Rain slammed against the transport windows as it wound through Manchester's streets. November in England, all gray skies and misery, the kind of weather that made any sane person want to crawl back into bed. Too bad she had a meeting with the President of the United Earth Republic.

Karen's interface pinged. Updates from Alpha Centauri were rarer than honest politicians.

[Charter Activated: Alpha Centauri Survey Expedition]

Mission Checkpoints:

Depart Sol System with a qualified crew - [Complete]

Arrive in Alpha Centauri - [Complete]

Map all planetary bodies and major asteroid fields - [64/64 Mapped]

Conduct surface surveys on habitable zone planet - [1/2 Mapped]

Return with verifiable data - [Pending] Reward: See Mission Compensation Table.

A genuine smile cracked her face. Her kids were alive, still pushing forward, still proving every asshole who'd doubted them wrong. All seven crew members had hit level 67. They were becoming a real force out there.

Good. She'd need that fire for what was coming next.

The car pulled up to the Manchester Town Hall. The Victorian monstrosity loomed ahead, all pompous architecture designed to make visitors feel like peasants begging for scraps. Karen had been in too many boardrooms to be impressed by dead architects and their ego trips.

Inside, polished marble and columns everywhere. Christ, these places were all the same. Some flunky in an expensive suit led her through a maze of corridors to a door marked with the UER seal like anyone could forget which Republic they were visiting.

President Anderson had summoned her. That alone told her everything she needed to know about how he felt about her recent activities.

The interior was all polished marble and imposing columns, designed to make visitors feel small. Karen had been in too many boardrooms and government buildings to be intimidated by architecture. She was escorted through a maze of corridors to a heavy wooden door marked with the UER seal.

Inside, President James Anderson stood with his back to her, looking out at the rain-soaked city. He was a tall man, graying at the temples, carrying the weight of a fractured world on his shoulders. When he turned, his expression was carefully neutral.

"Karen. Thank you for coming."

"Did I have a choice?" She dropped into the chair across from his desk without waiting for permission. Power games were for people with time to waste.

Anderson moved to his seat, his movements deliberate. "There's always a choice. That's what I wanted to discuss with you."

"If this is about the Charter—"

"This is about you conducting unsanctioned military operations against facilities connected to UER member states." His voice carried presidential weight, all official gravity and barely contained frustration. "You raided a Romanian electronics facility. My intelligence reports suggest you're planning operations in St. Petersburg."

Karen's expression didn't change. "I'm not sure what you're referring to. The IFC has no operations in Romania."

Anderson studied her for a long moment, then sighed. The sound came from somewhere deep, like a man who'd grown sick of everyone lying to his face. "Of course not."

Leaning forward, Anderson dropped some of the presidential mask. "Karen, you have no idea what's happening behind the scenes. I'm holding this republic together with half my council bought by oligarchs, the other half plotting their own coups. Every move ripples across continents."

"My people were attacked." Karen's voice could cut steel. "The Genesis Platform was sabotaged. I'm defending my assets."

"And what happens when your investigation destabilizes the wrong networks? Barkov's influence isn't just Council politics. It's tied to the resource chains rebuilding Africa. Push him wrong, and you could plunge half a continent back into the dark ages."

"I don't give a shit about your political house of cards." There was ice in her voice. "I care about who tried to kill my crew and why."

"And if removing the wrong piece triggers a cascade? If the wrong oligarchs decide to pull support from the UER entirely?" Anderson's voice cracked slightly, strain bleeding through his presidential composure.

"Then you deal with the fallout." Karen studied his face, reading exhaustion in every line. "I don't need to understand your larger puzzle, Anderson. I need to find who sabotaged the Triumph and put a stop to this. Once I have proof, I'm taking action whether it fits your timeline or not."

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Silence stretched between them, as thunder lit the night sky.

Anderson was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer. "How are they? The Triumph crew?"

"I know as much as you do."

"No." His eyes sharpened, politician mask slipping. "My mission updates stopped when they landed on the first planet. I won't get more until we establish a foothold."

Karen studied him, weighing her words. "They're alive."

"That's all you're giving me?"

"That's all you need to know."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, Anderson stood and walked back to the window.

"The Unity Tour, Karen. When they return, I need them to do the tour. Public appearances, speeches, showing the world that humanity is united and moving forward."

"Absolutely not." Karen's response was immediate. "You want to parade them around like trophies while the people who tried to murder them are still out there?"

"I want to use their success to build something bigger than corporate feuds and shadow wars." Anderson's reflection looked older than his years, worn down by compromise and political reality.

"And I want Barkov gone."

Anderson turned back, and for a heartbeat, the presidential mask cracked completely. "My hands are tied, Karen. The Council, the consolidation... I can't just remove a director without triggering a cascade that destroys everything I've built."

