THE SHARED LOAF: A girl in a camel coat gave half a loaf of bread to a starving child on the frozen street. She didn't know she was rescuing her lost cousin—or starting a war.

Inside, the tower was a sprawling workshop crammed with towering servers, ham radios, holographic blueprints, and weapons parts scattered across workbenches.

Standing in the center of the room was a man who looked astonishingly like Victor, but older, lean, and heavily scarred across his left cheek. He wore a grease-stained leather apron over a high-collared tunic, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

Beside him stood the boy with the brass goggles—no older than twelve—holding a sawed-off shotgun aimed loosely at the floor.

Marcus Vance stared at Clara first, his eyes softening with a flicker of painful recognition, before turning his gaze to me. His eyes landed on the silver crescent scar.

The cigarette dropped from his mouth, hitting the iron floorboards with a tiny shower of orange sparks.

"By the Ancestors..." Marcus breathed, his voice rough as gravel. "Victor actually found you."

"Uncle Victor is dead," Clara blurted out, her composure finally breaking again. "The Syndicate breached the North Gate. They used thermite charges on the whole house, Uncle Marcus! Captain Hayes sent us to you!"

Marcus closed his eyes, taking a long, shuddering breath. He reached out with a trembling hand and leaned heavily against a workbench stacked with circuit boards.

"They didn't just attack the house, Clara," the boy with the goggles spoke up quietly, tapping a glowing tablet screen. "Look at the broadcast."

Marcus flicked his wrist, projecting a holographic news feed into the middle of the room.