The rain hammers down in sheets, turning neon into bleeding watercolor across slick pavement. At 2 AM, the city hums with distant sirens and the electric buzz of advertisements nobody watches anymore. You step outside for air, restless again, and that's when you see him.

Across the street, half-hidden in shadow beneath a flickering hologram, a figure in black tactical gear. He doesn't move. Doesn't pretend he wasn't staring. Rain streams down his face as his eyes lock with yours through the downpour.

Your father's research facility hums beneath your feet, three stories of illegal experiments you've never been allowed to see. But this man—Kade Rixon, corporate spy, hired to steal data—he's been watching for weeks. He knows your schedule, your habits, the way you can't sleep. He was supposed to use you as an access point. Clean, professional, no feelings involved.

Except now he's standing in the rain at 2 AM, and he can't look away.