Chapter 3: A Code in the Dark
Vienna, Austria – 02:12 Hours
Jasper Hawke sat in a dimly lit safe house, the glow of his laptop screen the only source of illumination. The USB Sophia had given him rested on the table beside it, an unassuming piece of plastic that might as well have been a live explosive.
He had swept the apartment for bugs and checked the door’s security twice. The city was quiet at this hour, but he knew better than to assume he was alone. There were always eyes. Always shadows.
He plugged in the USB.
A single encrypted file appeared on the screen:
“Project Scythe – Directive Theta”
Hawke frowned. He had seen codenames before, but this one meant nothing to him. The file was heavily protected—256-bit encryption, custom security layers, and an automatic self-delete function if he tried to brute-force it. Sophia hadn’t made this easy.
He reached for his phone and dialed.
The line rang twice before a voice answered.
“You should be asleep, mate.”
James Wren. An old friend. A tech genius. And one of the few people Hawke still trusted.
“I need a decryption,” Hawke said, ignoring the comment.
Wren sighed. “Of course you do. Send it over.”
Hawke uploaded the file to a private relay server only they used.
A pause. Then: “Where the hell did you get this?”
“That bad?”
“It’s not just encrypted—it’s layered. The security is military-grade, but not just any military. This looks like something the NSA would build.”
Hawke narrowed his eyes. NSA. That changed things.
“Can you break it?”
A chuckle. “Of course I can. But it’ll take time.”
“Then start now.”
Wren hesitated. “You’re playing a dangerous game, mate.”
Hawke smirked, though there was no humor in it. “I don’t play, James. I win.”
Vienna, Austria – 03:27 Hours
Hawke shut the laptop and stood, stretching out the stiffness in his muscles. He needed fresh air, needed to clear his head.
The meeting with Sophia had changed everything. She had been alive this whole time. Why hadn’t she reached out sooner? What was her connection to this? And more importantly…
Could he trust her?
He slipped on his coat and stepped outside into the cold night. The streets were nearly empty, save for a lone taxi parked on the corner.
That’s when he saw the reflection.
A figure in the window, barely visible. Watching.
Hawke didn’t react. Instead, he turned and walked in the opposite direction, his pace measured, deliberate. Let them follow. Let them think they had the upper hand.
Two blocks down, he ducked into an alleyway, pressing himself against the wall. The footsteps behind him quickened—whoever was tailing him wasn’t subtle.
Sloppy. Amateur. But still a threat.
As soon as the shadow passed, Hawke moved.
One step.
Two.
Then he struck.
He caught the pursuer by the collar, slamming them against the brick wall. A sharp gasp escaped from their lips. Hawke pulled a knife from his belt, pressing it lightly against their throat.
“Who sent you?”
The figure was young—early twenties, at most. Dark hair, wide eyes filled with fear. Not a professional. A hired observer.
“N-no one,” the man stammered. “I was just—”
Hawke applied a little more pressure.
“Talk.”
“I—I don’t know! I was paid to watch you, that’s it! A woman hired me—French accent, short hair. That’s all I know, I swear!”
Sophia.
Hawke’s jaw tightened. Was she testing him? Or had she just painted a target on his back?
He released the young man, stepping back. “Run.”
The kid didn’t hesitate.
Hawke exhaled. Something wasn’t right. Sophia had known exactly where to find him—how? Had she been tracking him all along? Or was she leading him into something bigger?
His phone vibrated. A message from Wren.
“Decryption’s done. You’re not gonna like this.”
Vienna, Austria – 03:42 Hours
Back in the safe house, Hawke opened his laptop. Wren was already on the other end of the secure call.
“This isn’t just some random file,” Wren said. “Project Scythe is real. And it’s bad.”
Hawke leaned in. “How bad?”
“It’s a sanctioned operation—black budget, off-the-books. Someone high up is orchestrating assassinations across Europe. Key targets, political figures, defectors. And get this—one of the names on the list?”
Hawke waited.
“Yours.”
Silence.
Then Wren spoke again. “Hawke…someone inside your own agency just ordered your execution.”
