Silvercoast King

Night draped Silvercoast like a heavy velvet curtain. Beyond the high-rise district, away from the neon chaos of nightclubs and the glow of polished corporate towers, a more subdued hum occupied the streets. Here, the city's roar became a quiet buzz, punctuated by the distant wail of a siren or the grinding of late-night construction.

Jared, Ava, and Marcus lingered in the shadows of a narrow alley, the crumbling walls around them tagged with half-faded graffiti. Their makeshift hideout for the evening was a rented van parked discreetly under a defunct streetlight. From the outside, it appeared abandoned—a battered panel van with chipped paint and a broken taillight. On the inside, however, they had set up a small command station.

Ava finished checking her camera pen for the third time, ensuring the battery was at full capacity. Marcus hovered over his laptop, balancing it on a rickety wooden crate. Meanwhile, Jared stood near the van's rear doors, stretching his still-aching leg. Though the bullet graze had scabbed over, it remained an ever-present reminder of how dangerous their mission had become.

"Time to confirm the plan," Marcus said, adjusting his glasses. In the faint glow of a clip-on LED, his face appeared drawn but resolute. "We get in, plant the bug on Quentin Glass's private network, clone his data, and get out clean. No flashy heroics."

Ava nodded, exchanging a determined look with Jared. "We don't want the Syndicate alerted. If we're lucky, Glass will never know we accessed his systems. We'll slip in and out before midnight, find whatever incriminating files he's storing, and vanish."

Jared shifted his weight off the injured leg. "And if things go sideways?"

Ava's gaze flicked to him. "We run. We can't afford a shootout. Even if we're half as good as the Syndicate at infiltration, we're still outgunned."

Marcus thumped the side of the laptop. "All right. Let's go over the building layout once more."

He spun the screen toward them, revealing a digital blueprint of Glass Tower, a sleek, modern high-rise bearing the name of the real estate mogul. The structure rose thirty stories, with a skybridge connecting it to an adjoining building. In the plan, a private elevator led to Glass's executive suite on the top floor—where his personal office likely housed the files they needed.

"Security is moderate," Marcus explained, pointing at various highlights. "There's a rotating guard in the lobby, plus cameras in the main hallways. After hours, only a skeleton crew remains. But Glass's private office suite is rumored to have enhanced security—motion detectors, maybe a hidden camera or two. We'll have to be cautious."

Ava tapped the blueprint near the building's eastern flank. "There's a service elevator for maintenance teams, one that goes all the way to the top floors. If we can slip in through the loading dock, we might avoid the main lobby entirely."

Jared folded his arms. "All right, I'll handle the lookout. My leg's slowing me down, so I won't be as quick inside. Ava, you'll be on infiltration with Marcus. Once you're in, you feed me updates, and I'll warn you if I see any outside threat."

Ava pursed her lips, scanning Jared's expression. She knew his pride suffered each time he had to let others take the risk, but they had to be realistic. "Deal," she said gently.

Marcus closed the laptop and tucked it into a padded backpack. "Let's gear up, then. If all goes well, we'll be out in under an hour."

The Approach

Using the cover of darkness, they drove the van toward Glass Tower. The building stood at the edge of the corporate district, its sleek exterior illuminated by discreet ground lights that cast geometric patterns across the glass facade. From a distance, it looked serene, almost beautiful—a silent monolith representing power and wealth.

Jared maneuvered the van into a maintenance alley behind the tower, switching off the headlights as they drew closer. They parked near a cluster of dumpsters and utility units, where flickering lights provided minimal visibility. Dressed in dark, nondescript clothing, they stepped out into the cool night air.

The loading dock was a short walk away, partially shielded by an overhang. No guard was immediately visible, but a security camera perched on the corner. Ava motioned for them to wait, pulling out a small device from Marcus's bag—a camera disruptor built to create brief interference in surveillance feeds.

She clicked it on, and a faint buzz emanated from the device. Through a synergy of radio frequency and electromagnetic pulses, it would scramble the camera's signal for a few precious seconds. Enough, they hoped, to slip inside unseen.

"Now," Ava whispered, and the trio dashed across the open space. Jared's leg protested, but adrenaline fueled his strides. They reached the heavy metal door to the loading dock, which was locked.

Marcus fished out his lockpick kit, leaning in to work on the deadbolt. Under other circumstances, the scraping of metal picks in the lock might have seemed deafening, but the city's hum swallowed their noise. Within half a minute, the lock clicked, and he gently pushed the door open.

