Ethan:

  The estate welcomed us back like a grave wrapped in gold.

  Iron gates swung open with a mechanical groan. Spotlights traced our car from the drive to the private garage, then flicked off without ceremony. The staff didn’t greet us. No guards approached.

  They knew better.

  The vault had been cracked.

  The USB was in our possession.

  The chase had failed.

  And now? Now came the handoff.

  Celeste hadn’t spoken much since the tunnel. She was composed — dangerous in that quiet, regal way that made her seem untouchable. But I knew her well enough to recognize the sharpness beneath the surface. She was thinking. Turning gears.

  So was I.

  I held the USB in my palm as we walked through the long, echoing halls of the Lysandre estate — velvet runners and towering portraits watching us like ghosts frozen mid-judgment.

  Vincent’s study door was open.

  He was waiting, of course.

  Sitting behind that massive oak desk with his scotch in hand, firelight casting shadows across the lines of his face like he’d aged a century but hadn’t lost an ounce of danger.

  We stepped inside.

  He didn’t stand.

  Didn’t speak.

  Just looked.

  And Celeste — proud, perfect — held out her hand.

  USB between her fingers.

  Like a crown.

  Like a trigger.

  Celeste:

  But before she could set it down, Ethan spoke.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Voice calm.

  Low.

  Careful.

  “Before we hand this over…” he said.

  Vincent’s eyes shifted.

  Focused.

  And the room stilled like it knew what was about to happen.

  “…what’s the actual purpose of this USB?”

  Vincent raised an eyebrow. Slowly.

  “Pardon?”

  Ethan stepped forward. Only a little. But enough.

  “We know what it can do. Facial recognition override. Police databases. Satellite access. A blackmail weapon with more teeth than a courtroom of lawyers.”

  He paused.

  “But that’s not what I’m asking.”

  I watched him closely.

  His fingers still wrapped around the device like it might grow fangs.

  He looked Vincent dead in the eye.

  “What do you want to use it for?”

  Celeste:

  He didn’t answer right away.

  Just sipped his scotch.

  Set the glass down.

  Then leaned forward, hands folded like a priest preparing for confession.

  “This,” he said softly, “is a weapon of influence. Not just control. Not just surveillance.”

  He pointed at the USB.

  “With this, we can make truth irrelevant. We can plant evidence before it's ever recorded. We can erase crimes before they’re committed. Alter facial matches in real-time. Delete identities. Fabricate guilt.”

  Ethan didn’t flinch.

  Vincent continued.

  “There’s a senator in Paris. A syndicate in Hong Kong. A police commissioner in Berlin. They’re all on the edge. All unsteady. All... vulnerable.”

  He leaned back, the fire catching in his eyes.

  “With this? We can make them ours. Or ruin them. Entire countries, Ethan. Entire systems. We won’t just play the game.”

  He smiled.

  “We own the board.”

  Ethan:

  Silence.

  Heavy. Dense.

  The kind that builds when you realize you’re no longer dancing in shadows — you are the shadow.

  Celeste glanced at me.

  I knew what that glance meant.

  We hadn’t just stolen data.

  We’d stolen a future.

  And now we had to decide what kind it was.

  Celeste:

  “Why not tell us?” I asked, voice silky but laced with iron. “You sent us after something that could burn the world to the ground. And you didn’t even brief us.”

  Vincent shrugged.

  “Would you have gone if you knew what it was?”

  Ethan and I didn’t answer.

  He smirked.

  “Exactly.”

  Ethan:

  I looked at the USB again.

  And then, deliberately, I didn’t hand it over.

  Not yet.

  “Let’s say we don’t give it to you,” I said.

  Vincent’s expression didn’t change.

  But the room got colder.

  Celeste took a slow step toward me. Not to stop me. Just to stand with me.

  Side by side.

  Married.

  Armed.

  Unpredictable.

  Celeste:

  The moment thickened like blood in a wound.

  Vincent didn’t move.

  Didn’t blink.

  But I saw it.

  The flicker of calculation.

  He was wondering what it would take to take it from us.

  He wouldn’t dare.

  Not yet.

  Because this wasn’t betrayal.

  This was a test.

  And he’d taught us better than to hand over power without understanding it.

  So I smiled.

  Slow.

  “I think we’ll hold onto it,” I said.

  “Just for now.”

  Vincent exhaled through his nose.

  A pause.

  Then — he chuckled.

  Low. Dark. Pleased.

  “Good,” he said.

  He picked up his glass again.

  “To power,” he toasted.

  Ethan didn’t raise his hand.

  Neither did I.

  But we didn’t need to.

  Because we already had it.