July 16, 2026 – Manhattan Sewer Exit 04:35 AM
Carter's barrel was buried in Natalia's temple. The blood seeping from the wound in Natalia's leg mingled with the filthy sewer water. The sound of that explosion on the other end of the phone was still ringing in my ears. Elara... my sister's one-word whisper was gnawing at my brain: "Run."
"I'm offering you a choice, Julian," Carter said, his mechanical tone sending shivers down my spine. "I'm reaching out. Give me that black notebook and the USB Natalia brought, and I'll stop the detective from dying tonight. Thomas is a patient man, but my time is limited."
"The notebook is with me, Carter, but the USB is with Natalia," I said, slowly reaching into my bag. "If you pull that trigger, I'll drop both into the depths of this sewer. Even Thomas won't be able to get them back from there."
Ivy waited behind me, like a shadow in the darkness. "Michael, don't. If you give them up, they'll execute us right here."
Carter smirked, his burnt face looking even more hideous in the light of the flames. "Ivy is right, Michael. But if you don't, I'll paint this wall with Natalia's brains. The choice is yours. Justice or loyalty?"
At that exact moment, the sound of an engine echoed from the depths of the tunnel. But it wasn't a motorcycle; it was the sound of a boat moving rapidly through the water. Lights blinded the tunnel with a piercing glare.
It wasn't the Reapers.
A silhouette stood behind the massive spotlight on the boat—a giant of a man holding a heavy machine gun, his face masked. As the boat surged between us, Carter lost his balance. I yanked Natalia toward me by her arm.
The masked man didn't fire. He just bellowed: "Get in, fast! If you want to live!"
Carter began firing, but the boat's armored hull deflected the bullets. Ivy and I tossed the wounded Natalia into the boat. As I jumped in, Carter's final bullet struck the engine cover.
I turned to the masked man as we sped away. "Who are you? Did The Alchemist send you?"
The man pulled off his mask. It wasn't The Alchemist. It was my father's old partner from the Chicago PD, a man we thought died years ago: Chief Miller. The same coward Miller who fled from Michael during the precinct raid... but the man standing before me was far from a coward.
"The Alchemist is dead, kid," Miller said, gripping the helm. "Thomas Hale strangled him with his own hands. But your father's debt to me hasn't been paid yet. Now get down, because Thomas is about to blow up the New York harbor!"