Inside, the loading bay smelled of cardboard, industrial cleaners, and old coffee. Dim overhead lights revealed a cluster of pallet jacks, taped boxes, and crates of office supplies. A single security camera blinked from the far corner, but the disruptor gadget would keep it off-line for a few more seconds.

"We're good," Marcus said tersely. "Let's move."

They slipped along a corridor leading to the service elevator, the floor beneath them transitioning from concrete to polished linoleum. Nighttime hush cloaked the building, aside from a distant hum of ventilation. At each intersection, Ava paused to check for cameras or patrolling guards, while Marcus consulted a mini-map on his phone. Jared's heart pounded, half expecting an alarm to blare at any moment.

Into the Upper Floors

At last, they reached the service elevator. The steel doors stood silently, waiting. Marcus tapped the call button, glancing at Ava. "If there's a guard on the other side, we'll have no cover," he murmured.

She gave a tight nod. "We'll risk it."

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing an empty interior. Relief swept over them, though they stayed alert. The three stepped inside, and Marcus used a borrowed keycard—snagged from a city records office with ties to Glass's properties—to activate restricted floor access. A faint beep indicated success, and the elevator began its ascent.

As they rode up, Jared moved to the elevator's corner, pressing a subtle earbud into place. This was his link to them once he split off. While Ava and Marcus continued upward, he would exit a floor early and find a vantage point near the executive suite.

The digital display ticked off floors: 10, 11, 12… At floor 15, Jared pressed the control to stop.

"This is me," he said, forcing a wry smile. "Stay safe up there. If anything goes wrong, call."

Ava's eyes flicked with concern, but she only nodded. "Watch your back."

Marcus gave a quick salute. The doors slid open, letting Jared step into a dimly lit hallway. He limped out, wincing slightly, then turned back to watch the elevator ascend again, carrying Ava and Marcus toward the top floors—and the heart of Quentin Glass's domain.

A Personal Haven of Power

The elevator arrived at floor 30 with a muffled ding, opening onto a carpeted corridor. Thick glass windows along one side offered a panoramic view of the city, its lights twinkling in the distance. Everything from the plush carpeting to the tasteful abstract art on the walls screamed money and ambition.

Ava led the way, creeping past a reception desk that stood unoccupied at this hour. A polished brass sign read: Quentin Glass – Executive Offices in elegant script. Marcus keyed instructions into his phone, quietly disabling a motion sensor he'd identified in the building's schematic.

They navigated a corner, arriving at heavy double doors. A sleek nameplate read simply: Q. Glass. Ava tested the handle—locked. She produced a second, more advanced lockpick kit. The mechanism here was electronic, but a manual override existed.

Sweat beaded on her brow as she worked, each second feeling like a lifetime. She wasn't quite as adept at lockpicking as Marcus, but he was busy scanning for additional security nodes. After tense moments, she heard a soft click, and the door eased open.

The interior of Quentin Glass's office was as opulent as it was imposing. High ceilings, a plush carpet, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Silvercoast from a dizzying height. A massive desk dominated the center, crafted from dark polished wood that gleamed under recessed lighting. The faint scent of expensive cologne lingered, as if the room itself was an extension of Glass's ego.

"Marcus," Ava whispered, nodding toward a door on the far side. "Could be a private conference room. Let's check it."

He nodded, carefully scanning the space with a small wand-like device designed to detect hidden sensors. Meanwhile, Ava approached the desk, gently easing open drawers. A few contained routine documents—investment proposals, property deeds. She snapped pictures with her phone, just in case.

Marcus called softly, "Ava, over here."

She crossed to find him in the adjacent chamber. Part lounge, part meeting space, it boasted modern couches, a mini-bar, and a glass display case housing corporate awards. A large painting covered the far wall, depicting swirling geometric shapes. It reminded Ava of the swirl emblem they kept encountering, but in an abstract, high-art form.

Marcus pointed to a locked cabinet beneath a sleek TV screen. "Seems interesting."

While he knelt to examine the lock, Ava stepped around the coffee table. Her gaze fell on a small end table where a decorative wooden box stood. Something about it felt out of place, especially with the swirl pattern etched along its edges. She set a hand on the lid, heart drumming. Should she open it?

Before she could decide, Marcus muttered triumphantly, "Got it." The cabinet door popped open, revealing a compact server unit and rows of data backup drives.

