The night had brought a merciless silence to the street where Logan had fallen. Red and blue lights illuminated his motionless body, like a stage light on a fallen gladiator. The first ambulance crew was gently loading him onto a stretcher when Sierra and Harvenn arrived simultaneously.
Sierra burst out of the car, shock and guilt on her face. "No... Logan..." she whispered, her voice trembling. She tried to reach him, but a paramedic gently held her back.
Harvenn stood a step behind, observing the scene. Her face was as hard and expressionless as marble, but a storm raged in her eyes. One hand was in her jacket pocket, gripping her phone tightly. She called Shade, her voice low and metallic.
"Shade. They attacked Logan. He's conscious but completely paralyzed. They're taking him away." She added without waiting for a reply: "This is a declaration of war."
The police at the scene were cordoning off the area and collecting evidence. But Harvenn's eyes caught on a small, broken piece of a glass bottle on the pavement. It contained a small amount of clear liquid. Part of the spray device. From Him.
Shade was there a few minutes later. The collar of his trench coat was open, his hair disheveled. He had left his car as it was and run over. Just as the ambulance's rear doors were closing, he saw Logan on the stretcher.
Logan's eyes were open. They held pure, frozen terror. He saw Shade arrive, a glimmer, a cry for help flashing in his eyes for a moment. But he could do nothing. He could only look.
Shade froze for a moment. He reached into his pocket for his pipe, but his hand came back empty. He said nothing. He just looked into Logan's eyes and gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. As if to say, "I understand. I'm here."
As the ambulance drove away with its sirens wailing, Shade turned his back. His face, in the pale light of the streetlamp, had hardened like a statue.
---
The hospital's sterile, white corridors had taken on an eerie silence in the late hours. In the waiting area outside the intensive care unit, there were three silhouettes: Shade, Harvenn, and Sierra.
Shade was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the door to Logan's room. He wasn't moving, barely seemed to be breathing. His pipe was in his pocket, but he didn't even deign to take it out. Every second was a betrayal to him.
Harvenn sat on a plastic chair. Her posture was still upright, but the dark circles under her eyes and her tight lips betrayed the tension within. Her tablet was off. For the first time, she couldn't find the strength to look at the screens.
Sierra stood, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, wringing her hands. Her face was pale. "While they... while they were breaching my systems, I couldn't do anything," she whispered, her voice echoing in the quiet corridor. "This is my fault."
No answer came from Shade. His gaze remained locked on the door.
Just then, the door opened and the chief physician, his face serious, stepped out. All three straightened up.
"His condition is stable," the doctor began, his voice tired. "We're supporting his breathing with a ventilator. However, the neurotoxin he was exposed to... doesn't resemble anything we know. It's not Thiocurat. It's more complex, targeted. It seems to selectively block the central nervous system. He's conscious, but the connection to his motor neurons is severed."
Shade finally spoke, his voice gravelly and rough. "Treatment?"
The doctor checked something on his tablet. "There is no antidote. Our only chance is to wait for his body to metabolize it. That could take hours... maybe days. Or..." He didn't finish the sentence. "We're continuously monitoring his brain function and neural transmission. More tests will be needed."
"Test," Shade repeated, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
Seeing the expression on their faces, the doctor nodded and went back inside. The door closed again.
Sierra, wiping her eyes, murmured, "Days?"
Harvenn looked at Shade. "Shade..."
Shade finally pushed himself off the wall. He took a step toward Logan's door. He looked through the small window. Logan lay motionless, surrounded by tubes and wires. His eyes were still open.
Shade's fists clenched. Then, without a word, he began to walk away down the corridor. His footsteps echoed on the hospital floor.
---
Shade returned to the office. He opened the door, entered, and slammed it shut behind him. His movements lacked their usual calm flow; they were mechanical and tense. He ignored Sierra and Harvenn, walking straight to his desk.
He leaned over the desk, gripping the wooden surface tightly with his palms. His knuckles were white. His shoulders were tense, his back ramrod straight. He took a deep, silent breath; the air filling his lungs was like the final moment before a volcano erupts.
He said nothing.
Sierra tried to say something, "Shade, he—" but Harvenn raised her hand slightly, stopping her. Both watched in silence.
