The fire wasn't supposed to happen.
It tore through the warehouse in the Dockside District just after midnight an inferno so intense it melted steel beams and swallowed up every file, device, and trace of the hidden archive Isabella and Alexander had built over the past year.
Their entire database on Mercer's dealings. Gone.
The flames danced like a warning, casting eerie shadows across the drenched streets as firefighters fought a losing battle.
Isabella arrived first. She didn't flinch at the smoke or the chaos she only stared at the collapse of everything she'd spent months protecting. Her jaw clenched as the fire hissed like a laughing ghost.
Alexander joined her moments later, breathless from the call. His eyes scanned the destruction, and without a word, he pulled her into his arms.
But she didn't need comfort. She needed answers.
The Signature
"They knew exactly what to hit," Isabella said coldly. "There was no panic. No rush. This was surgical."
A nearby officer handed her a scorched piece of metal. It had been nailed to the back exit of the warehouse. Barely legible, but unmistakable:
A crude crown scratched above a serpent.
Alexander narrowed his eyes. "Kings and monsters."
She met his gaze. "They're declaring war."
A Ghost From the Past
That night, back in their apartment, Isabella opened her secure tablet, one of the few untouched by the fire. Only a handful of encrypted contacts remained.
She hesitated over one: Elias Blackthorn. Former MI6, presumed dead. The last man who investigated the Circle before disappearing five years ago.
"I might have someone," she told Alexander. "If he's alive."
Alexander arched a brow. "If he's alive, he's either hiding for a reason… or he's one of them now."
She nodded. "Either way, we find him. He's our only lead."
Alexander leaned against the doorframe. "And when we do?"
Isabella's eyes burned with steel. "Then we burn the real empire down."