Twelve hours after the upload, the world changed.
Names filled news feeds.
Accounts froze.
Men in suits vanished off the grid.
Photos of mass graves aired on morning TV.
Satellite footage of secret sites circulated within minutes.
Whistleblower networks burned with traffic.
Every agency with a badge or a budget went quiet.
Governments denied, stalled, then collapsed under the weight of proof.
The Court of Twelve — no longer a myth — had faces now. And blood on every one.
In a basement safehouse five miles from the station ruins, Evan sat on a cot, watching the chaos unfold on a cracked laptop.
Maya sat nearby, cleaning her blade.
Trey lay in a corner, leg bandaged, sweating through his shirt.
Evan spoke without looking up.
"That was Cain's voice. At the station."
"Yeah," Maya said.
"He knew my name."
"He would. You're the last loose thread. The leak they didn't expect."
Evan turned.
"Was my father part of the Court?"
Maya paused.
"He helped design their data chain. Built the architecture behind the Black Vault — the one you cracked open. They promised him protection. Then they made him watch."
"Watch what?"
"People disappear. Children, families. Anyone with dirt on them. He tried to back out. They killed him before he could dump the records."
Evan looked away.
"So now I finish it?"
Maya didn't answer.
Trey groaned.
Evan turned back to the laptop.
The numbers kept rising.
Thousands arrested.
Dozens dead.
At least three major governments now under investigation.
"Feels like we won," Evan said.
Maya stood. Checked the window.
"You don't win against people like Cain. You just survive them."
Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Maya turned, gun drawn.
A voice called out.
"It's me."
It was Juno.
Maya lowered the pistol. Evan stood.
Juno — drenched, mud on her boots, eyes hard — stepped into the room and dropped a tablet on the table.
"New problem."
Evan picked it up.
The screen showed a live stream — someone broadcasting in front of a burning courthouse.
Masked. Hooded. Voice disguised.
"The Court of Twelve isn't gone. We are many. We are watching. For every name you erased, five more rise. For every betrayal, there is a reckoning. Mercer. You drew first blood."
Maya cursed.
Trey muttered, "Copycats?"
Juno shook her head. "No. Loyalists. Cain's inner circle. They're rebuilding."
Evan stared at the screen.
The masked figure raised a hand — a symbol marked on the glove.
Three lines. One eye.
Maya's voice was quiet. "That's not just a threat. That's a declaration."
"They're not hiding anymore," Juno said. "They want war."
Later that night, Evan sat alone, turning the symbol over in his mind.
Three lines. One eye. Same as the tattoo on his father's arm. One he never asked about.
He opened the silver case again.
Inside the foam, beneath the drive slot, was something he hadn't seen before.
A second layer.
He peeled it back.
There, buried deep, wrapped in plastic — a sealed envelope.
His name on the front.
He opened it.
Inside: coordinates. A photo of a man in a wheelchair. And one sentence written in his father's handwriting:
"If you're reading this, it's not over. He knows the second protocol."
Evan stared.
Then stood.