The city around him was always alive, but Ezra Kane's apartment felt lifeless and claustrophobic. Flickering neon lights from the street filtered through his blinds, creating jagged shadows on the worn walls. His desk was a chaotic mess of old drives and scattered wires, with the cold blue light from his laptop illuminating his face. He found himself staring blankly at the ceiling, thinking he might be able to sleep, but his mind was occupied by the day's events, particularly Kael's striking words:
> Words aren't enough.
Despite that, he had hacked into Veyra's network—not for forgiveness, not even for Kael, but to prove to himself that he was worth saving. Most of the night slipped away as he worked, leaving him with a throbbing head and shaky fingers. Yet, in the corner of his desk sat a small holo-chip containing the information he had retrieved—the evidence he desperately needed, his unspoken confession, his only hope.
Ezra pushed his chair back in frustration. Sleep wasn't an option, not with the haunting image of Kael's flat, unreadable eyes burned into his mind, nor with Kael's low, edged voice echoing in his head. He moved to the window, opening it once again; the cold, rainy air hit him sharply. The city buzzed below like a living heart, and he could feel Kael within that rhythm, the man he still craved.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed. A message came through, featuring a jumble of symbols. It was Kael's encrypted code. Ezra's heart raced. He opened the message, scanning its contents. It didn't contain words, just a location and a time: Sublevel 9, 02:15. There was no greeting, no explanation, just a command.
Moments later, he was out the door, the holo-chip feeling like a burning secret in his pocket.
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Sublevel 9 lay deep beneath Kael's main building, a private maze of dark steel and humming servers. The air down there was noticeably colder and drier, laden with the scent of ozone. As Ezra stepped off the lift, the vibrations of the floor echoed beneath his boots. Blue emergency lights illuminated a path before him, guiding him like a runway.
Kael stood waiting at the end of the corridor, leaning casually against a steel pillar. He didn't resemble the powerful figure who had built an empire earlier that evening—no trench coat, no entourage—just Kael in a fitted black shirt with rolled sleeves, his forearms tense and ready. His gaze locked onto Ezra's every move, predatory and assessing.
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*****To Be Continued....