It was a rare kind of silence in the loft that night.
The kind where even the buzzing of the neon sign outside the window seemed respectful. Nate stood barefoot on the cool hardwood floor, looking out over the shimmering skyline of New Orleans. Down below, Bourbon Street throbbed with its usual chaos: laughter, jazz, sirens, and the rhythm of a city that never slept. But up here, above it all, Nate felt still for the first time in days.
He held the envelope in his hand. Heavy. Laced with old guilt.
Inside it—snapshots from another life. Polaroids, yellowing at the edges. A boy standing next to a muscle car. A woman in a nurse's uniform holding a child on her hip. His mother. His brother. Back when they were whole.
"You okay?" Mallory's voice came soft from the kitchen, where she nursed a whiskey in a crystal tumbler. Her hair was up, messy and regal. She wore one of his hoodies, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Comfort, not seduction.
Nate turned slowly. He gave her a look that said everything and nothing.
"I don't know," he said.
She came to him anyway, leaned against the window frame beside him.
"Who gave you that?"
He paused. Then: "Dante."
Mallory blinked. "Your half-brother? The one who disappeared into thin air after your father died?"
Nate nodded.
"He's back in the city," he added. "Showed up at the funeral in a black suit, sunglasses like he's in a Bond flick. Didn't say a word to anyone. Left this on the casket."
He handed her the envelope. She flipped through the photos with a cautious hand.
"He's not just back, Mal. He's moving. Got eyes in the ports, the warehouses. Hollow's not the only one interested in me."
Mallory frowned. "You think he's here for the inheritance?"
"No," Nate said. "He's here for me."
---
Earlier that day...
"Three pallets short? That's not a mistake. That's a message."
Tanner slammed the manifest on the desk. The port office smelled of diesel, sweat, and the faint sting of ocean air. Nate stared at the spreadsheet, tapping a pen against his lip.
"You said Pier 7, right?"
"Pier 7, docked for less than an hour. Manifest says twelve pallets. Only nine went through. Security footage glitchy as hell."
Nate nodded slowly. "And let me guess—no one saw anything."
"Like ghosts," Tanner muttered.
Nate exhaled. "Hollow Tech doesn't need to steal from me. If this was them, it's personal, not business."
Tanner crossed his arms. "Or it's someone who wants you to think it's Hollow."
"Dante," Nate said aloud, the name tasting like iron.
Tanner's eyebrows rose. "You sure?"
"Not even a little. That's what scares me."
---
Back in the present...
"Do you trust me?" Mallory asked quietly.
Nate didn't answer immediately.
He looked at her—the sharpness in her eyes, the history written in the scar above her left brow, the way she watched him like a storm she could ride.
"With my life," he said.
"Then tell me what you're not saying."
He hesitated. Then he moved to his desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, and retrieved a black folder marked with a gold emblem.
Mallory's eyes narrowed. "That's..."
"Project ARCHIVE," Nate confirmed. "My father's last gamble. Hollow Tech never cracked it. I think Dante has the missing piece."
Mallory stepped back. "You're saying your brother holds the key to the most encrypted tech your father ever created? The one that could rewrite the energy grid of the entire East Coast?"
Nate nodded. "And he wants me to come get it."
"It's a trap."
"Of course it is."
---
Two hours later, the black Challenger tore through the lower Ninth Ward.
Nate drove in silence. Mallory rode shotgun, her fingers ghosting over the safety lock of her pistol. Neither spoke. The city blurred past in streaks of rust and neon. This was the forgotten part of New Orleans—boarded windows, cracked sidewalks, churches turned into clubs.
"Why here?" Mallory asked.
"Because this is where we used to be kings."
They pulled up in front of a decaying warehouse. Inside, the flicker of a single bulb. A silhouette leaning against a shipping container, smoking a cigarette.
Dante.
He hadn't changed much. Just older. Colder. His eyes were obsidian behind the smoke.
"Nate," he said. "Still chasing ghosts."
Nate stepped out of the car. "You're the one who vanished."
"Vanishing was the only way to survive, little brother."
Mallory stepped beside Nate, one hand on her hip. "Nice of you to send love notes with funeral flowers."
Dante's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You brought muscle. Cute."
"She's smarter than you," Nate said. "And probably a better shot."
"Probably."
A beat of silence.
Then Dante pulled a flash drive from his coat. Tossed it to Nate.
"ARCHIVE's base code. That's your inheritance."
"And what do you want for it?"
Dante's face darkened.
"Blood."
Nate tensed. "Whose?"
"Mine. Yours. Doesn't matter. We finish what Dad started. We take the city back."
Mallory stepped forward. "You want to burn it down."
Dante nodded. "Ashes make good soil."
Nate looked at the flash drive in his hand. A thousand futures trembled inside.
"I'll think about it," he said.
Dante lit another cigarette. "Don't think too long."
---
Back at the loft...
Mallory poured two drinks and handed one to Nate.
"He's unhinged," she said.
"Maybe," Nate replied. "Or maybe he's right."
She studied him. "What are you going to do?"
He looked out the window again. The city pulsed with secrets. Opportunity. Madness.
"I'm going to finish what my father started. But I'll do it my way."
Mallory raised her glass. "To your way."
They clinked.
Outside, the storm finally broke.
Rain danced on the glass.
And the city listened.