Public Enemy

The television screen flickered, casting a blue-white pallor over the shattered pharmacy. My face, magnified and pixelated, stared back at me like a ghost from a future I hadn't yet lived.

*TERRORIST ATTACK AT GALA. SUSPECT AT LARGE.*

I turned away from the screen, my stomach churning. It wasn't just the accusation. It was the name.

*Aria Vane.*

"It's a lie," I said, my voice sounding thin in the empty store. "Lucius manipulated the media. He changed my name to discredit the Blackwood legacy."

"Or to claim it," Felix said quietly. He was leaning against a display of cough syrup, watching the news ticker with a grim fascination. "Think about it, Aria. If you're a Vane, you're not a usurper. You're an heir."

"I'm not a Vane," I snapped. "My father was Silas Blackwood. My mother was..."

I stopped. My mother's maiden name. Vesper had called me *Aria Blackwood* in the bunker. She had handed me the Signet of the Founders.

But Vesper was a spy. Spies lied.

"We need to move," I said, shoving a box of bandages into my pocket. "This place is too exposed."

We slipped out the back door into a narrow alleyway. The city above was a cacophony of sirens and helicopters, a hunting ground where I was the prey. We needed to disappear, but my face was plastered on every screen from Times Square to Tokyo.

"We need a ghost," I said, pulling up my hood.

"We just lost our best one," Felix muttered, limping beside me.

"Not Dante," I said, the name a bruise on my tongue. "The Broker."

Felix stopped dead. "You're joking. The Broker sells people like us to the highest bidder. He's the reason half the Resistance is in shallow graves."

"He's also the only person in this city who can get us into the Citadel without triggering an alarm," I said. "And right now, he owes me."

"Owes you? For what?"

"For not killing him in Budapest," I lied.

The truth was, the Broker didn't owe me anything. But he owed Lucius. A debt of blood and money that I intended to collect.

We found a payphone in a subway station that hadn't been renovated since the nineties. I dialed the number from memory, a sequence of digits Dante had made me memorize *in case of absolute catastrophe.*

It rang once. Twice.

"Speak," a voice rasped. It sounded like gravel grinding against glass.

"I have something you want," I said.

"Miss Vane," the Broker said, his tone amused. "Or is it Blackwood today? The news is so confusing."

"I have the key," I said. "The override code for the financial network. The one Dante uploaded."

There was a silence on the line. A heavy, greedy silence.

"I thought that was destroyed," he said.

"It was rebooted," I corrected. "But I made a copy. A physical copy."

I touched the drive in my pocket. It was a bluff. The drive was the only copy, and it was currently rewriting the architecture of the global banking system. But the Broker didn't need to know that.

"What do you want?"

"Access," I said. "To the Citadel. The Vault level."

"That's suicide."

"That's the price."

He laughed, a dry, wheezing sound. "Meet me at the Jazz Club. The one on 4th. Come alone. Or don't come at all."

The line went dead.

I hung up the phone. Felix was watching me, his expression unreadable.

"He's going to sell us out," Felix said.

"Probably," I agreed. "But he'll get us inside first. He's too curious not to."

We took the maintenance tunnels to the club, avoiding the cameras. The city felt different now. Hostile. Every shadow seemed to hold a Ghost, every siren a death knell.

The Jazz Club was a relic of a bygone era, all velvet booths and smoke-stained mirrors. It was empty, save for a single figure sitting at a table in the back.

The Broker.

He was a small man, impeccably dressed in a suit that cost more than my life. He was sipping a martini, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

"You look terrible, my dear," he said as I approached.

"Rough night," I said, sliding into the booth. Felix stayed by the door, his hand on his gun.

"I heard," the Broker said. "Lucius Vane dead. A tragedy for the shareholders."

"He was a monster."

"Monsters are profitable," the Broker shrugged. "But I suppose you're here to change the market."

He held out his hand.

"The drive."

"The access," I countered.

He smiled, revealing teeth that were too white, too perfect. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a keycard. It was black, featureless.

"Service elevator B," he said, sliding it across the table. "It bypasses the biometric scans. But only for an hour. After that, the system resets, and you're trapped."

I took the card. It felt warm.

"Why help me?" I asked. "You could just turn me in. Collect the bounty."

"Lucius was bad for business," the Broker said, taking a sip of his drink. "He wanted total control. I prefer... chaos. Chaos is where the margins are."

I stood up. "Pleasure doing business."

"One more thing," he said.

I paused.

"Your father," the Broker said softly. "Silas Blackwood. He wasn't a Vane."

I froze. "What?"

"The news report," he said, gesturing vaguely. "Propaganda. Silas was a Blackwood through and through. But your mother..."

He lowered his glasses. His eyes were milky, blind.

"Your mother was Lucius's sister."

I stared at him. The room seemed to spin.

"That's impossible," I whispered.

"Is it?" the Broker smiled. "Ask yourself, Aria. Why did Lucius let you live this long? Why did he train you? Why did he give you the Signet?"

"He didn't give it to me," I said. "I took it."

"Did you?"

He raised his glass in a toast.

"Good luck in the Vault, Miss Vane. You're going to need it."

I walked out of the club, my mind reeling.

My mother. A Vane.

Lucius wasn't just my enemy. He was my family.

And I had just killed him.

"Aria?" Felix asked as we stepped back into the alley. "What did he say?"

"He said we have an hour," I lied.

I looked at the black card in my hand.

I was going into the Citadel. I was going to find the source code.

And I was going to find out who I really was.

Even if it killed me.

As we moved toward the service entrance, a shadow detached itself from the wall.

"Going somewhere?" a voice asked.

I spun around, gun raised.

It was Chloe.

She was alive. She was bruised, battered, and bleeding.

But she was standing.

And she was pointing a sniper rifle directly at my chest.