Dr. Ethan Carter adjusted the sleeve of his worn leather jacket as he stepped into the grand lobby of Langley Industries. The towering glass walls reflected the London skyline, the city’s evening lights casting sharp streaks across the polished marble floor. He felt out of place here—more accustomed to the dust of excavation sites than the sterile perfection of a billionaire’s corporate fortress.

A young assistant in a crisp gray suit led him through a series of security checkpoints before ushering him into a dimly lit office. The room was designed to intimidate. Floor-to-ceiling windows loomed behind a massive mahogany desk, offering a commanding view of the Thames. The man seated behind it barely acknowledged his presence.

Victor Langley.

Billionaire. Collector. A man whose name was spoken in hushed tones among archaeologists—usually with resentment or caution.

“Dr. Carter,” Langley said finally, his voice smooth as silk. “It’s an honor.”

Ethan wasn’t sure he believed that. He had spent years unearthing lost civilizations, preserving history. Langley and his kind were the ones who bought, stole, or buried it for their own gain.

“Your invitation wasn’t exactly optional,” Ethan said, crossing his arms.

Langley smirked, his fingers laced together. “I prefer to think of it as an immediately recognized. His pulse quickened.

“This is Himalayan script,” he murmured, stepping closer despite himself. “This… this is centuries old.”

Langley leaned back in his chair, watching him. “Tell me, Dr. Carter, have you ever heard of the Kanjir Citadel?”

Damian Voss leaned against the rooftop railing of a five-star hotel in Kuala Lumpur, his sharp eyes tracking the man in the luxury penthouse below. A chilled breeze brushed against his skin, carrying the scent of rain and city smog. He barely noticed. His focus was locked on the room’s sole occupant—Anton Markov, a Russian middleman with deep connections in the black market.

Markov was the kind of man Damian usually avoided. Brutal, paranoid, and always guarded. But tonight, Damian had no choice.

His earpiece crackled. “Are we doing this, or do you just like standing in the rain?”

Damian smirked at the voice of his tech specialist, Lena Torres, who was monitoring the security feed from a van two blocks away.

“I was enjoying the view,” he muttered, adjusting the small grappling device strapped to his wrist.

“Well, enjoy it on the way down. You’ve got a ten-minute window before Markov’s security check-in.”

Damian didn’t hesitate. He leaped over the edge. The grappling hook hissed as it unwound, lowering him smoothly toward the penthouse balcony. He landed without a sound, rolling onto the marble floor as he disengaged the line.

Inside, Markov poured himself a drink at the mini-bar, oblivious to the danger. Damian slipped a slim, silenced pistol from his belt and crept forward.

“Don’t move,” he said calmly, leveling the weapon at Markov’s back.

The Russian froze. Then, slowly, he turned, his thick fingers still wrapped around a glass of whiskey. A flicker of amusement crossed his scarred face.

“Voss,” he said in a thick accent. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Damian’s grip tightened. “I need the file.”

Markov chuckled, unbothered. “You always did get straight to business.” He took a slow sip before placing the glass down. “The Kanjir Citadel… That’s what you’re after, isn’t it?”

Damian didn’t respond, but his silence was answer enough.

Markov smirked. “Word is, Langley already has his man on it.”

Damian’s jaw clenched. He had expected competition, but not from Ethan Carter—a man known for uncovering history, not stealing it.

“Where’s the file?” Damian asked again, his patience wearing thin.

Markov sighed, then gestured toward a safe behind a framed painting. Damian moved cautiously, keeping the gun trained on the Russian as he reached the keypad.

“Combination?”

Markov’s smirk widened. “You don’t need it.”

Damian’s instincts screamed too late. The second he turned his head, Markov lunged. The glass in his hand shattered against Damian’s wrist, sending pain shooting up his arm. Damian recoiled, but Markov was already reaching for the alarm panel.

Damian reacted on instinct. A swift kick to the knee sent Markov crashing against the bar. The Russian barely had time to curse before Damian drove his elbow into his throat, cutting off his breath. He collapsed, gasping.

“I tried to be nice,” Damian muttered, shaking the pain from his wrist.

He grabbed a knife from the bar and jammed it into the panel, shorting out the alarm system before flipping open the safe. Inside, a single USB drive gleamed under the dim light. He pocketed it and turned back to Markov, who was glaring at him through pained gasps.

“If Langley gets to the citadel first, you know what happens,” Markov rasped.

Damian hesitated for half a second. Then he stepped back toward the balcony. “Then I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t.”

With that, he vanished into the night, leaving Markov seething behind him.

Chapter 3: A Team Assembled

Ethan Carter ran a hand through his tousled brown hair, staring at the satellite images spread across his desk. The coordinates Langley had provided pointed to a remote section of the Himalayas—uncharted, buried under ice for centuries. If the Kanjir Citadel was there, it would be the greatest archaeological discovery of the decade.

But something about this didn’t sit right.

Langley wasn’t a philanthropist. He didn’t fund expeditions out of the kindness of his heart. Whatever this "relic" was, Langley wanted it badly. Too badly. And that meant Ethan needed to be careful about who he brought with him.

He grabbed his phone and dialed a number.

It rang twice before a gruff voice answered. “Took you long enough, Carter.”

Ethan smirked. “Still breaking bones for a living, Lucas?”

Lucas Reyes—ex-military, expert mountaineer, and Ethan’s old partner in more than one dangerous expedition. They hadn’t spoken in over a year, not since their last job went sideways in Bolivia.

“I only break bones when necessary,” Lucas replied. “What do you need?”

Ethan didn’t waste time. “A climb. The Himalayas. High altitude, extreme cold, possible hostile interference.”

A pause. Then Lucas chuckled. “Sounds like a death wish.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” Ethan countered.

Another pause. Then: “I’m in.”

One down. Two to go.

Ethan’s next call was to Dr. Sophia Lane, a geologist and historian specializing in lost civilizations. She answered with the same sharp wit Ethan had always appreciated.

“This better not be about the time you ‘borrowed’ my research without asking,” she said.

Ethan grinned. “No, but I still maintain that was a misunderstanding.”

Sophia sighed. “What do you want, Carter?”

“I need someone who knows ancient Himalayan cultures inside and out,” he said. “You’re the best.”

Flattery worked—sometimes.

Sophia was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Where are we going?”

He gave her the basics. She didn’t hesitate. “Send me the details. I’ll pack my gear.”

Two down. One more.

Ethan’s last call was to Daniel Briggs, a former government contractor turned expedition logistics expert. If they ran into trouble—which they would—Briggs was the guy who could get them out.

But when Ethan dialed, the call went straight to voicemail.

He frowned. Briggs never ignored his calls.

Something wasn’t right.

He grabbed his jacket and headed out. Briggs lived in a small but heavily secured apartment in the city. When Ethan arrived, the front door was ajar. His instincts flared.

Slowly, he pushed it open. Inside, the place was a wreck—papers scattered, furniture overturned, a lamp shattered on the floor.

And in the middle of it all, a single black playing card sat on the table.

A calling card.

Ethan picked it up, his pulse hammering. He knew who this belonged to.

Damian Voss.

The infamous thief. The Shadow.

Ethan clenched his jaw. If Voss was involved, this mission had just become even more dangerous.

And if Voss had already gotten to Briggs… Ethan and his team might be next.