The Blood of the Ancients

The wind howled through the skeletal remains of the old watchtower, salt, and dust whipping through the cracks. The sea below churned, dark and restless, as if the island itself could sense the storm brewing.

Felix moved carefully, boots crunching over broken stone. He had barely set foot inside before a sharp metallic click froze him mid-step.

Lia stood in the shadows, pistol leveled at his chest. Her grip was steady, but her eyes flickered with something deeper—anger, regret, hesitation.

“You always were too slow,” she said.

Felix smirked, raising his hands. “Didn’t think you’d be happy to see me.”

She scoffed and, in one smooth motion, tossed a small drive onto the floor between them. It slid to a stop at Felix’s feet.

“Take it.”

He didn’t move. “What’s on it?”

Lia’s voice was low, edged with urgency. “Proof. The Jade Dragon’s not a myth. The Syndicate isn’t just here for blood money. They’re turning this island into a tomb.”