unless he was on your side. Every motion was precise and economical, like someone who had spent his life training for war.
The woman was his opposite—calm, deliberate, and elegant. She didn't just move through the room—she owned it. There was an aura about her, something just outside the realm of normal, something that made Tim's skin tingle every time her eyes flicked in his direction.
"Okay," Tim said, breaking the silence, "so let's try this again. You saved my life. I'm grateful. I am. But I need to know what's going on. What are you?"
The man didn't look up. "Still talking."
The woman glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "What do you know about Cetus?"
Tim stood up, pacing now. "Too much. And not enough. They're not just a pharmaceutical company. They're… something else. I found records linking them to government contracts, private security firms, even—" he hesitated, "even foster systems. That's where my sister was. Nine years ago, she was placed in a home run by the Cetus Foundation. And then… nothing. She vanished. No records. No trail. Like she never existed."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I've spent years looking. And then, this week, I get a tip—she was in their Neurodivision project. What the hell does a pharma company want with foster kids?"
The man and woman exchanged a quick, loaded glance. It was brief, but Tim caught it.
"You know something," he said. "You do. That's why you were there tonight, isn't it?"
Still silence.
Tim pointed at the USB. "I risked everything for this. And you helped me get it. That wasn't random. You knew I was there."
Finally, the woman spoke quietly but firmly, "I sensed you."
Tim blinked. "Sensed?"
"Your mind. Your fear. Your purpose. You weren't like them—the guards, the executives. You were searching for someone. That's why I helped you."
Tim stared. "You read my mind?"
She shook her head slightly. "No. Not exactly. Emotions and intentions—they resonate. Yours did."
Tim exhaled, trying to process. "Okay. That's... unsettling."
The man stepped forward, arms crossed. "Doesn't mean we trust you."
"I'm not asking you to," Tim said. "I'm just trying to find my sister. That's it."
They stared at each other for a moment. A long, heavy silence.
Then the woman nodded once.
Tim's voice was softer now. "Who are you people?"
The man turned away again, but this time he spoke. "You'll find out soon enough."
Tim narrowed his eyes. "That's not exactly reassuring."
The woman gestured to a small cot in the corner. "You should rest. It's not safe out there right now."
Tim hesitated, then sat. His legs felt like jelly anyway.
He looked at them again. "You're not going to disappear on me, are you?"
"No," the woman said.
"Good. Because tomorrow, we're getting answers. All of us."
As he lay back, exhausted, the USB still tight in his hand, Tim stared at the rafters above. His mind buzzed with questions. His heart still raced.
Who were they? Why did she feel familiar? Why had they helped him?
And most of all—what the hell had he just stepped into?