“He’s using this… he’s using all of this to hijack Ondrio’s flagship cargo vessel tonight. He’s going to smuggle a stolen military EMP into Alta-Venza.”
Ondrio’s expression went rigid, his features carved from stone. “The *Vallari Colossus*? Tonight?” He swung toward his primary console. “Cygnus, run cargo manifests for the freighter. Cross-reference with Rossa syndicates. Project entry points along the city grid.”
[Cygnus: Running deep scan. Initiating.]
Nemiya, still reeling from Tessana’s strike, stammered, “He said… the EMP is disguised as a shipment of industrial-grade cryo-coolers. Marked for the Vesperus District power station.”
“Vesperus powers the whole harbor district,” Ondrio said, squinting toward the digital schematics. “An EMP detonated there would cripple Alta-Venza for weeks, maybe months. Chaos. Perfect cover for a hostile takeover of the entire maritime trade.” He turned to Tessana, his gaze piercing. “You’re staying here. With Tassio. The medical team will monitor you.”
Tessana rose, steadying herself against the metal console. “No. I translated the hull schematics and cargo holds for that freighter myself. I know the service corridors and deep-dock dead zones. Your team will wander blind without me.” She held his glare squarely. “I’m boarding with you.”
Ondrio’s expression flickered, a battle between a billionaire’s absolute authority and a man’s desperate fear. But her stubborn resolve was an unyielding force. He saw the flicker of defiance, the desperate need to *do* something. He exhaled through his teeth. “Fine. But you follow every command. You trail the security detail, always. One stumble, and you're pulled back.”
Within minutes, the bunker’s deployment bay rattled with activity. Ondrio’s strike unit formed up in dark tactical plate against the gleaming chrome walls. Tessana, refusing a full tactical suit, was given a heavy, reinforced jacket and vest, a compact comm unit clipped to her ear. Dr. Arin, the bunker’s lead physician, insisted on a rapid diagnostic scan. Tessana endured it, her gaze fixed on the departure hatch, ignoring the worried murmurs of the medical staff. Ondrio watched her, his own suit now replaced by an operational combat-grade ensemble, a sidearm holstered at his hip. His hand hovered an inch from her shoulder, hesitating. He could force her to stay. He *should* force her to stay. But the glint in her eyes, that fierce, unyielding light, told him it would break her spirit, and that was a cost he couldn’t bear.
The reinforced convoy cut through rain-slicked boulevards, city lights smearing across the wet glass. Tassio sat in the trailing vehicle, eyes fixed on his handheld display. He clutched his tablet, the screen a constellation of complex algorithms he barely understood but intuitively manipulated.
The Alta-Venza shipyard was a sprawling, skeletal landscape of cranes and gantry rails, silhouetted against a bruised sky. Rain slicked the concrete, reflecting the harsh glare of floodlights. Ondrio’s lead transport swerved off the main terminal strip, diving between stacked shipping crates. Tessana, leaning forward against the dashboard, pointed. “Docking bay Gamma-Seven. That’s where they would stage the transfer.”
The operatives moved ahead in low stances. The *Vallari Colossus* loomed past the pier, its rust-streaked bulk towering over the black water. Ondrio raised two fingers. “Hold. Tessana, where do we cut in?”
“Forward cargo hatch, port side. Below the main deck, disguised as a service access. It’s a relic from its original design, rarely used now,” Tessana murmured, her voice tight with focus. “They’ll be expecting a main gangway assault. This gives us an advantage.”
The advantage lasted precisely seven minutes. As the point men breached the hatch, a horn howled across the docks. A hail of gunfire erupted from above, tearing through the rain-soaked air. Rossa’s men, anticipating the move, had laid a brutal trap.
“Ambush!” Ondrio roared into his comm. “Fall back! Establish defensive perimeter!”
Bullets ricocheted off the hull, splattering sparks. Tessana stumbled along behind a squad gunner as copper sharpness flooded her tongue. Her ribs seized as if crushed in a vice, the terminal cough threatening to rip out of her chest. Her balance broke. She dropped hard against a pile of damp mooring lines, her lungs refusing air. “Ondrio…” she rasped, unable to force voice through her throat.
A gunman spotted her isolated on the concrete apron and charged, raising a stubby shotgun. Tessana clawed at the wet asphalt, muscles locking in spasm. The attacker closed the distance, weapon leveling at her chest.
In the rear vehicle, Tassio tracked the live optic relay piped through Ondrio’s channel. He caught the feed of Tessana down on the pier, the armed man closing in. The child set his jaw. His tiny fingers flew across the holographic interface of his tablet. He bypassed Vallari’s encrypted port-wide logistics network, a system designed to be impenetrable. He pinpointed the enforcer’s location, then the nearest automated crane. His eyes, usually innocent and wide, held a terrifying intensity.
[System Override: Port Logistics Network. Crane 7-B. Target acquisition confirmed.]
A shriek of sheared steel split the air overhead. The gunman jerked his head up just as a multi-ton freight crate broke loose from gantry clamps, slamming down into the pier. Concrete cracked under the shockwave, crushing the shooter beneath twisted iron.
Spray and debris settled beneath the downpour. Ondrio whipped around toward the dropped cargo, eyes fixed on the crane's automated cab. *The boy?*
From beneath the freighter's bow stepped the syndicate boss, boots splashing through oil slicks as he zeroed in on Tessana.
He hauled Tessana up by her coat collar, pinning her against his chest, and slammed an automatic barrel against her hairline. His thumb pulled back the hammer. “The prodigy’s mother dies first.”