Carver handed me the thick, sealed file. The edges were worn, the label stripped off. Whatever was inside had been hidden for a long time.
"Open it," she said.
I broke the seal. Inside were surveillance photos, coded reports, and a map of New York marked with red circles. Each circle represented a disappearance—journalists, informants, two undercover agents—all vanished within the last six months.
Carver pointed to the top photo. "This man—Director Allan Crest. He runs the covert division Greene and Moore were investigating. The rogue one."
"What does he want?"
"To become untouchable," she said. "Anyone who threatens the operation is eliminated. Moore tried to warn the team. Moore tried to expose Crest. Now he's gone and the man in charge of the case lost in the wind and the only thing we have now is—one dead, one hunted."
"And me," I murmured.
Carver placed a steady hand on my shoulder. "They've marked you, Tina. You're in deeper than you realize."
A knock echoed at the door.
A soft one. Too soft.
Carver's eyes snapped to mine.
"Get down," she whispered.
The next second—
BOOM.
The front door blasted inward in a storm of splinters. Carver shoved me behind the heavy oak desk as three armed men in tactical gear rushed inside like shadows with guns.
"Move!" Carver yelled.
She fired first—sharp, precise shots. Two bullets hit the first attacker in the chest, sending him crashing backward. The second man ducked and returned fire, shattering a lamp, spraying glass across the floor.
I scrambled for cover, drawing my weapon.
"Carver!" I shouted.
"I'm fine! Keep low!"
But she wasn't fine.
The third man flanked her from the side. A single shot—silent, professional.
Carver's body jolted.
"No—NO!"
She staggered, pressing a hand to her abdomen, red blooming between her fingers.
The attacker who shot her turned toward me.
I fired three times, hitting him squarely. He collapsed.
The last man—injured but alive—grabbed a flash grenade.
"Target incomplete," he rasped into a comm device. "Detonating."
He threw it.
"Run, Tina!" Carver gasped.
The grenade detonated with a blinding white flash. The room shook, shelves toppled, smoke filled the air. I felt hands tug me, but only Carver's voice anchored me.
"Tina…" she whispered.
I crawled to her through the haze. She lay against the wall, blood spreading beneath her, eyes dim but alert.
"Carver… stay with me. Please."
She took a weak breath. "Listen… Greene was right. Moore was right. Crest will burn the whole city to protect that operation."
"Don't talk. I'll call an ambulance—"
"No." She grabbed my wrist with surprising strength. "Finish what we started."
Her grip loosened.
"Expose them… all of them," she whispered.
Then her eyes went still.
I froze. The world around me blurred, the edges collapsing inward. Carver—my mentor, my anchor—gone in seconds. Because of this case. Because of them.
I swallowed the rage rising in my throat, pushing it down, letting it settle deeper—hard, cold, sharp.
They didn't just try to kill me.
They took Carver.
They declared a war I didn't start—but I damn well would finish.
I wiped the blood from my hands, stood, and took the classified file from her floor.
As sirens approached in the distance, I stepped into the night, a new fire burning through me.
"Crest," I whispered into the darkness, "you're next."
Even if crest is next I still need to find Waller Greene, he's closer to the end than I am.
I need closure.
.....AFTER THREE DAYS OF SLEEPLESS INVESTIGATION TINA FOUND A LEAD.
Rain hammered the rooftop as Tina crouched above the abandoned freight yard in Queens, her breath steady, her eyes cold. The Crest Organization had slipped through every legal net the NYPD cast, but tonight she finally had a name—Markus Veld, one of the mid-tier operatives linked to her father's death… and Carver's murder.
She tracked him easily; Markus was arrogant, believing Crest's power made him untouchable. He strolled between containers guarded by two armed men, murmuring into his earpiece. Tina watched him like a predator studying prey.
She moved.
Silent. Precise. Deadly.
Within seconds, both guards were down—one asleep from a chokehold, the other unconscious from a brutal strike to the temple. Markus barely had time to reach for his gun before Tina pinned him against a rusted container.
"You should've stayed in the shadows," she hissed.
"You— you don't know what you're doing," he stammered.
"I know everything you did to my father. And to Carver."
Her fist flew. A clean, punishing hit. The final blow left Markus broken on the ground, barely clinging to breath as she stepped away—letting him live just long enough to spread fear through Crest's ranks.
But before she could move, the lights exploded on.
Sirens. Floodlights. Armed agents poured in.
Not Crest.
Worse.
Federal uniforms. NYSC Task Force.
"Target located!" a commander barked. "Tina Cole Williams—armed, dangerous, responsible for the assault on federal agents."
Tina froze.
A setup.
Crest had arranged an official cover-up. Markus and his men were listed as federal personnel. Her takedown would now read as an attack on the government.
Crest didn't want her dead.
They wanted her hunted.
"Tina Cole Williams," a voice boomed through a megaphone, "drop your weapon and surrender!"
She backed toward the shadows, mind racing. She hadn't killed anyone. She hadn't attacked any officers. But the story was already written—and she was the villain.