Shade stood there, head bowed, motionless for perhaps a full minute. The room was filled with the weight of his suppressed rage. Then, slowly, he straightened up.
He let them see the expression on his face. The usual thoughtful, calm mask was gone. Replaced by an icy, sharp focus. His eyes shone like the edge of a blade.
He took out his pipe. Instead of lighting it, he squeezed it between his fingers, as if he might break it. His gaze shifted to the "Active Surveillance" file on his desk.
Then, he finally spoke. His voice was low, with a dangerous calmness, each syllable deliberately emphasized.
"So be it. Have it your way."
Just two sentences. But they signaled the end of years of patience, of respect for all the rules.
He looked at Harvenn. "I want everything on Karlac. Everything!"
He left no room for explanation, no room for debate. This was no longer a strategy meeting. It was a war council.
He moved away from his desk, stepping in front of the window. With his back to them, looking out at the city lights, he continued speaking, his voice almost a whisper, yet reaching every corner of the room.
"They've invited me to play their game." His head tilted slightly. "So be it. But not by their rules."
"Shade..." Harvenn began, but Shade ignored her.
"They hide in the shadows," he murmured, his breath fogging the windowpane. "But they've forgotten one thing."
He finally turned around. His face held a ruthless clarity that no one who knew him had ever seen.
"I'm the one who creates the shadows."
He left the room. Behind him, he left two women who understood that Shade was not the man they knew, and an overwhelming silence. His rage was not an explosion, but like a glacier: slow, silent, and powerful enough to crush everything in its path.
---
"Sierra," he said, his voice sharp as lightning. "Pull up all of Karlac Holding's financial records, tax returns, international transfers for the last 15 years. Track every penny, every cent."
Sierra looked at him in astonishment. "Shade, that's thousands of documents—"
"EVERYTHING!" Shade's voice rose for the first time, ringing off the walls of the room. He fell silent for a moment, collected his breath, then continued in a lower but more dangerous tone: "Tax evasion, environmental violations, workplace safety scandals, bribery... Whatever law it is. Find me an opening."
Then he took out his phone. He began calling the connections he had built over the years, never before activated. An old accountant at the Tax Authority, an idealistic inspector at the Ministry of Environment, a quiet clerk working at the Occupational Safety Agency...
"I want Alper Karlac," he whispered to each one. "Not the whole holding, him. Personally. Whatever you have."
Harvenn started to say something, but Shade ignored her, dialing the next number.
"Get me the Police Commissioner. Instruct all district units: Karlac company vehicles are to be issued traffic fines. Their drivers are to be subjected to alcohol tests. Their warehouses are to be inspected. At the slightest irregularity, even the lowest-ranking driver is to be detained."
Harvenn tried, "Shade, this... this is madness."
Shade finally looked at her. There was no regret in his eyes, only absolute determination. "They broke the rules, Harvenn. I'm just hunting in the rubble."
---
What happened in the next 48 hours sent a shockwave through the city's financial circles:
· Two of Karlac's top executives were detained from their homes in their pajamas for tax evasion.
· The main warehouse was sealed for environmental pollution.
· 3 of the company's containers at the port were opened on grounds of customs irregularities.
· Karlac's son's luxury sports car was towed for speeding.
Everything was done within the legal framework, but with merciless meticulousness. Shade had turned the entire mechanism of the state into a tool of personal vengeance.
On the evening of the third day, Sierra, her eyes bloodshot, entered Shade's office. "We found it," she whispered. "Regular payments from Karlac's personal account to a company in the Cayman Islands over 10 years. Off the books. The amount... is huge."
Shade finally took out his pipe. He filled it and lit it. The smoke swirled in the room like a cloud of cold satisfaction, not victory.
"Bring me Alper Karlac," he said, his voice now calm, but it was the calm of danger itself. "Just him. To my office."
This was no longer an investigation. This was a hunt. And Shade was on the trail of his prey. As he waited for his orders to be carried out, his mind worked at great speed. He knew he had well and truly stirred the hornet's nest. He was expecting a move. He quietly checked his waist with his hand. He felt the weight of his loaded gun.