Ava's pulse surged. This is it. This must be Glass's personal data cache, the place where he archived all manner of sensitive documents. If they could clone the drives, they might unearth everything: financial ledgers, shipping schedules, even private communications that directly implicated the Syndicate.

Marcus pulled a portable drive from his bag. "Cover me," he whispered. "I'll start copying the data. Might take a few minutes."

She gave a tense nod, stepping back into the main office to stand guard. The hush felt stifling, as if the shadows themselves conspired to trap them.

Divergent Paths

Meanwhile, on floor 15, Jared had settled into a small conference room near the elevator shaft. Through a narrow window, he could see part of the cityscape below. But his primary focus lay on the security camera feeds he'd accessed via a side terminal.

They'd discovered earlier that certain floors had open terminals for employees to check building cameras and maintenance logs. Marcus had created a code that let Jared tap in, albeit with limited privileges. If any guard started patrolling the top floor, Jared would see it on these console readouts, hopefully in time to warn Ava and Marcus.

He shifted uncomfortably in the office chair, massaging his thigh. The old bullet wound ached in the stale air. A beep from the console drew his attention. A camera feed from the 29th floor corridor flickered, showing a uniformed guard heading upstairs. Jared's pulse spiked.

"He's coming," Jared murmured into his earpiece. "A guard's heading your way, probably just a routine patrol, but you need to hurry."

Marcus's voice crackled softly in his ear. "Copy that. I'm about 40 percent done copying these drives. Another minute or two."

Ava's hushed tone followed. "We'll hold off if he comes in. Keep us updated, Jared."

Watching the guard's methodical progress, Jared felt tension coil in his gut. He stared at the feed, willing the man to turn around, to forget some imaginary phone call. Instead, the guard marched on.

When the guard reached the 30th floor landing, Jared's heart hammered. "He's there," he muttered. "Ava, get out if you need to."

Power on Display

In Quentin Glass's private suite, the data transfer crawled forward. Ava hovered by the door, ear pressed against the polished wood. Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Her mind raced. We can't fight him, not here.

Marcus hissed at the progress bar: 80 percent… 85… 90. Come on, come on…

Suddenly, the doorknob rattled. A shadow flickered against the frosted glass panel. The guard was checking the handle. Fear surged through Ava. If he opened the door, they'd be cornered.

Her thoughts whirled. We can't hide forever. Even if the data transfer finishes, how do we escape? She cast a frantic glance at Marcus, who typed furiously, forcing the system to accept the last wave of file transfers.

The knob turned. Locked from inside, the door held, but it wouldn't last. The guard grunted, presumably calling in a locked door that shouldn't be locked at this hour. Ava heard muffled radio chatter. We're about to be made.

Then, as if responding to her silent plea, something stirred inside her jacket pocket. The Shades of Authority—she'd almost forgotten Jared had slipped them to her earlier, in case they parted ways for too long. Her breath caught.

Would the artifact help? She recalled how Jared had used it to perceive enemy moves before they occurred, how it let him dodge bullets and sense auras. Could it give her the edge to orchestrate a quick escape?

With trembling hands, she slipped on the tinted lenses. At first, the office appeared only slightly dimmer. But a moment later, faint lines of color danced near the door—an aura, swirling with anxious orange hues. The guard was right there, his hostility spiking. Ava could sense his posture, the tension in his muscles, almost as if he were telegraphing each movement.

She glanced at Marcus, who gave her a startled look. She murmured, "Stay calm. I might see an opening."

The guard jiggled the handle harder, cursing. Another wave of radio chatter came through the door. Ava's newly heightened perception revealed the guard's frustration spiking, a darker red slithering through the orange in his aura. He was seconds away from calling a backup or forcing the lock.

Marcus yanked out the drive. "We're at 100 percent," he whispered. "Let's go!"

In a blur of action, Ava's vision guided her. She grabbed the decorative wooden box she'd noticed earlier—heavier than it looked—and hurled it at the far window. Glass shattered, setting off a shrill alarm. The guard outside the door froze, perhaps startled by the sudden crash.

Using the artifact's aura-reading, Ava sensed the guard turning, uncertain whether to investigate the window breach or continue opening the door. She seized that moment, motioning for Marcus to follow. They bolted through the side conference room, the same route they'd come. The lock-pick partially jammed the door behind them, buying precious seconds.

