The cold concrete of the cell pressed against Marcus’s back as he leaned against the wall, his wrists raw from the restraints that had only recently been removed. The single, flickering bulb overhead cast dim, erratic light, barely illuminating the barren room. The air was stale, carrying a faint tang of rust and decay.

He rolled his shoulder, testing the stiffness from his earlier injuries. The guards had been thorough in their attempts to incapacitate him, but Marcus had endured worse. Pain was just another sensation, another obstacle to overcome.

Yet, his mind churned, restless and boiling. One name echoed in his thoughts: Harrington.

The man Amir Qadir—Al-Ra’ib—had mentioned it as if it were meant to shatter him. And it nearly had. Marcus had no face to connect to the name, no context, no clear role in this conspiracy. But it fit too perfectly. Harrington wasn’t just some vague threat. He was a puppeteer, pulling strings Marcus hadn’t even seen until now.

Who the hell is Harrington?

Marcus’s mind dissected the possibilities. Harrington had to be someone with significant power, someone high enough to manipulate international operations and move pieces like Al-Ra’ib across the board. A name like that wasn’t tossed out casually, especially by someone as guarded and deliberate as Amir.

CIA? State Department? Homeland Security?

The scenarios were endless, but each one only fueled his anger. If Harrington was behind this, then he wasn’t just the mastermind of this network—he was the architect of Marcus’s manipulation. The safe houses, the breadcrumbs, the carefully placed leads—it all pointed to an intelligence operation that had been feeding him exactly what they wanted him to find.

But why? Why use me?

Marcus leaned his head back against the wall, exhaling slowly. The questions were piling up, and the answers felt just out of reach.

The metallic clang of a door opening jolted Marcus from his thoughts. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway, deliberate and unhurried. He tensed, listening closely. Only one set of footsteps, slow and measured. Someone with confidence—someone who thought they had all the power.

The door creaked open, and Amir Qadir stepped into the room. The man carried himself with the quiet arrogance of someone who believed he was untouchable. His sharp features were accentuated by the harsh light, his lips curling into a faint smile.

“Awake,” Amir said, his voice smooth. He stepped closer, clasping his hands behind his back. “Good.”

Marcus didn’t respond. His cold gaze followed Amir’s movements as the man circled the room, studying him like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You’ve caused quite a mess,” Amir said, stopping in front of Marcus. “Mandali, Albu Kamal, Dehloran… You’ve been busy.”

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Marcus tilted his head slightly. “You sound impressed.”

Amir smirked. “I am. It’s not every day one man dismantles an entire network on his own. But you made a mistake.” He leaned in, his voice dropping. “You came here.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained impassive.

“You think you’re the hunter,” Amir continued, straightening. “But you’re not. You’ve been playing a role in someone else’s game. And now, you’re trapped.”

Marcus remained silent, though his mind worked furiously. Amir’s words weren’t just taunts—they were breadcrumbs, hints of the larger picture.

“Let’s make this simple,” Amir said, his tone shifting to mockery. “Who sent you? Was it Langley? MI6? Some other shadow in the dark?”

“You tell me,” Marcus replied evenly.

Amir chuckled. “I was hoping you’d say that. You see, I already know who sent you. Or, rather, I know who let you find me.”

Marcus’s fists clenched, but he kept his expression neutral.

“Does the name Harrington mean anything to you?” Amir asked, his sharp eyes studying Marcus for a reaction.

Marcus’s silence was answer enough.

Amir smirked. “Ah, so you don’t know. That makes this even more amusing. Harrington is the reason you’re here. The reason you’ve been so successful. He fed you the leads, made sure you followed the trail. You’ve been his perfect little pawn.”

Marcus’s mind raced. The name was meaningless, but the implications were devastating. If Harrington was feeding him the leads, then every step of his mission had been orchestrated. He wasn’t dismantling a network—he was cleaning up someone else’s mess.

“And now,” Amir continued, “you’ve outlived your usefulness.”

Marcus tilted his head slightly, his voice cutting through the tension. “If Harrington wanted me dead, you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

Amir’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. “True. But there’s always value in understanding your enemies before you destroy them.”

Amir gestured to the guards outside the door, and two heavily armed men stepped in, their weapons trained on Marcus.

“Take him to the holding cell,” Amir ordered. “We’ll speak again when I’ve decided what to do with him.”

The guards advanced, one roughly grabbing Marcus by the arm and yanking him to his feet. Marcus didn’t resist. Not yet. His mind was already racing, cataloging their movements, their weapons, their vulnerabilities.

As they dragged him down the corridor, Amir’s voice echoed after them. “Harrington plays the long game, my friend. And you? You’re just another piece on the board.”

The guards threw Marcus into another cell, larger but equally barren. The door slammed shut behind him, the metallic clang reverberating through the space. Marcus hit the floor hard, rolling to absorb the impact. He stayed still for a moment, his breathing steady, his mind racing.

Harrington. A shadowy figure in a game Marcus hadn’t even known he was playing. A man powerful enough to manipulate Marcus’s every move, yet elusive enough to remain hidden.

But Marcus didn’t need to know Harrington’s identity to understand the truth. Whoever he was, whatever his role, he had underestimated Marcus. He had pulled the strings, thinking Marcus would dance to his tune.

But Marcus wasn’t a puppet. He never had been.

As the minutes dragged on, Marcus studied the room. No cameras, no obvious monitoring devices. The guards outside moved regularly, their boots scuffing against the floor every few minutes. The timing was consistent—a crucial detail.

The System’s faint hum returned, a reminder of the power waiting within him. His skills were still locked, suppressed by his current state, but Marcus knew they wouldn’t be for long.

He flexed his hands, testing the stiffness in his wrists. Pain radiated through his body, but it was a dull throb now, something he could work through. The opportunity would come, and when it did, Marcus would be ready.

Amir thought he had the upper hand. Harrington believed he controlled the board. But Marcus had been underestimated before, and he had survived.

He wouldn’t stop now. Not until the truth was laid bare, and the ones responsible for his family’s deaths had paid in blood.

The game wasn’t over.

Not yet.