STRINGS OF THE MASTER : WHEN MYTH BECOMES REALITY

"We'll be landing in ten," Brakka's voice cut through the cabin, clipped and low, almost lost in the static of altitude adjustment.

Elira was standing by the supply bay when she heard it. She closed the hatch with a soft hiss and turned just as Vranos stood from his reclined seat. His signature smirk was gone, replaced by a cool seriousness that rarely surfaced.

He glanced at Brakka, then turned to her. "Time to quit playing coy, snowdrop. Tell me everything."

Fenrir's arms were crossed. He hadn't moved from his seat, but his presence felt heavy—like a storm waiting for a reason.

Elira didn't flinch. She had anticipated this.

She stepped to the center of the cabin, her voice composed, stripped of anything unnecessary. "It started a week ago. Fenrir and I traced a suspicious logistics officer—standard audit protocol. Only, he didn't match any registered class profile. No backup files. We interrogated him, but before we could extract anything, he self-terminated through a viral spike."

Vranos arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"That death led us to a memory leak. A chain of corrupted warehouse data that linked directly to old transfers—things scrubbed from the system. I took it to Dray." A pause. "This mission is part of that investigation. Dray wants us to follow the trail, to see how far down the rabbit hole goes."

"And that's it?" Vranos asked, eyes narrowed. "That's all he gave you?"

"It's all he gave us officially," Elira replied, unfaltering. "The location was a node once used in long-range transfers during early expansion. That's all I know."

She held back everything else.

Nothing about the Purpose Core.Nothing about the scientist.Nothing about Rian Tellar and his second life.And especially nothing about herself.

"I see," Vranos said, studying her like a man trying to decide whether he's hearing a lie or a truth too clean to be real.

Beside her, Fenrir scoffed quietly. Derision curled his lip.

The slight was not missed.

Vranos turned to him, voice sharp. "Something funny, mutt?"

"Just wondering if you enjoy dancing around the truth or if you really think that was the whole story," Fenrir said, jaw clenched.

Elira opened her mouth, but Vranos stepped forward first, nose-to-nose with Fenrir. "Careful, wolf. We're not in the tower anymore."

Fenrir stood. "That's the idea."

Tension sparked, immediate and electric, crackling in the narrow space. Elira moved to step between them, her arm raised—

And then the jet dipped suddenly.

"Strap in," Brakka called from the cockpit. "We're touching down."

The cabin lurched slightly as landing gear deployed and the snow-laced terrain came into view through the glass. Steel gray met blinding white, a deserted stretch of Siberian waste, flat and endless.

Fenrir turned away from Vranos without another word, buckling into his seat. Elira followed, eyes fixed on the white horizon that approached steadily.

Whatever lay beneath that snow… they were about to find out.