Silvercoast King

A pale morning sun streamed through the grime-caked windows of the deserted barbershop, casting elongated rectangles of light across the cracked linoleum floor. The air hung thick with dust and the lingering smell of damp plaster, but to Jared King, it might as well have been a castle. After days of running, he, Ava, and Marcus finally had something resembling a base of operations—a rickety, abandoned storefront they could fortify and fill with the promise of a better tomorrow.

He sat on a stool near the rear exit, leg propped on a makeshift footrest. The bullet graze that refused to properly heal still pulsed with a dull ache, though the painkillers Ava had scrounged up from a cheap pharmacy helped dull the edges. Rubbing a hand over his jaw, Jared did his best to ignore the fatigue etched in his bones. Sleep had become a luxury since they took on the Syndicate; every hour brought fresh threats or new breakthroughs from the trove of data they had filched from Quentin Glass's office.

In the center of the room, two battered tables pushed together formed a rough workstation. Marcus hunched over his laptop, fingers dancing across the keyboard. A half-eaten microwave burrito sat forgotten beside him, growing cold in the morning light. Across from him, Ava peered at her own screen, periodically tapping notes on a notepad, the scratch of pen on paper interspersed with the tap-tap of keystrokes.

"How does it look?" Jared asked, clearing his throat.

Marcus didn't glance up. "I'm close to breaking another layer of encryption. This segment's labeled 'CCC Logs'—no idea what that stands for, but it might give us fresh dirt on Glass and his associates."

Ava shifted, brushing dark hair from her face. "We're swimming in leads. If half of these files connect to the swirl symbol, we'll have enough evidence to bring a whole parade of criminals and corrupt politicians down."

She paused, tapping her pen against the battered tabletop. "We just need to make sure we're still alive to use it."

Jared offered a wry smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He knew exactly what she meant. The Syndicate wouldn't stand idle while three upstarts dismantled their empire. Every rumor and whisper Jared picked up on the street pointed to increased enforcer activity, unscrupulous mercenaries suddenly appearing in town. If they didn't move soon, the Syndicate would close the net around them.

He checked the corner of the room where a dusty mirror leaned precariously against the wall. Resting on its frame, gleaming faintly, lay the Shades of Authority. Though a relic of uncertain origin, these tinted spectacles had saved their lives more than once—letting them see auras of aggression, anticipate attacks, and glean insights hidden from normal sight. Each time Jared or Ava had used them, they'd walked away from tight scrapes the Syndicate orchestrated. Yet the artifact's power sometimes came with unnerving aftereffects: headaches, sleepless nights haunted by swirling shapes in the corners of their vision.

A soft chime from Marcus's laptop snapped Jared's attention back. The bearded hacker pumped a fist. "Bingo. I'm in."

Ava scooted her chair closer, eyes bright with curiosity. "What's it say?"

Marcus skimmed lines of code, his expression tightening. "Well, 'CCC Logs' stands for 'Central Committee Communications.' It's a set of internal memos, meeting summaries—some are even voice transcripts. Looks like high-level Syndicate brass hold regular gatherings to coordinate. They call themselves the 'Central Committee' or 'Council of Conspiracy,' depending on the doc."

"Council of Conspiracy," Ava repeated drily. "They're not even subtle about it."

Marcus snorted. "Apparently not. Wait… here." He highlighted a block of text that included references to upcoming expansions, shipping routes, and hush-hush deals with foreign suppliers. "They mention a meeting next week, in a place called 'Whitefall Tower.' It's on the outskirts near the old industrial zone."

"That might be one of their major summits," Jared said, leaning in. "If we could get eyes on that meeting, we'd see the Syndicate's higher-ups in person—maybe confirm which city officials or corporate sharks are in bed with them."

Ava chewed her lip, excitement and worry flickering across her face. "Crashing that meeting would be suicide unless we have backup."

"Which leads us back to Detective Gallagher," Jared reminded her. "We've been dancing around contacting him. Maybe now's the time. I doubt we can storm Whitefall Tower alone."

Marcus nodded thoughtfully, though hesitation creased his brow. "True. But how do we know he's not compromised, like half the city's officials?"

Ava exhaled, pushing away from the table. "I've done more digging into his record. Everything I've found suggests he's clean—a bit of a lone wolf. That might mean he lacks support at the precinct, but at least he won't betray us for a quick buck."

Jared glanced at the watch on his wrist—an older analog piece his father had given him, its glass face cracked from a scuffle weeks ago. "We're running short on time. If that meeting is in a week, we need to act quickly. Let's set up a discreet meet with Gallagher, show him enough evidence to earn his trust, and keep the rest in reserve just in case."

Ava's phone buzzed on the table, making them all jump. She snatched it up, expression tense. "Unknown number," she muttered, putting the call on speaker.

