The sun hadn't yet climbed over the horizon, but the streets around 79th were already stirring—runners setting up for early drops, sirens echoing in the distance, dogs barking behind fences. The city never truly slept, especially not on the South Side.
Inside the safe house, Von sat at the edge of a dusty old couch, elbows on knees, eyes locked on the photo in his hands—James Royner and Carter Mays, shoulder to shoulder. Smiling.
It felt like a punch to the ribs.
All his life, he thought his father had been hunted because of what he was. Because he was dangerous. But this picture suggested something worse—that his father had once worked with the very people who killed him.
The sound of the front door creaking broke his focus. Von didn't move, just kept the Glock low in his lap.
It was DeMarco, his closest BD lieutenant, stepping in slow. "You good?" he asked, eyeing the mess of files and drives across the floor.
Von gave a nod. "I found something. Something big."
DeMarco approached, scanning the materials. "What is all this?"
"Project Oracle," Von said. "My pops was part of a government program. Carter Mays—CIA. He was involved. Maybe even ran it."
DeMarco's jaw clenched. "So that's the real reason they came for him."
"Yeah. They wanted the power for themselves. When they couldn't control it, they erased him. Tried to erase me too."
DeMarco looked at the drives. "What's your move now?"
Von stood, stuffing the photo and one drive into his backpack. "I need to find someone who can crack this. Someone outside the system."
DeMarco nodded. "I know a guy on 63rd. Used to work black-hat, now he just repairs phones and runs crypto scams for rich college kids."
"Perfect. Set it up. Quietly."
DeMarco stepped away to make the call. Von exhaled slowly, muscles tight. He could feel the pressure building—every move closer to the truth made the walls close in.
In Langley, Virginia, the CIA's operations HQ buzzed with encrypted chatter and surveillance feeds. But in Chicago, inside the surveillance van now parked a block away from 79th, Carter Mays sat with a different kind of silence.
He had just gotten the call.
"Sir," the voice came through the comms. "We believe Royner found the box. He's in possession of one of the drives."
Carter's face remained still, but his eyes darkened.
"Then we move into Phase 2," he said. "Make sure local law enforcement stays blind. If Von tries to leak what's on that drive… we lose more than just cover."
He turned off the monitor and leaned back.
His thoughts drifted—dangerously—to Shanice.
He had spent his life keeping her away from this world. She didn't even know half of what he did for the Agency. To her, he was just an absent father with a government badge.
But if she found out he was hunting Von—if she knew the truth about James Royner's death—she might never forgive him.
He clenched his fist.
He couldn't lose her too.
Later that night, Von stood at the edge of the rooftop above 63rd, wind tugging at his hoodie. The skyline of Chicago spread out before him—glittering, deceptive. Below, DeMarco's guy worked inside a tiny backroom lit by neon and filled with computer guts.
Inside his pocket, Von held the drive like it was a loaded weapon.
"You sure you wanna give that to someone?" DeMarco asked, stepping up beside him. "Could be a death sentence."
Von's voice was cold. "The truth already is."
He descended the stairs without another word.
The tech guy—Skinny, twitchy, genius-level IQ—met him with a nod. "This the Oracle drive?" he asked, licking Dorito dust from his fingers.
Von placed it on the table. "Can you unlock it?"
"I can try. Might take a day or two. It's encrypted with something weird. Like… future-tech."
"Don't care. Get it done."
As Skinny started working, Von stepped outside, lighting a Black & Mild. He stared up at the stars, his mind racing. Everything was moving fast. The truth. The lies. The war between what was real and what was right.
He thought of Shanice, her warmth, her touch, the way she looked at him like he wasn't broken. That had been real. Maybe the only thing lately that was.
He couldn't tell her the truth yet. About her father. About what came next.
But soon… he'd have to.
Somewhere in D.C., behind sealed walls and voiceprint locks, a meeting was taking place.
A group of six men and women in suits. No names. Just titles.
They watched live footage satellite images, street cams, thermal scans, all locked onto one face: Von Royner.
"We underestimated him," one said.
"No," another replied. "We underestimated the depth of James Royner's legacy. That bloodline was never meant to continue."
"Then why didn't Carter finish the job?"
"Because he's compromised. Emotionally. His daughter"
"Enough," snapped the woman at the head of the table. "If Royner leaks the contents of Oracle, we're all burned. Black site programs. Human testing. Gene isolation. You think the American public will sit quietly when they learn we tried to clone precognition?"
There was silence.
"Send in the cleanup team," she finished. "And if Carter gets in the way… erase him too."
That same night, Von returned to the safe house.
The neighborhood was dead quiet—too quiet.
He moved cautiously, scanning the rooftops, the reflections in windows. The streetlights buzzed above like insects.
Once inside, he locked the door behind him, double-checking every bolt. He didn't trust any place for too long.
He poured himself a glass of water, sat down, and opened his father's journal—pages filled with codes, drawings, strange philosophies about time and fate.
One line caught his attention:
"Seeing the future doesn't mean avoiding pain, it means choosing who you become through it."
Von leaned back, letting that settle.
Outside, somewhere in the shadows, someone watched the safe house.
A drone whirred softly in the distance.
Inside the CIA van, Carter Mays leaned forward.
"There he is," he muttered. "Still breathing."
Another agent asked, "Orders?"
Carter stared at the screen a long time before answering.
"Not yet. I want to see what move he makes next."
He looked down at a photo on his phone—Shanice, smiling at graduation.
This wasn't just about national security anymore.
This was personal.
And it was just beginning.