Karen read the subtext in his words, the things he couldn't say out loud. "But you need him gone."

Anderson said nothing, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

"The tour happens," Karen said finally. "After Barkov is no longer a problem."

"I cannot officially sanction..."

"You don't need to." Karen moved toward the door. "But you need to make sure no one interferes with my investigation."

Her teams were already in motion, a quiet promise of the chaos she was willing to unleash. St. Petersburg was just the beginning.

The streets of St. Petersburg stretched out like a frozen chessboard, and Matteo Rossi was determined not to be a pawn.

Crouched in the passenger seat of a parked van half a block from the target, he listened to Sabine's calm voice directing the operation through his earpiece. Through the falling snow, the little coffee shop looked innocent enough. Warm light spilled from its windows, the kind of place locals would duck into to escape the weather.

But their briefing said otherwise. This was where members of the Velvet Chain were supposed to meet, where the people who'd tried to kill his brother might be planning their next move.

"Echo-1, maintain overwatch position. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary."

"Copy, Control." Matteo's voice was steady, but his heart hammered against his ribs. He'd asked for this, demanded it even. A chance to do something that mattered, something more than just another portal run. A chance to help his brother. Karen had seen the fire in his eyes and agreed. Now he had to make sure he didn't screw it up.

Through his scope, Samira positioned herself at the corner newsstand, casual as any university student scrolling through her phone. Evan had taken up position across the street, pretending to tinker with his motorcycle. Good coverage, multiple angles, clean extraction routes if everything went to shit.

Movement. Someone was coming out of the coffee shop's front entrance.

A young woman in a red dress that stood out against the gray street like a flare. She moved with confidence, heels clicking against wet pavement. Not the paranoid, hyperaware stride of a trained operative. Just a girl who'd finished her coffee and was heading back into the night.

"Control, I've got movement. Someone's coming out of the coffee shop."

"Copy. Observe and report. Do not compromise position."

The woman turned down the street, then stopped. Pulled out her phone. Started looking around like she was lost or waiting for someone to pick her up.

"She's stopped," Matteo reported. "Looks like she's waiting for pickup or trying to get directions."

"Maintain observation."

But from the van, his angle was garbage. Too much distance, too many parked cars blocking his view. He needed a better position to see what she was doing, who she might be calling. This could be important.

"Control, I'm going to reposition for better visual. Moving to street level."

"Negative, Echo-1. Maintain current position."

Matteo hesitated. The woman was clearly doing something, checking her phone repeatedly, looking around in a way that seemed purposeful. This could be the break they needed.

"I can get closer without compromising. Just need a better angle."

A pause. Then Sabine's voice, reluctant. "Fine. But stay mobile and keep your distance. First sign of trouble, you extract."

"Copy that."

Matteo slipped out of the van, pulling his jacket tighter against the cold. Just another university student heading home on a shitty November night. The woman was still there, phone pressed to her ear now, speaking rapid Russian.

He positioned himself behind a parked car about twenty meters away. Close enough to observe, far enough to maintain cover. Through his earpiece, he could hear Samira and Evan adjusting their positions to keep him in sight.

The woman finished her call and started walking again. Not toward the main street, but down a narrower side alley.

Perfect. He could follow at a safe distance, maybe catch a glimpse of where she was going or who she was meeting. This was exactly the kind of intelligence they needed.

"Echo-1 to Control, target's moving into the side street. I'm going to shadow her."

"Echo-1, negative. Return to—"

But Matteo was already moving, staying close to the building line, using parked cars and doorways for cover. His training kicked in, all those hours practicing surveillance techniques, staying invisible while maintaining visual contact.

The woman stopped again, this time under a streetlight. As he got closer, something felt off. The alley, the streetlight, her posture. It felt staged, like a scene from a spy movie.

His training whispered warnings, but his feet kept moving.

She was... Jesus. Long dark eyelashes framed eyes like black coffee, and her red dress hugged her in ways that made every tactical thought in his head evaporate. Before the alarm bells could scream loud enough to matter, she'd turned and walked straight up to him.

Her smile was devastating as she grabbed his arm with a grip that was surprisingly firm.

"Come," she said in accented English, her voice low and musical. "Walk with me."

Every instinct screamed at him to break contact, to signal Sabine, to do literally anything other than let this stranger lead him away from his position. But her fingers were warm around his arm, and when she looked up at him through those impossible eyelashes, his brain stopped working completely.

Snow fell between them as they moved down the empty street, her heels echoing off wet concrete. She was close enough that he could smell her perfume, something floral that made his head spin.

Then she smiled, warm, genuine, devastating, and asked the question that made his blood freeze as he felt the muzzle of a pistol press against his waist. "You are Luca's brother, aren't you?"

The muzzle pressed harder against his ribs.

Fuck.

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