In the corridor, alarm lights blinked, but no immediate sign of other guards. Ava's heart thundered. She peeled off the Shades—her head already pounding from the sensory overload—but the adrenaline carried her onward. Marcus clutched the cloned drives, face pale.

"We need to reach the service elevator," she gasped, surging toward the corner.

Racing the Clock

Jared listened to the alarm blaring through the feed. On his console screen, cameras showed flickers of red lights in the top-floor hallway. He recognized Ava and Marcus sprinting around a corner, nearly colliding with a second guard. The vantage point only half-captured the action, but he saw them dodge aside, using the corridor's shape to shield themselves.

"Left hallway," he muttered into his mic. "Stairs might be faster—service elevator's near that second guard."

Ava's breathless voice answered. "Copy!"

Jared watched as, on-screen, they ducked into a stairwell door. The second guard rushed after them, radio in hand. Dammit, that's close.

He panned the feed to the ground floor. The lobby camera revealed a bored security attendant suddenly snapping to attention. Another beep indicated that building-wide alarms had triggered. Jared clenched his fists. "Marcus, the place is fully alerted. They're sending more guards."

A crackle of static. Then Marcus came through: "We're on the 28th floor, heading down the stairwell. My phone says we can exit on 15—where you are, right?"

Jared shoved away from the console. "I'll meet you at the stairwell door. Hurry."

He limped through the corridor, ignoring his own pain. The echoes of distant alarms spurred him on. At the end of the hall, the door to the stairwell loomed. Jared pressed his ear against it, hearing frantic footsteps.

Moments later, the door burst open. Ava stumbled through, nearly colliding with Jared. Marcus followed, panting, hair disheveled. A second after that, the door slammed shut. From the other side, they heard boots pounding down the stairs.

"No time to lose," Ava managed between gulps of air. "Let's go."

They hurried down the corridor, passing offices and cubicles, all empty at this hour. Jared guided them to the small conference room where he'd tapped the security feed. By the time they reached it, the building alarm had advanced to a new phase: half the corridor lights flashed red, and the droning siren hammered their ears.

Marcus checked the console one last time, hoping for a clean path to the service elevator. But the feed now showed multiple guards converging on that route. "No good," he said. "We'll have to exit via the windows or find another staircase."

Jared scanned the room. "Windows don't open on this floor. Let's try the north staircase."

Ava cursed under her breath but nodded, pocketing the Shades of Authority. They sprinted across the office floor, the overhead lights strobing in warning. Doors to smaller rooms flew by in a blur. They found the north staircase behind a nondescript door, only to discover a swirling haze of security staff gathering below.

"Up or down?" Marcus hissed, scanning for a path.

Jared ground his teeth. "Down. We've got no choice."

"Then we fight through them," Ava muttered, determination lighting her eyes.

A Final Gambit

As they pushed through the door, three armed guards stood at the bottom landing. Their eyes widened at the sight of intruders. One guard shouted, "Stop!" raising a taser-like device. Another had a baton, and the third brandished a sidearm.

Ava, heart pounding, clutched the Shades in her pocket. The recollection of that aura-vision flashed in her mind. She was no martial artist, but the artifact gave a precious edge—knowing an enemy's move before they made it.

Without hesitation, she pulled the Shades from her pocket, slipping them on. Immediately, the world darkened, but the guards' auras flared bright with alarm. She saw the baton-wielder's muscles tense for a forward charge. The gunman's finger twitched near the trigger. The third guard with the taser hesitated, uncertain.

"Cover me!" she yelled at Jared and Marcus.

They spread out on the stair landing, forcing the guards to divide their focus. The baton guard lunged up the steps, but Ava tracked his aura shift, sidestepping at the last moment. His baton whiffed past her. She brought her knee up, connecting with his side. He stumbled, startled by her uncharacteristic reflexes.

Marcus ducked behind a railing, while Jared—still hobbling—shifted his weight, feinting a move that drew the taser guard's attention. The guard fired the taser, the prongs snapping through the air. Jared twisted, the prongs grazing his jacket but missing skin.

Ava's attention snapped to the gunman, whose aura surged red. He raised his weapon, eyes locked on Jared. No! She saw his intention like a telegraph, his aura flaring as he squeezed the trigger. In the split second before the shot, she lunged forward, shoving Jared sideways. The bullet cracked against the stairwell wall, sending dust and chipped paint flying.

Jared slammed into the banister, grunting in pain, but alive. The baton guard recovered, swinging upward at Ava. She sensed the strike in a swirl of aggression and raised her forearm to block, ignoring the stinging impact. Her elbow lashed out, catching the guard's chin. He staggered backward, losing his grip on the baton, which clattered down the steps.

