The plush, hand-stitched leather of the Maybach’s backseat felt like a velvet trap. Seraphina sat perfectly still, watching the blurred skyline of Manhattan glide past the tinted windows. Beside her, Arthur was radiating a frantic, barely contained nervous energy, adjusting his silk tie for the four

The server room beneath the Vance Private Intelligence safehouse was a fortress of freezing air and humming machinery. Bathed in the stark, blue glow of towering mainframe racks, the room felt completely detached from the opulent, lying world Seraphina had just left behind at the Plaza.

It was pas

The Obsidian Club was a relic of old money, smelling faintly of imported cedar, expensive scotch, and the kind of quiet corruption that only thrives in the upper echelons of Manhattan. The lighting was deliberately dim, casting long shadows over the wingback leather chairs and mahogany tables.

Ser