The next morning arrived not with a sense of renewal, but with the heavy, lingering weight of the night before.
Jayden hadn't slept. He had spent the remaining hours of the night staring at his ceiling, his mind running through tactical variables and the moral threshold he had permanently crossed. But the time for reflection was over. He had a job to finish.
Fred had come through with the intel on Silas just before dawn. The EVA, anticipating an imminent assassination attempt from either the Hunter or the Black Cobra Syndicate, had initiated a shell game. They were broadcasting fake coordinates to empty safehouses across the continent to draw out attackers. Meanwhile, Silas's actual location wasn't a location at all—it was mobile. He was being constantly ferried across the continent in a rotating convoy of armored transports.
