Morning smells like bleach and death.
I've learned to live with both.
The morgue hums with quiet machinery — compressors breathing like tired lungs. Bodies wrapped in white bags line the drawers, anonymous, forgotten, waiting for someone to remember them. I envy them sometimes. They've stopped fighting.
I drag a stool closer to the examination table and pull on my gloves. Another one from the docks — skin bloated, lips split, eyes open to nothing. The tag says Subject 047-B / Unidentified Male.
Micah Torres leans against the wall, arms crossed, chewing on a pen. "That's the third one this week," he mutters. "All from the same area. You sure the Flock doesn't know you're cleaning their feathers off the street?"
"I'm sure they suspect," I say, sliding a scalpel through the corpse's sternum. "But suspicion isn't proof. And they only kill when they're sure."
He grimaces. "Comforting."
Dr. Liora Dane appears behind us, heels clicking, clipboard in hand. "Focus. We're behind schedule." She gestures to the body. "Cause of death?"
I examine the bruising around the neck, the precision of the wound. "Garrote wire. Professional. Likely internal silencing within the Flock."
Liora's brow arches. "You sound certain."
"Just experience."
She stares at me for a heartbeat too long — suspicion flickering behind those iron-gray eyes — then turns and leaves.
When the door closes, Micah exhales. "You think she knows?"
"She suspects," I reply. "She won't act on it. She's loyal to my father's ghost more than she's loyal to the law."
Micah nods, then lowers his voice. "About the drive — I cracked the encryption."
I glance up sharply. "Already?"
"Didn't sleep," he says with a tired grin. "It's not just shipment data. There's a list — names, payments, and a second layer of code hidden under false directories. And get this — there's an entry labeled 'Project Blackline.' Ring any bells?"
The name hits like a blade to the gut. My father mentioned it once — in a half-drunk whisper before he died. A secret case, buried deep in Ashfall's underbelly.
"Show me," I order.
He slips a small chip drive across the counter. "It's all in there. But be careful. The encryption was military-grade. Someone wanted this buried."
I pocket it. "Then I'll dig it up."
---
The rest of the day crawls.
Ashfall sunlight is like interrogation light — it exposes nothing but guilt.
Detective Rowan Vale drops by again around noon. His eyes are red, his voice rough with exhaustion. "We found another body," he says. "Alley behind the Cinder Blocks. Looks like your docks case."
"Bring it in," I say, too quickly.
He studies me. "You've changed, Selene. Since Elias…" His words trail off, heavy with ghosts. "Your father would've told you to stay clear of this mess."
I meet his gaze. "He told me to finish what he started."
He sighs. "That's what I was afraid of."
When he leaves, the morgue feels colder.
---
That night, I take the chip home — if you can call it home.
My apartment sits high above the river, a decaying tower overlooking the city's heart. The rain has stained the windows black. The only light comes from the flicker of my computer screen and the pulse of the city beyond.
I plug the drive in.
Files unfold like rot — maps, shipment routes, and then a video folder marked "Project Blackline."
I click play.
A low-resolution feed fills the screen. My father sits in a dark interrogation room. He looks younger, alive, desperate. Across from him, a man in a crow's mask watches silently.
Elias Kain: "You can't contain it, Crow. You're dealing with something beyond control."
Masked Man: "Control is irrelevant. Evolution demands sacrifice."
Elias: "You'll burn the whole city!"
Masked Man: "Then let it burn. Ashfall was built on ashes."
The video cuts out.
For a moment, I can't breathe. The voice — the posture — the arrogance. It's him. King Crow. My father's killer.
I press my palm against the screen, the pixels cold under my glove. "You wanted evolution," I whisper. "I'll give you extinction."
The rain outside grows heavier, as if the city itself is listening.
---
Flashback.
The scent of sand and sweat fills my memory. I'm twenty, standing barefoot in a derelict training hall far from Ashfall. My mentor, Kasir, moves like smoke — silent, precise. His face is a map of scars, his voice like gravel.
"Pain is the only honest language," he says, circling me. "And vengeance is a tongue you will forget how to stop speaking."
He lunges. I block. Too slow. His blade grazes my cheek.
"Again."
We train until my arms tremble, until the floor is slick with blood and sweat. At night, we bury another of his old friends — assassinated by the Flock for training me.
By the time I left that place, Kasir was dead, and I had learned what he meant: vengeance never stops speaking. It just changes dialects.
---
I open my eyes. The rain hasn't stopped.
The video still flickers on the screen — frozen on my father's face. I replay his last words in my mind, the ones from the night before he was killed:
> "If I don't make it back, promise me you'll keep the city breathing, Selene. Don't let the crows pick it clean."
I didn't promise then. I promise now.
I suit up.
The Black Raven replaces Selene Kain like a mask over a scar. Black armor, reinforced plating, the beak-shaped mask hiding everything human. My cape unfolds like a shadow with wings.
Micah's voice hums in through the earpiece. "You're going out, aren't you?"
"There's another shipment leaving the docks at midnight. Same coordinates from the drive. I'm not waiting."
He hesitates. "You should rest."
"I'll rest when they stop breathing."
"Raven…"
I end the call.
---
The rooftops greet me again, cold and wet. The city stretches beneath like a dying organism. Every window a hollow eye. Every alley a throat full of secrets.
I follow the coordinates to the riverfront — same warehouse chain, but this time guarded by drones. The Flock's getting smarter.
From the shadows, I watch them load crates into boats. The water glows sickly yellow under the lamps. Among them, a man in a long coat barks orders.
"Get those weapons aboard! The King wants them in Skyvale by dawn!"
King Crow's network spreads beyond Ashfall. That means his reach is continental — and his threat, systemic.
I fire a grappling line and swing across the pier, landing silently on a rooftop beam. From here, I count targets — eight men, two drones, no reinforcements.
Simple math.
The first goes down with a feather to the neck. The second drops when I swing down, boot to skull. Chaos erupts. I move like a storm — fluid, violent, invisible.
Gunfire tears through rain. A bullet grazes my arm. Pain sharpens the edges of the world. I throw a smoke pellet, vanish into it.
A drone locks onto my heat signature — I leap, drive my baton through its lens, sparks exploding. It spirals into the river.
The last man tries to run. I grab him by the collar, slam him against a crate.
"Who runs the docks now?" I hiss.
His eyes shake. "You don't get it. The King—he's not just a man. He's—"
The words die with him as I twist his head. His body falls into the water.
---
When it's over, I find another crate marked with a silver feather. Inside — blueprints. Weapons caches. One map circled in red: "The Nest – Sector 9, Highspire Tower."
I stare at the mark until the rain blurs it.
That's where he is.
That's where this ends.
Micah's voice crackles faintly in my ear. "Raven? You're off comms again. What happened?"
I step into the fog, clutching the map. "I found him."
"Who?"
"The King."
There's a long pause. Then Micah whispers, "What now?"
I look toward the city's highest spire, lightning crawling over its silhouette like veins of light.
"The hunt begins."