The snowcat shrieked, its engine a ragged cough against the fading echoes of gunfire. Maro, muscles taut beneath the thick layers of her coat, wrestled the controls, her gaze fixed ahead, beyond the swirling white. Nairi, in the passenger seat, felt the cold seeping into her bones, not from the wind-whipped air, but from the void Toros had left behind. The architectural schematics, clutched tight in her hand, crumpled slightly. His silent plea to *Go* had ripped something vital from her. A raw, unyielding agony settled in her chest, a counterpoint to the fury that now simmered. Tigran. He would pay. For Lusine. For Toros. They didn’t speak for a long stretch, the roar of the snowcat filling the hollow space between them. The Khazhar Peaks, once a place of terrifying beauty, now felt like a tomb. The air grew heavier, the snow turning to sleet, then a cold, persistent drizzle as they descended the twisting, perilous roads. The verdant slopes of the foothills gave way to scrubland, then to industrial sprawl. Tall steel pylons, their arms reaching into a bruised sky, replaced the jagged crags. The sound of distant traffic replaced the wind’s mournful sigh. By the time they reached the outer fringes of Tsovasar, the rain was a relentless curtain, washing the grime from the city streets. Neon signs, blurred by the downpour, bled streaks of garish colour onto the wet asphalt. The air, thick with exhaust and damp masonry, clung to Nairi’s skin, heavy after the clean, biting cold of the high country. Maro had swapped the snowcat for a nondescript, mud-splattered sedan at a derelict gas station outside the city limits, her movements swift and silent. Her phone, a reinforced black handset, buzzed with a flurry of missed calls. “The firm,” Maro said, her voice tight, “is a nightmare. Tigran has solidified his takeover. Freezing assets, liquidating accounts. Your name is being dragged through every tabloid. Embezzlement, corporate espionage. He’s left nothing to chance.” Nairi nodded, her gaze fixed on the endless stream of brake lights ahead. The city felt like a trap, every flashing sign a mocking eye. “He assumes he’s won. He figures he’s got me cornered.” She turned to Maro, the draft pages still clutched in her hand, softened by the rain. “You said your corporate servers were encrypted. Untraceable?” Maro glanced at her, a flicker of something unreadable in her cool eyes. “For the right kind of data, yes. Proprietary. Protected by a dozen firewalls. Why?” “I need to make him hunt me,” Nairi stated, her voice quiet but firm. “I need him to know I have these. I need him to come for me.” Maro’s foot eased off the accelerator, the car slowing slightly in the deluge. “You want to transmit them? The draft pages? To whom? The authorities? The press?” Her brow furrowed. “That’s not untraceable, Nairi. That’s a direct challenge. He’ll find the origin point. He’ll know it’s us.” “Exactly,” Nairi said, a grim satisfaction settling over her. “He’ll know. He thinks he’s erased me. He thinks I’m broken. I want him to taste the fear he put in Lusine. I want him to know I’m coming for him, and I’m bringing his crimes with me.” She held out the sheets, soaked and fragile, but still legible. “Send them. To the Tsovasar City Planning Commission. To the financial crimes division. To every journalist who ever wanted to take down the Oskan Group. Make it public. Make it impossible for him to bury.” Maro stared at the documents, then at Nairi’s face, a mask of fierce resolve. The professional rivalry, the years of cold disdain, seemed to melt away, replaced by a grudging respect. “You’re insane,” Maro said, but there was a new glint in her eyes, a spark of the ruthless ambition that defined her. “And I like it.” They pulled into a deserted, multi-story car park, the rain drumming a relentless rhythm on the cement deck above. Maro retrieved a satellite modem from a hidden compartment, its indicator lights glowing faintly in the dim cab. She connected it to her reinforced phone, then, with steady fingers, began to photograph each architectural plate, each damning detail, the fragile sheets laid out on the dashboard. Nairi watched, her breath shallow. Every click of the camera shutter felt like a hammer blow against Tigran’s empire. The air in the sedan thickened with tension as the transmission began, a tiny progress bar inching across Maro’s screen, a digital countdown to their inevitable confrontation. “It’s slow,” Maro muttered, her fingers flying across the holographic keyboard projected onto the dashboard. “This packet is massive. He’ll pinpoint us within minutes of it going live. The Oskan Group has broad network penetration.” Nairi leaned forward, her eyes scanning the dark, rain-streaked windows, hyper-aware of every passing shadow, every distant headlight. Her heart, which had been a frozen knot, now began to beat with a furious, defiant rhythm. Toros’s image flashed in her mind – his rough hands, his gruff voice, the warmth of his body pressed against hers in the cold mine. She closed her eyes for a fleeting second, letting the grief sharpen her focus, solidify her purpose. This was for them. For Lusine. For Toros. The progress bar crawled, agonizingly. 70%. 80%. 90%. Maro’s fingers trembled slightly as she typed the final commands, her usual composure fractured by the immense risk they were taking. The modem whirred, a faint hum against the drumming rain. 99%. A green checkmark appeared on the screen, followed by a terse message: *Upload Complete. Data Integrity Verified. Distribution Initiated.* “It’s done,” Maro breathed, leaning back, a strange mix of triumph and fear on her face. “It’s out there. The whole city will know by morning.” Just as the words left her lips, a blinding flash of headlights erupted behind them, so powerful it seemed to rip through the pouring rain. A low rumble, deep and low-pitched, vibrated through the car park’s cement floor. Maro cursed, yanking the steering wheel, throwing the car into reverse. “He’s here!” But it was too late. A heavy, plated SUV, black as oil, burst from the shadows with an engine scream. It slammed into the side of their sedan with brutal force, a screech of tearing metal and shattering glass. The impact threw Nairi violently against her seatbelt, the air knocked from her lungs. The world spun, a dizzying kaleidoscope of neon reflections and raining glass. The sedan gave way under the plated chassis, crumpling and skidding sideways across the slick deck toward the guardrail. They burst through the flimsy guardrail, plunging into the abyss. The fall was short, violent. The sedan tumbled, smashing into the stone piers of the coastal highway overpass below, flipping end over end before crunching onto its roof. Nairi’s head struck something hard, a searing pain blooming behind her eyes, but she fought the darkness, forcing her eyelids open. She was suspended upside down, held by her seatbelt, the world a blurry, rain-soaked mess of twisted metal and fractured glass. Water poured in through the shattered window, stinging her face. Maro was slumped against the dashboard, unconscious, a trickle of blood spiderwebbing from her temple. Through the shattered windshield, Nairi could see the black SUV, its powerful frame undamaged, pulling to a halt on the overpass above. A figure emerged, silhouetted against the city lights. Tigran. He descended the embankment with an unnerving slowness, his form growing clearer with each step. He moved with the casual grace of a predator who knew its prey was already ensnared. He reached the wreckage, his gaze sweeping over the crumpled vehicle, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face. In his hand, glinting wetly in the neon-drenched rain, was a crowbar. He stopped inches from Nairi’s mangled door, his eyes meeting hers through the chaos of broken glass and pouring water. His voice, calm and chillingly devoid of emotion, cut through the hiss of the rain. “Lusine was stubborn too.”

Neon Descent