Chapter 1: Silent Blade

January 5, 2026

Undisclosed Location | 15 Years Ago

The night stretched endlessly, cold and unfeeling, much like the woman who moved through its embrace.

Freya Lenore crouched atop a steel beam, invisible against the skeletal framework of an unfinished balcony. Below her, the estate sprawled in perfect symmetry—tall perimeter walls lined with razor wire, floodlights sweeping methodically, and guards moving in strict formations. Their movements were sharp, disciplined. Not rent-a-cops. Professionals. The kind who had killed before. The kind who would kill again without hesitation.

But none of them saw the death that had already slipped inside.

The weight of her suppressed rifle was familiar in her hands, but tonight wasn't about a simple kill shot. This wasn't a contract to be carried out at a distance, another body to disappear into the night.

Tonight required precision. Coordination. A message.

Her earpiece crackled softly.

"Silent Blade, all teams in position. Awaiting orders."

Luka's voice—calm, steady, waiting.

Freya's cold blue eyes never left the office window on the third floor. Inside sat Senator Wilhelm Krause, oblivious to the ghosts closing in around him. He swirled a glass of whiskey in one hand, his other resting near a half-signed document on his desk. He looked comfortable. Relaxed. Untouchable.

But men like him always thought they were untouchable.

Freya's voice was barely a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a death sentence.

"Phase One. Go."

A heartbeat of silence.

Then, chaos.

The estate's floodlights flickered, then cut to black.

Somewhere in the shadows, a controlled EMP had fried the security feeds and disrupted communications. Not enough to raise immediate alarm, but enough to keep the guards from coordinating.

A suppressed shot whined through the air. A guard near the east entrance staggered, collapsing before he could draw breath to shout. Another went down a second later.

The team moved with surgical precision—no wasted movements, no unnecessary noise. The guards never had the chance to be afraid.

Freya remained on overwatch, her gaze locked onto the office.

Inside, Senator Krause stiffened. He set his glass down, eyes narrowing at the sudden darkness. His fingers twitched toward the emergency button beneath his desk.

Freya exhaled.

"Phase Two."

The building's side entrance burst open. Luka and Cass slipped inside, their footsteps swallowed by the thick marble halls. Freya watched as their silenced weapons whispered death, eliminating the last line of resistance.

She moved.

Slinging her rifle behind her, she dropped from the steel beam, landing in a crouch. Her boots barely made a sound against the polished stone. Her body knew the rhythm of this dance—stealth woven into muscle memory, death written into every step.

By the time she reached the senator's office, the door had already been forced open.

Krause sat rigid behind his mahogany desk. Not afraid—no, fear took time. He was calculating, weighing his options, considering if he could buy his way out of this.

Luka and Cass flanked the room, weapons trained. Neither moved.

This was Freya's kill.

Krause exhaled sharply, his gaze sweeping over them. "You're professionals. Mercenaries. Whatever you're being paid, I'll double it."

Freya tilted her head slightly. His voice barely wavered. Impressive.

But money wasn't the currency tonight.

She took a slow step forward. "No amount of money will buy you out of this, Senator."

His lips parted as if to argue, but she was already moving.

Her dagger flashed in the dim light—a clean, precise thrust between the ribs. A silent blade for a man who had traded lives like currency.

His body jerked. A choked, wet gasp escaped him. His hands clawed at hers, grasping weakly, as if he could take something from her even in death. His eyes locked onto hers, wide with the disbelief of a man who had never been told "no."

Freya didn't blink.

She twisted the blade.

His body convulsed once. Then nothing.

The senator collapsed onto his desk, his lifeless eyes frozen in shock. Blood seeped into the scattered documents—contracts, agreements, the remnants of his empire now stained and meaningless.

Luka let out a low whistle. "Clean."

Freya wiped the blade against her sleeve before sheathing it. Her eyes flicked over the desk, catching a glimpse of a file beneath the senator's limp fingers.

TITAN VALE CORPORATION – PRELIMINARY NEGOTIATIONS

Her brows furrowed slightly. That name meant nothing to her.

Not yet.

April 12, 2041

Titan Vale Corporation Headquarters | 15 Years Later

Freya Lenore stood in an opulent, glass-walled office, arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes reflecting something dangerously close to regret.

Not regret for the past. Not for the men she had killed or the blood she had spilled.

No.

She regretted this.

Because across from her, in a chair worth more than most people's yearly salaries, sat Nevaris Vale—youngest self-made trillionaire in history, business prodigy, walking hurricane of chaos.

And he was playing a goddamn video game.

Freya stared, unblinking.

Nevaris slouched in his chair, golden eyes glued to the screen, fingers tapping rapidly against the controller. His black hair was a tousled mess, his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest he either didn't care or wanted to look like he didn't care. His sleeves were rolled up lazily, showing the kind of lean, effortless strength that came from genetics rather than effort.

"Freya, check this out!" he grinned, not even looking at her. "Perfect parry into a counter-kill. That was sick, right?"

Freya inhaled sharply. This man is the most feared businessman in the world?

Her fingers twitched toward the bridge of her nose, but she restrained herself. Barely. "You were supposed to be in a board meeting an hour ago."

Nevaris blinked. Looked at her. Then at the clock.

"Oh." He shrugged. "I mean, technically, I'm still working. Games sharpen reaction time."

Freya had exactly one second of patience left.

She stepped forward, snatched the controller from his hands, and turned off the screen.

Nevaris gasped like she had just committed an unforgivable crime.

"Freya!"

"Get. Up."

"You're heartless." He sighed dramatically but pushed himself up, stretching like a man being forced into hard labor.

"And you're lazy."

"Not lazy," Nevaris corrected. "Strategically efficient in my efforts."

Freya's eye twitched. "Meeting. Now."

Nevaris grinned. "You know, you're the only person in the world who talks to me like this."

"Because I'm the only person in the world who still has the patience to deal with you."

His smirk widened. "Lucky me."

Freya turned to leave, forcing herself not to think about the fact that fifteen years ago, she had been one of the deadliest assassins in the world.

And now?

She was babysitting a trillionaire who threw tantrums over video games.

Somehow, she had a feeling this job would be far more dangerous.