The Deadly Invitation

The rebel safehouse buzzed with the static of paranoia. Rain lashed against barred windows as Eka’s hologram projector flickered to life above the war table, casting a jade-green emblem—a serpentine dragon coiled around a dagger. Felix leaned in, his knuckles whitening around his rifle. “Finally. Someone with the guts to face us.”

Bintang’s voice cut through the hum. “Play it again.”

Eka tapped her tablet, and a distorted voice echoed, metallic and genderless: “The scales tip at midnight. Come to the docks—Warehouse 9. Alone. Or watch the city burn.”

Kiran traced the hologram’s edges. “No identifiers, no threats. Just… theater.”

“Theater with a body count,” David muttered, adjusting his glasses. “The Jade Dragon’s a ghost. No records, no sightings. Just rumors of a strategist who gutted the Syndicate’s Manila branch.”

Thalia hovered near the doorway, her silver rings catching the light. “They reached out to us. That’s leverage.”