She launched herself off the container stack, rolling under gunfire, vanishing into the maze of metal and rain. Voices shouted behind her, but Tina was already gone.
Tonight she wanted justice.
Now she needed survival.
WALLER POV – WATCHING FROM THE DARK
I watched the disaster unfold from the scaffolding of an unfinished warehouse across the yard, hidden behind steel beams and shadows. I had followed Tina for three nights, knowing she was spiraling after Carver's death… but I didn't expect this.
Not the brutality.
Not the precision.
Not the coldness in her eyes.
This wasn't the wolf of an officer I once knew.
This was someone forged in grief.
Crest had forced her hand—and now the government thought she was a terrorist. I watched her move through the hail of bullets, faster and sharper than I remembered. She disappeared into the dark like smoke slipping through fingers.
The task force swarmed Markus's body, shouting into radios, but I just stared at the place Tina stood moments before. My chest tightened.
She's deeper than I ever imagined.
Deeper than I ever wanted her to be.
And if I didn't intervene soon…
I was going to lose her the same way we lost Carver.
I stepped back into the shadows.
"Tina," I muttered, "what have they dragged you into?"
And what am I willing to do
…to pull you out?
TINA — HIDING, BLEEDING, RUNNING
The rain hadn't stopped since the raid. It washed over her face as she sprinted through the narrow service alley, lungs burning, arm bleeding from a graze. Her hoodie soaked through, her breaths sharp and uneven, Tina pushed deeper into the night—into places even cops didn't dare enter.
Every siren in Queens screamed her name now.
Every street camera captured her face.
Every federal bulletin labeled her:
"Tina Cole Williams — Armed. Dangerous. Rogue."
She pressed her back to a brick wall under a flickering streetlamp, peeling back the sleeve of her jacket. Her wound wasn't fatal, but it stung like hell. She tied a strip of cloth from her shirt with trembling fingers, teeth clenched.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," she whispered, breath shaky. "Carver, I just wanted justice… not this."
But Crest had stolen everything—her father, Carver, and now her life.
If they wanted her hunted, she'd make them regret not finishing the job.
She pushed off the wall and slipped into the darkness again.
She couldn't clear her name yet.
She needed answers first.
She needed a target.
The next name on her list burned in her pocket—a photo given by Carver months ago.
Julia Crest.
The strategist.
The one who ordered her father's murder.
And Tina was going to find her.
---
WALLER — THE FIRST CONFRONTATION
I found her two hours later.
The abandoned subway tunnels under East Harlem were a perfect hideout for someone desperate. But not too perfect for someone who used to train her.
Footsteps echoed faintly ahead. A splash. A ragged breath.
I followed the sounds, staying behind columns and rusted rail pipes.
Then I saw her.
Tina sat on a cracked bench, head bowed, her hand pressed to her arm. She looked smaller in the dim light—tired, wounded, but still burning with that fierce stubbornness.
I stepped forward, letting my shadow fall across the floor.
"Tina."
She jerked up instantly, gun drawn, eyes wild until she recognized me.
"…Waller?"
Her voice cracked between disbelief and exhaustion.
"You're hurt." I kept my hands visible. "Let me help."
"No." She stood, backing away. "If you're here to kill me, don't bother. They already have enough lies to bury me."
"Tina, I know you were set up."
Her jaw tightened. "Then why didn't you stop it?"
That hit deeper than she knew.
I took a slow breath. "Because I didn't know how deep Crest has crawled into the system. But I saw what happened tonight. They want you labeled a threat. They want you scared and cornered."
"Well, they got what they wanted."
We stared at each other—two ghosts from the force we once trusted.
"Tina," I said quietly, "if you keep going alone, they'll kill you. Crest, the Feds, or someone in-between. Let me help you. Let me get you out."
She hesitated—eyes flicking between fear, rage, and something that looked painfully close to hope.
"I don't need saving, Waller."
Her voice steadied. Stronger. "I need the truth. I need Crest to burn."
I stepped closer.
"Then let me burn them with you."
The tunnel hummed with distant vibrations as a train passed somewhere far above.
For a long moment, she didn't answer.
Then she finally lowered her weapon—not surrendering, just… letting me in.
"Fine," she whispered. "But we do this my way. Julia Crest is next."
I nodded slowly.
"Then we start—but not tonight. There's too much you need to know first."
Tina frowned, tension tightening her posture.
"I've been digging," I continued. "And in the last few days… I've buried more bodies than I'd like to admit. Everything I've found circles back to one thing—the Eclipse. Crest is just a shadow on the wall. The real architect assembled us for a reason. Someone with power. Someone untouchable."
Tina cut in, her voice low and careful.
"Allan Crest?"
I shook my head.
"No. Jim Coleman."
Her reaction was instant—eyes widening, breath catching, the color draining from her face. That name wasn't just familiar.
It was legendary.
It was feared.
And it was hers.
Jim Coleman—
the detective who broke syndicates without taking a single scratch…
the ghost every criminal whispered about…
the father she lost.