Chapter 11 | The Other Job

Sage dropped from the third-story ledge, landing in a crouch behind a steel ventilation shaft. The alley was slick with rain, the scent of damp concrete filling her senses as she adjusted her grip on the coil of climbing rope slung over her shoulder. She had seven minutes, maybe eight, before the night guard made his next pass.

She pulled her gloves tighter, flexing her fingers. The Deviant-class tumbler lock on the back door was a joke. In under ten seconds, she had it picked and was inside the dimly lit corridor, the only sound the faint hum of a distant generator.

This wasn’t about quantum encryption. This wasn’t about Prometheus Labs or digital fingerprints.

This was personal.

Something was missing from her father’s files. And she had a lead.

Piper leapt silently from her backpack, padding ahead, tail flicking as if guiding her toward a truth neither of them fully understood.

One floor up. Third room on the left.

Sage pressed her back against the wall, listening for movement. No security cameras—just like her contact had promised. Either the old man had been telling the truth, or this was a setup.

She slipped out her fiber-optic camera, feeding it beneath the door. The monitor displayed an empty office—clean desk, untouched chairs, a wall safe behind a generic landscape painting.

Too easy.

Sage picked the lock, sliding inside like a shadow. She kept one hand near her concealed blade as she moved toward the safe, her pulse steady, mind clear.

She worked quickly. The stethoscope earpiece let her listen for the clicks as she rotated the dial. Piper sat by the door, watching, waiting.

The lock gave.

Sage swung the safe open, scanning the contents. Not money. Not bonds. Paper. Old, yellowed documents. A leather journal.

She flipped through the pages. Equations. Names. A hand-drawn schematic of a device she didn’t recognize.

And then—

A photograph.

Her father.

Standing beside a man she’d never seen before. The name scrawled on the back in faded ink: "Thuring."

Her blood turned to ice.

Dr. Thuring wasn’t a ghost. He was real. And her father had known him.

A whisper of sound in the hallway.

Sage killed the light, flattened against the wall. A shape moved outside the glass panel of the office door.

Footsteps.

Then—silence.

Piper’s tail flicked once. Sage moved.

She slung the rope around the ceiling pipe, gripping it tight. The moment the door creaked open, she kicked off the desk and swung upward, tucking herself into the shadows of the rafters.

A man stepped in, moving with trained efficiency. His silhouette blocked the doorway for half a second too long.

Mistake.

Sage dropped, twisting midair, landing hard. Before he could react, she hooked his ankle, sending him sprawling.

"Who sent you?" she whispered, pressing a knee to his chest, knife at his throat.

No answer.

Piper growled—a low, almost digital distortion.

The man twitched. Sage felt it before she saw it—a tiny movement of his thumb, pressing a concealed button on his watch.

Self-destruct protocol.

Damn it.

She sprang off him just as the fail-safe activated, a high-pitched whine filling the air. The man's body seized, micro-implants shorting out his neural pathways.

Sage didn’t wait to see the aftermath.

She grabbed the journal, stuffed it into her bag, and ran.

Down the hall. Over the balcony railing. Landing hard. Rolling.

A distant alarm.

No time.

She bolted for the nearest exit, but the alley was compromised. Two figures moving in from the left.

Plan B.

She turned, sprinting toward the fire escape.

One foot on the railing. A jump.

Fingers catching cold steel. She pulled herself up, two flights in seconds. The rooftop was slick and dangerous, but she had the advantage.

A pipe. A drain.

Sage grabbed hold and slid downward, gripping her gloved hands just enough to slow her descent.

She landed three feet from her parked Ducati.

Piper was already inside the backpack when she swung onto the seat. The journal burned against her ribs, heavy with secrets she wasn’t ready for.

As she kicked the bike into gear, one thought ran through her mind:

Dr. Thuring wasn’t just a myth.

And now, someone knew she was looking for him.

[End Chapter 11: System Log - Unknown Variable Introduced. Quantum Event Pending.]