A faint hiss of static preceded a familiar gravelly voice. "You wanted a sign from me. Consider this it. I've been hearing chatter—someone's hunting you three. They've got instructions to bring that artifact back intact."

Ava and Jared exchanged a startled look. It was the same anonymous tipster who had texted them warnings before, someone evidently aware of the artifact's significance.

"Who is this?" Ava demanded, though she knew the tipster would likely dodge.

"You'll learn soon enough," the voice rasped. "A name might lead you astray. For now, just know that the Syndicate has put a bounty on your heads, especially if you resist. Stay out of sight. They're deploying enforcers trained to handle, shall we say, 'unusual items.'"

Jared clenched a fist around the edge of the table. "So they have specialists who know about the Shades?"

The tipster's chuckle was mirthless. "That's right. They call themselves 'Retrievers.' If you're not careful, they'll find you—and it won't matter how many gang alliances or half-cracked files you've got."

Before they could press for more, the line went dead. A heavy silence blanketed the barbershop.

Marcus let out a slow breath. "So now we have professional hunters after the artifact. Great."

Ava set her phone down, words clipped. "If we needed motivation to do this fast, we just got it. We have a week before the Whitefall Tower meeting and the Syndicate's Retrievers closing in. Our best hope is to blow this wide open before they corner us."

Jared nodded grimly. "Then let's go find Gallagher. Now. We'll lay out enough proof of Glass's involvement so he can't ignore us. If Gallagher agrees to help, we plan for Whitefall Tower."

Circling the Lion's Den

They spent the next few hours preparing a carefully curated slice of data from Glass's archives: enough to persuade Gallagher of the Syndicate's crimes, but not so much that it endangered all their leads if he turned out to be compromised. Once they'd encrypted the rest and set up failsafe uploads to cloud storage, they packed their meager gear into the battered van, leaving the barbershop behind.

"Here's hoping it's still intact when we return," Marcus murmured, eyeing the boarded-up windows.

Ava climbed into the passenger seat, coaxing the ancient door shut with a grunt. "Let's not wait too long to come back. We still have the main stash of data here."

Jared slid behind the wheel, wincing as his thigh twinged. "We'll keep it short. Let's just find Gallagher, talk, and vanish again."

They drove across town under a sun that climbed higher in the sky, glinting off glass-and-steel skyscrapers. As midday crowds thickened, Jared had to concentrate to avoid denting the van in chaotic traffic. He kept glancing at the rearview mirror, half certain a black SUV full of Syndicate goons or a pair of menacing motorcycles would appear behind them. But nothing stood out—no immediate sign of a tail.

Eventually, they reached a drab government complex near the old courthouse. Gallagher's precinct was a squat, gray building flanked by chain-link fences and sad patches of dying grass. Jared parked several blocks away to avoid notice, and the trio approached on foot, weaving through civilians and uniformed officers who strode in and out of the building.

"If we walk in there unannounced, we risk being arrested on the spot," Marcus hissed, eyeing the badges and bulletproof vests.

Ava kept her chin high, a manila folder clutched under one arm—hardcopies of carefully chosen documents. "We contact Gallagher directly. If he's halfway as legit as we hope, he'll meet us quietly. We can't trust the front desk to pass the message discreetly."

Jared took a breath, leg throbbing with each step. "Let's do it. We can slip a note to someone, say it's urgent, for Gallagher's eyes only."

A tension-laden hush followed as they entered the precinct's lobby. Harsh fluorescent lights shone on stained tile floors. A bored-looking officer at the front desk barely glanced up from her computer. The walls sported outdated wanted posters and a half-empty rack of brochures.

Ava approached, adopting the polite, somewhat flustered tone she used when playing the role of an anxious civilian. "Excuse me, we need to speak with Detective Gallagher. It's… a sensitive matter. Is he here?"

The desk officer arched an unimpressed brow. "Name?"

Ava hesitated. "Call me Ms. Winters. Just… please, give him this." She slid the folded note across the counter, inside a sealed envelope marked with Gallagher's name.

The officer pursed her lips. "We don't run personal errands, ma'am."

Ava's eyes flickered with desperation. "It's about a corruption case. He'll want to see this. Please."

Something in her tone must have landed, because the officer sighed and relented. She took the envelope and rose from her chair, disappearing through a door behind the desk. The moment she was gone, Jared, Marcus, and Ava shifted nervously, every second feeling like an eternity in a lion's den. Another uniformed officer eyed them from across the lobby, suspicious but not yet aggressive.

Finally, the clerk returned. "Detective Gallagher will see you in Interview Room 2. Down that hall, third door on the left."

The Meeting

They followed the corridor, heartbeats pounding. Interview Room 2 was a cramped space with a single steel table, bolted chairs, and a mirror that likely doubled as a one-way window. A flickering overhead light cast harsh angles. Jared swallowed thickly, well aware that if Gallagher turned out to be dirty—or even just unsympathetic—they could be detained on suspicion of multiple break-ins.

