The Igan Tower rose like a spear of glass and steel, stabbing the clouds. Inside, power moved unseen—deals whispered behind closed doors, experiments funded under aliases, and the weight of an empire built on fire.
Tonight, it hosted the quarterly Silent Summit—when every board member gathered, communications shut down, and even the most powerful figures stepped into a single room. It was also the perfect time to infiltrate.
Ikris stared up at the monolith from an adjacent rooftop, the katana slung across his back.
"Once we're in," Sevik said, adjusting the grip on his pistol, "there's no quiet way out."
"That's the idea," Ikris replied, his voice low. "I want them to hear every step I take."
Lyssa handed him a small comm earpiece. "One hour until boardroom lockdown. That's our window."
Their path lay through an old maintenance shaft beneath the south elevator. A forgotten route, once used by janitors and now guarded only by legacy security—something Lyssa had hacked five minutes ago.
They descended fast—sliding past metal struts and control boxes until they emerged in the restricted mezzanine, just three floors below the summit chamber.
Every hallway glowed sterile white. Silent drones hovered near the ceiling.
Ikris pressed his back to the wall, flames flickering just beneath his skin. "This place smells like lies."
Sevik scouted ahead. "Two guards. Staggered pattern. Standard routes."
"I can distract them," Lyssa said, gathering a pocket of air between her fingers.
Ikris shook his head. "No. I want them to see me. Just enough to report it."
"Why?" she asked.
He smiled, grim and determined. "Because if they're watching cameras right now, I want them to know I'm coming."
He walked into the hallway, openly, the katana on his shoulder.
The two guards raised weapons—but hesitated when they saw his face.
"Subject 0001—" one stammered.
"Name's Ikris," he replied, and in one movement, unsheathed his blade.
The first went down in seconds. The second dropped his weapon and ran.
Alarms remained silent.
"They're testing us," Sevik muttered. "They're letting us in."
Ikris nodded. "Then let's not disappoint them."
They climbed to the summit level.
Doors opened.
And the board was waiting.
Two nights before the infiltration, Ikris found himself in a laundromat.
The old kind—metal washers, peeling linoleum floors, humming fluorescent lights.
It was quiet. Peaceful, even.
Lyssa sat beside him on a bench, flipping through an old tabloid. "You know, for someone with a billion-dollar last name, you do your laundry like a college kid."
"Kind of grounding," he admitted. "Normal."
She raised a brow. "You think this is normal?"
"I mean… not fighting, not running. Just socks and soap."
Lyssa smirked. "Don't get too comfortable. We've got a corporation to overthrow."
Back at the safehouse, Sevik had set up a whiteboard labeled Operation Phoenix. Underneath were notes, diagrams, and stick-figure sketches that made the plan look more like a group project than an infiltration.
"Don't mock the drawings," he warned. "They're tactical."
"They have smiley faces," Lyssa pointed out.
"They're optimistic."
Ikris laughed. "Let's hope our plan goes better than your art."
Later, they sat on the roof with fast food.
Lyssa bit into a burger. "You know, I never wanted powers."
Ikris glanced sideways. "You never said that before."
"I used to think wind powers would make me special. But now? They just make me a target."
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I know the feeling."
She nudged his arm. "We're more than our abilities, Ikris. You know that, right?"
He gave a half-smile. "Still trying to believe it."
That night, Ikris stood by the mirror.
He looked at his reflection—not the heir, not the weapon, not the lab subject.
Just a boy who'd grown up behind walls of gold and glass.
He opened his journal and wrote a single line:
I'm not what they made me.
He underlined it.
Then closed the book, packed his blade, and prepared for war.