Marcus, seeing a narrow opening, lunged for the taser guard, tangling him in a desperate grapple. The guard tripped, tumbling onto the landing. The taser clattered away, sparking harmlessly.

Now the gunman zeroed in on Ava, aura raging with lethal intent. She read his shift—he aimed center mass. With the artifact's guidance, she dove low, rolling across the rough stair floor. The gun roared, the muzzle flash lighting the cramped space. The bullet smacked into the wall behind her.

Reeling from the shot, the gunman scrambled to readjust, but Ava sprang to her feet and closed the gap. She slammed into him, knocking the firearm aside. Struggling, he tried to bring the muzzle back around. At close range, the tinted lenses revealed the turmoil of fear and rage swirling in his aura like a tempest.

Reflex trumped skill. Ava jammed her knee into his thigh, sending him buckling. The gun slipped from his fingers. She kicked it away, breathing hard.

Jared pushed off the banister, pain etched on his face. He snatched the gun with trembling hands, flipping the safety to ensure it wouldn't discharge accidentally. "Time to go," he gasped.

Marcus extricated himself from the taser guard, panting. The guards were down, groaning but alive. Alarms still blared overhead.

Ava peeled off the Shades, vision reeling from the intensity of the fight. She forced air into her lungs, the tang of gunpowder and sweat filling her nostrils. "Stairs—down. Now."

They half-limped, half-ran past the stunned guards, descending level after level of concrete steps. Their movements grew frantic—fear of reinforcements fueling every stride. Blood roared in their ears, and the building's alarm klaxons battered their senses.

Breaking Into the Dawn

At last, they emerged into the ground floor corridor, a swirl of red emergency lights spinning overhead. No more guards blocked their way. Perhaps the confrontation upstairs had drawn them all away from the lobby. They dashed through the marbled entrance, ignoring the frantic security desk, and spilled out onto the sidewalk.

Cold night air struck them like a slap, but freedom beckoned. They tore around the building's side alley, where the battered van awaited. Marcus dove behind the wheel, Jared and Ava collapsing in the back seats. The engine coughed, then roared to life.

As they sped away from Glass Tower, adrenaline ebbed, leaving them quivering. Ava cradled the Shades, feeling their weight on her palm. The memory of the swirling auras still danced behind her eyelids, each guard's intent telegraphed in pulses of color. She'd never fought like that—never known she could. The power of the artifact had been on full display, granting her a split-second advantage that saved them from certain disaster.

Marcus navigated side streets, each turn taking them farther from the building. Finally, after weaving through half-empty roads and quiet back alleys, he pulled the van to a stop near a deserted auto shop. Dawn tinted the sky pale pink, the first hints of sunrise promising a new day.

They sat in silence for a beat. Then Jared let out a ragged exhale. "We did it."

Ava nodded, exhaustion coating her every nerve. "We got the data. Marcus, did you manage the copy?"

Marcus held up the portable drive, a triumphant if shaky grin on his face. "Everything's here. We just have to decrypt it properly. But I'd bet my entire rig there's enough evidence to take down Glass—and maybe the rest of the Syndicate."

A faint glimmer of hope sparked in Jared's chest. They had risked their lives, bled in the shadows of corporate halls, but they now held a golden key that might reveal the Syndicate's dirtiest secrets.

Yet as he peered through the van's windshield, watching the sun's first rays reflect off distant skyscrapers, Jared couldn't ignore the pang of unease. They had barely escaped, and the Syndicate would soon realize Quentin Glass's office had been breached. Their enemies would retaliate with heightened ferocity.

He took a shaky breath, clasping Ava's shoulder. She looked as drained as he felt, but a fierce determination burned in her eyes. Marcus set the portable drive on his lap, inhaling as if he'd just broken the surface after a deep dive.

They had come so far, and yet the hardest battles surely lay ahead. More secrets lurked in the city's underbelly. More puppet masters waited to pull strings. But in this moment, on the edge of dawn, they dared to believe they could turn the tide. The artifact's power had been revealed. The evidence was in their hands.

Now, they only had to survive the inevitable storm that would follow. The Syndicate would soon unleash all its wrath, revealing the next layer of the city's darkest truths—a stage where Power on Display was just the beginning of a more complex and perilous fight for control of Silvercoast's fate.