Jack didn't leave the bar right away.
He sat there long after Rhea disappeared into the city fog, staring at the photo she'd left behind like it might rewrite itself if he blinked hard enough. The Raven symbol burned in his brain — sharp, clean, fresh. Someone had gone out of their way to deface the relic after the original theft.
That meant it wasn't just about the artifact anymore.
It was about a message. And that message was for him.
The city had changed in two years. Or maybe it hadn't, and Jack had just stopped pretending he could fix it.
Rust and neon. Crime and quiet deals. Everything ran underground now — and if you knew where to look, you could find anyone, or anything. Jack didn't need to look.
Lena found him first.
She always did.
"You look like hell," she said from behind him, halfway down a narrow alley where old tech vendors pretended they weren't fencing stolen surveillance equipment.
Jack didn't turn around. "That's a bold statement coming from someone hiding behind a dumpster."
"You're not the only one with enemies."
He turned then.
Lena Voss was exactly the same — leather jacket, chipped nail polish, combat boots too expensive for someone always "broke." Her laptop bag was slung over one shoulder, weighed down by gear that could crack a CIA server in under four minutes. She grinned like a girl who knew too much and cared too little.
"What do you want?" Jack asked.
Lena raised an eyebrow. "You got quiet. Quiet Jack is dangerous Jack."
Jack handed her the photograph.
She blinked once. Then twice.
"…You're joking," she muttered. "That thing's supposed to be buried in an evidence vault under twenty layers of concrete."
Jack lit a cigarette. "Apparently, it got out."
"'Got out?' This is Elara's relic. The one that—" she stopped herself.
"Say it."
She didn't.
"Rhea Alvand," Jack said, watching Lena carefully. "She brought this to me."
Lena's expression twisted. Confused. Then guarded. "That name's not on any database. But the face matches someone from six months ago. Black-market auction in Vienna. No identity. Wiped clean."
"So someone wants me chasing ghosts," Jack said.
"Or they want you to realize she was never a ghost at all."
Later, in the safehouse he no longer called home, Jack spread out the evidence on a cracked table.
The tablet. The photo. The symbol. The name. Rhea. He pinned them like old memories he didn't want to keep but couldn't destroy.
At the bottom of the box was something else.
A police report.
One he hadn't seen in years.
It detailed the last person to see Elara Vane alive. And it wasn't him. It was Kael Dray — his former partner.
The man who had lied under oath.The man who'd said Elara's body was found by Jack himself.
Something wasn't adding up. Or worse — everything was.
Jack sat down, cracked open a bottle of cheap bourbon, and stared at the old photograph of Kael and himself from the force. Two clean-cut detectives. Believing they were untouchable.
He poured the drink, but didn't sip it.
Instead, he picked up his phone and dialed.
It rang once.
Twice.
"Jack?" Kael's voice. Sleepy. Cautious.
"We need to talk," Jack said.
A pause.
"I thought you said we were done."
Jack looked at the photo of the relic. The Raven mark. The blood stain on the corner no one else would've seen.
"Yeah," Jack said, voice low. "So did I."
The photo didn't change, no matter how long Jack stared at it.The lines were the same — ancient script carved into a golden tablet that should have been locked away, lost, or at the very least dormant. But this one wasn't just intact.
It had been reopened.Re-activated.Claimed.
And scratched into its surface, rough and deliberate like a threat rather than an accident, was a symbol he hadn't seen in years. A raven, inked into memory, dark wings curled inward like it was guarding something.
The Raven Circle.
He had buried that name. Along with a partner, a woman, a badge, and the last pieces of a man who used to believe in truth.
Now here it was again. In front of him.And someone wanted him to see it.
He left the bar without finishing his drink. The rain had started up again, softer now, like the sky was whispering instead of weeping. He pulled up the collar of his coat and walked east, away from the main roads and into the part of the city that never made the postcards.
Past shuttered shops and neon-soaked alleyways, past midnight vendors peddling burner phones and fake IDs under flickering lights. This wasn't a neighborhood for honest people.
But Jack Stone had stopped being honest a long time ago.