The door swung open, and Detective Carter Gallagher stepped in. He was lean, with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetual crease between his brows. A cheap suit jacket hung from his shoulders, hinting at too many hours on the job. His gaze swept over them with guarded curiosity.

"Which one of you is Ms. Winters?" Gallagher asked, folding his arms.

Ava raised her hand slightly. "It's a pseudonym, obviously. We need your help, Detective."

Gallagher's frown deepened. "You're the folks who dropped the note about corruption in the city council?"

Jared exchanged a glance with Ava before speaking. "Yes. We have evidence linking a powerful real estate mogul—Quentin Glass—to arms trafficking and bribery. We also suspect he's connected to a bigger group, the ones behind that fiasco at Greyline Depot."

A flicker of recognition crossed Gallagher's face. "I've been sniffing around that for weeks. The official line is it was a freak accident, a 'misunderstanding' between unknown parties. I knew that stank." He nodded at the manila folder in Ava's grasp. "Show me."

She opened the folder, spreading out a few printed emails, shipping manifests, and the swirl-emblazoned documents they'd gleaned from Glass's trove. Gallagher's expression shifted from suspicion to astonishment. He reached for the papers, skimming them, his brow furrowing with every line.

"This is… this is major," he muttered, more to himself than to them. "If these documents are legit, Glass is tied to illegal arms shipments, money laundering, and city officials. Councilman Powell's name is in here, plus references to a code-named meeting next week…"

He looked up. "How did you get these?"

Marcus scratched the back of his head, glancing at Jared. "Let's just say we stumbled on them. The point is, we want to stop the Syndicate—and we can't do it alone. We know you have a reputation for going after corruption."

A taut silence hovered. Gallagher seemed to weigh his options. Outside, faint footsteps echoed in the hallway. Finally, he spoke in a low voice: "All right. I believe you. Or at least, I believe these docs are real. But if I bring this to my captain, half the force will try to bury it. We'll need a covert approach."

Ava exhaled relief. "So you're in?"

Gallagher nodded once, briskly. "I'm in. But I need more evidence to arrest Glass and his cronies. I need a direct link to the Syndicate's activities—something no one can refute."

Jared leaned forward, ignoring his throbbing thigh. "We have more data, but it's encrypted. We also found references to a major meeting at Whitefall Tower next week, something about the Central Committee. If we can get eyes on that meeting, we'll have all the proof we need."

Gallagher's jaw tightened. "Whitefall Tower… I've heard rumors. It's a fortress, privately owned. Breaking in will be a tall order."

"We won't be alone," Ava said softly. "That is—if you can help us orchestrate it quietly. No leaks."

Gallagher pursed his lips. "Fine. I'll see what I can do. But understand this: once we move on Whitefall Tower, the Syndicate will throw everything at us. If they realize I'm working with you, my shield might not protect me."

Jared managed a tight nod. "We know the risk. We're counting on you to keep us from getting gunned down."

Gallagher tucked the folder under his arm. "Likewise, I'll be counting on you to gather the final pieces of evidence. In a week, we'll make our play. Be ready for war."

With that, the detective turned on his heel and walked out. For a moment, none of them moved, the gravity of the alliance sinking in. They had just enlisted a cop, forging a bridge between vigilantes and law enforcement in a city reeking of corruption. A single misstep could end them all.

No Turning Back

They filed out of the interview room and left the precinct, hearts pounding from the intensity of the meeting. Stepping onto the sidewalk, they blinked in the harsh midday sun, a swirl of relief and apprehension washing over them.

"Well," Ava said, voice low, "we're officially working with the police. Never thought I'd see the day."

Marcus gave a shaky laugh. "It feels like letting a lion into the den of wolves—but maybe that's exactly what we need."

Jared flexed his stiff shoulder, gaze locked on the distant skyscrapers. No turning back now. They had placed their bet, pinned their hopes on a detective rumored to have an unshakable moral compass. If Gallagher turned out to be compromised—or if the Syndicate discovered their collusion—they'd be lucky to survive another week.

But if it all worked… if they caught the Syndicate's puppet masters red-handed at Whitefall Tower… then maybe, just maybe, they could save a city that had tried to devour them at every turn.

"Let's go," Jared said, guiding them toward a cramped alley where their van was parked. "We have to prepare. Because come next week, it's either them or us."

A determined hush filled the trio, each one grappling with what lay ahead. The final stage of their battle loomed, and the Syndicate was sure to strike first if it caught even a whiff of betrayal. But united under the fragile banner of truth—and armed with the Shades of Authority—Jared, Ava, and Marcus dared to believe they could seize victory from the shadows.

Whatever war awaited them at Whitefall Tower, they were in it until the bitter end. And as they climbed into their battered van, hearts pounding, the city's roar seemed to echo that single unspoken truth: No turning back.