The boat stank of fish and diesel.
Scarlett stood at the rail, watching Neon Archipelago shrink into the fog. The towers of Spade Island. The lights of Heart Island. The darkness of the Hollow.
All of it.
Distant now.
Unreachable.
Dom sat below deck, repairing his mechanical arm. Tools spread across a crate. Sparks flying. Curses muttered.
Jules lay on a cot, finally sleeping. Sedated. His ribs bruised. His fingers still twitching. Typing even in dreams.
The broadcast had been six hours ago.
Six hours since the world changed.
Six hours since they became the most wanted people in the city.
Scarlett's phone buzzed.
She didn't answer.
Unknown number.
Again.
The fifth time in an hour.
She knew who it was.
What they wanted.
She threw the phone into the water.
Watched it sink.
Watched the trail of bubbles fade.
No more warnings.
No more observers.
No more games.
---
The safe house was on the far island.
The one without a name.
The one that didn't exist on maps.
Dom had prepared it years ago. For this. For them. For the end of the world.
It was a shack.
Rust.
Salt.
Rot.
But it had power.
Satellite connection.
Weapons.
Everything they needed to survive.
Everything they needed to plan.
"Margaret's gone underground," Dom said.
Emerging from below deck.
Arm functional.
Barely.
"Her assets frozen. Her allies turning. The Seven Houses are eating their own."
"Good."
"Not good." He stood beside her at the rail. Close. Not touching. "Hungry animals are dangerous. Desperate. Unpredictable."
"She's predictable."
"Was." Dom's gray eyes found hers. "Before you took everything. Now she's something else. Something worse."
"What?"
"Free." He turned to the sea. "No empire to protect. No reputation to maintain. Just vengeance. Pure. Simple. Endless."
Scarlett thought of the fire.
Three years ago.
The warehouse.
The gasoline.
Margaret had been free then too.
Free to burn.
Free to kill.
Free to create the ghost that would destroy her.
"Let her come," Scarlett said.
"She will."
"Then we'll be ready."
Dom laughed. Short. Bitter. "Ready for what? We have no army. No allies. No resources. Just this boat. This shack. Each other."
"Each other is enough."
"You believe that?"
"I calculate that." Scarlett turned to face him. "You. Me. Jules. Rosa. Even Kai. Skills. Experience. Motivation. Enough to start. Enough to build."
"Build what?"
"The next world."
Silence.
The boat rocked.
The fog thickened.
Dom studied her.
Long.
Hard.
Seeing something.
Or trying to.
"You sound like Vincent," he said finally.
"Vincent failed."
"Vincent tried."
"Same thing?"
"Different endings." Dom walked to the cabin door. Stopped. Didn't turn. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow we plan. Tonight we survive."
He disappeared below.
Scarlett stayed at the rail.
Watching the darkness.
Waiting for it to answer.
It didn't.
It never did.
---
Morning broke gray and cold.
Jules woke screaming.
Nightmare.
Memory.
Hands reaching for keyboards that weren't there.
Scarlett caught him.
Held him.
Waited for the shaking to stop.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"Don't."
"I shouldn't—I know you don't—"
"Don't apologize for being human, Jules." She released him. Stepped back. "It's the one thing we have left."
He looked up at her.
Green eyes bloodshot.
Bruises darkening.
"You never sleep," he said.
"Not true."
"You never rest."
Also true.
She didn't answer.
Turned to the terminal he'd set up.
Screens showing news feeds.
Social media.
The chaos they'd created.
#SevenHousesExposed trending globally.
Protests in twelve cities.
Three Houses already collapsed.
Assets seized.
Leaders arrested.
Or fled.
Or died.
"It's working," Jules said.
Standing beside her.
Close enough to smell the salt on his skin.
The fear.
The hope.
"It's started," Scarlett corrected.
"Same thing?"
"Different scale." She pointed to a screen. "This is information. Noise. Chaos. But the system adapts. Absorbs. Survives."
"What do we need?"
"Structure. Organization. Something to replace what we broke."
"Like what?"
Scarlett was silent.
Thinking.
Calculating.
Then: "The real Red Ace."
"The basement?"
"The idea." She turned to him. "Vincent built a network. Information. Surveillance. Power. We rebuild it. Openly. Publicly. A tool for anyone to use. To see. To know. To choose."
"That's—" Jules stopped.
Started again.
"That's democracy, Scar. That's not what we do. We're ghosts. Shadows. Weapons."
"We were." She walked to the window.
Looked out at the empty sea.
"Now we're something else. Or we die trying."
---
The message arrived at noon.
Not a phone call.
Not a text.
A physical letter.
Dropped by a drone that disappeared before they could track it.
Wax seal.
Black.
Embossed with a crown.
Not broken.
Whole.
Scarlett broke it.
Read the contents.
Once.
Twice.
Handed it to Dom.
He read.
Cursed.
Handed it back.
"What is it?" Jules asked.
"An invitation," Scarlett said.
"To what?"
"Peace." She laughed.
Cold.
Sharp.
Disbelieving.
"The remaining Four Houses. They want to negotiate. A summit. Neutral ground. Terms for ending the conflict."
"Trap," Dom said.
"Obviously."