The alley smelled like rust, wet cardboard, and last week's regret.
"You look like hell," said a voice behind him.
He didn't turn. Not yet.
"Bold of you," he said, "to assume I ever looked better."
Footsteps. Light, practiced. Then she came into view — Lena Voss, same old crooked grin, same storm in her eyes. She leaned against the side of a trash bin like it was her throne, chewing gum like she wasn't the best hacker this side of the firewall.
Her jacket was cracked leather, her boots scuffed and dusty, and her laptop bag bulged with hardware that could make the NSA break into a sweat.
Jack gave her the photo without a word.
She took it, blinked once. Then again.
"The hell is this?" she murmured. "This can't be—"
"It is."
"That tablet's supposed to be in a secure vault. Museum-grade containment. Digital fencing. Motion sensors. We had it buried."
"Apparently not buried deep enough."
Lena's eyes flicked up to him. "Where'd this come from?"
Jack didn't answer immediately. He lit a cigarette, drawing the silence out like a slow breath.
"A woman gave it to me," he said at last.
Her eyebrow arched. "A woman?"
"Her name's Rhea Alvand. That's what she said, anyway."
"Not ringing any bells in the system," Lena muttered. "But I've seen her face. Six months ago. Black-market auction in Vienna. Top-tier buyers only — and she didn't bid. She watched. Then disappeared."
"She wants me to find the relic."
"Of course she does," Lena said. "And let me guess — you want to find her."
He didn't answer.
Lena's voice dropped. "Jack. Does she look like her?"
He looked away.
"Jack," she repeated. Sharper this time.
"She's not Elara," he said, jaw tight. "But she's close enough to make me forget that for half a second."
Lena hissed out a breath. "That's dangerous."
"So is this symbol," he said, tapping the raven etched into the photo.
Lena's eyes narrowed. "You really think the Raven Circle is back?"
"They never left. We just stopped looking."
Back at the safehouse — a converted warehouse Jack called home in paperwork only — the table in the center of the room was cluttered with folders, old evidence bags, printed photos, and a corkboard full of unanswered questions.
He added the new photo. Then tacked a fresh sheet of paper next to it.
"Rhea Alvand – connection unknown."
"Elara Vane – presumed dead, 2 years ago."
"Raven Circle – symbol confirmed. Artifact defaced post-theft."
He stared at the center of the web.Then reached into an old file box beneath the desk and pulled out a police report that still stank of corruption and cover-up.
It was the last file written before Elara disappeared.And the last one that ever mentioned Kael Dray.
Two years ago, Jack had trusted Kael with everything. His partner, his best friend, the only person who believed him when the case started falling apart. Until suddenly, Kael didn't. Until the internal reports shifted. Until Jack's testimony "changed" without his consent.
Until Elara was dead, and the case was closed — faster than any murder investigation should've been.
He called Kael that night. Let it ring.
Once.Twice.
The voice that answered was groggy but alert. "Jack?"
Jack didn't waste time. "We need to talk."
There was a pause.
"I thought we agreed—"
"I didn't agree. You made a choice. And now I know why."
"What's this about?"
"A relic," Jack said. "A familiar one."
Long silence. Then Kael's voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
"…You're not supposed to have that photo."
Jack's stomach went cold. "So it's real."
"I don't talk over the phone anymore, Jack."
"Then pick a place. I'll be there."
Kael hesitated. Then: "You remember the old rooftop, on Fifth?"
Jack nodded, though Kael couldn't see it. That rooftop was where they used to smoke cigars after a win. Where they talked about things that didn't make it into reports. Where Jack had told Kael that Elara meant more to him than the badge ever could.
"I'll be there in an hour," Jack said.
And he hung up.
The wind had picked up by the time Jack stepped back outside.The city lights flickered against the damp streets like broken dreams trying to stay alive.
The photo of Rhea Alvand burned in his pocket.Not because of what she gave him — but because of what she resembled.
She wasn't Elara.
But someone wanted him to believe she was.
And the deeper question still loomed:If the Raven Circle was resurfacing, that meant one of two things.
Either Elara Vane was alive…Or someone was using her ghost as bait.