"Then we don't go."
"We go." Scarlett folded the letter.
Placed it in her pocket.
"But not to negotiate."
"Then what?"
"To end it." She looked at them.
Both of them.
Her ghost army.
Her broken crown.
"All of it. Tonight. Forever."
---
The neutral ground was an abandoned theater.
The Opera House.
Heart Island.
Once grand.
Now rotting.
Perfect for ambushes.
Perfect for endings.
Scarlett walked in alone.
As requested.
No weapons.
No backup.
Just her.
The dress they'd sent.
Black.
Simple.
Expensive.
A costume.
A uniform.
A target.
The Four House representatives sat in the front row.
Four men.
Four women.
All old.
All careful.
All terrified behind their masks.
"Ms. Vance." The speaker was eighty if he was a day.
Silver hair.
Trembling hands.
"Thank you for coming."
"Thank you for the dress."
"It suits you."
"It constrains me." Scarlett sat on the stage.
Facing them.
Above them.
"Let's skip the pleasantries. You want peace. I want the Houses destroyed. Our positions seem incompatible."
"Not necessarily." The old man leaned forward.
Eager.
Desperate.
"We can offer you Margaret. Her location. Her resources. Her head, if you want it."
"And in exchange?"
"Stop." Another speaker.
A woman.
Seventy.
Surgical enhancements failing.
"Stop the broadcasts. Stop the leaks. Stop the chaos. Let us... adjust. Adapt. Survive."
"You want to live."
"We want to evolve."
"Same thing?"
"Different methods." The old man smiled.
Toothless.
Predatory.
"You're smart, Ms. Vance. Smarter than Vincent. Smarter than Claire. You see the system. You understand it. Why destroy it when you could rule it?"
Scarlett was silent.
Letting the words hang.
Letting them think she was considering.
Letting them hope.
Then she laughed.
Real.
Amused.
Deadly.
"You think I want to rule?"
"Everyone wants to rule."
"I don't." She stood.
Walked to the edge of the stage.
Looked down at them.
Four Houses.
Four survivors.
Four ghosts who didn't know they were already dead.
"I want to end the game. Not win it. End it."
"Impossible."
"Already done." Scarlett touched her ear.
The signal.
The one Jules had waited for.
The one Dom had prepared.
The one Kai had bet on.
The theater's screens flickered.
Came alive.
Showing the Four Houses' own secrets.
Their accounts.
Their crimes.
Their sins.
Fresh.
New.
Downloaded from their own servers while they sat here.
Negotiating.
Begging.
Dying.
"What—" The old man stood.
Too fast.
Too late.
"How—"
"Your security is excellent," Scarlett said.
"For the old world. For the old game." She smiled.
Cold.
Victorious.
"Welcome to the new one."
The doors burst open.
Not Dom.
Not Jules.
Police.
Federal agents.
International investigators.
All the people the Houses had owned.
Now free.
Now armed.
Now angry.
They swarmed.
Arrested.
Screamed.
Charged.
Scarlett watched from the stage.
Unmoving.
Unblinking.
The old man pointed at her.
Accusing.
Desperate.
"She did this! She destroyed everything! Arrest her! Kill her!"
The lead agent looked up at Scarlett.
Recognized her.
Smiled.
"Ms. Vance. You're under no obligation to remain. We've secured the perimeter."
"Thank you, Agent...?"
"Reyes. Elena Reyes. Rosa's niece." The agent's smile widened.
"Family debt. Paid in full."
Scarlett nodded.
Understood.
Accepted.
She walked off the stage.
Through the chaos.
Past the arrested.
Past the screaming.
Past the end of the world she'd known.
Dom waited at the door.
Mechanical arm ready.
Just in case.
"Done?" he asked.
"Beginning."
"Same thing?"
"Different direction."
They walked into the night.
Into the city.
Into the new world.
Jules met them at the corner.
Laptop open.
Screens showing the arrests.
The collapse.
The birth.
"Kai's asking for you," he said.
"Tell him later."
"He says it's urgent."
"Everything's urgent."
"Scar." Jules stopped.
Grabbed her arm.
Gentle.
Insistent.
"He says Margaret's gone. Not arrested. Not dead. Gone. And she's not alone."
Scarlett stilled.
Calculated.
"Who's with her?"
"Asher."
The name hit.
Harder than expected.
Scarlett thought of the tower.
The glass.
The blood.
The confession.
"He's helping her?"
"He's using her." Jules checked his laptop.
"Kai's sources say they're heading for the docks. A boat. International waters. Beyond reach."
"Then we reach them."
"How?"
Scarlett smiled.
The cold one.
The calculating one.
The one that won.
"We have a boat too."
She turned.
Walked toward the water.
Toward the chase.
Toward the final ghost.
Dom followed.
Jules followed.
Always following.
Always choosing her.
The fog swallowed them.
Neon Archipelago burned behind them.
Beautiful.
Broken.
Free.
And somewhere ahead.
In the dark.
On the water.
Margaret Blackwood waited.
With Asher.
With vengeance.
With the last move of a game that should have ended.
Scarlett Vance ran.
Not away.
Toward.
Always toward.
The crown was broken.
The game was ended.
But the war?
The war was just beginning.