Harrington sat in his office, the ambient glow of monitors reflecting off his cold, calculating gaze. His fingers tapped a measured rhythm on the desk as he stared at a secure line. The call he was about to make wasn’t to his most trusted backer—those connections required careful timing. This was to one of the lesser players in his orbit, a man whose loyalty was rooted more in fear than shared vision.

  He picked up the phone, inputting a secure code. It rang twice before the gruff voice on the other end answered. “Harrington.”

  “Logan,” Harrington said smoothly. “We have a situation.”

  Logan Daniels, a mid-level financier whose wealth came from an intricate web of offshore accounts and shadowy dealings, grunted in response. “What kind of situation?”

  Harrington leaned back in his chair, his voice calm but edged with urgency. “The Horsemen are active.”

  The line went silent. When Logan finally spoke, his voice was a mix of disbelief and fear. “The Horsemen? You’re serious?”

  “Do I sound like I’m joking?” Harrington snapped. “Marcus is free, and they’ve already dismantled the black site in Mandali. Al-Ra’ib’s position is compromised, and they’re digging into his connections.”

  Logan swore under his breath. “How much do they know?”

  “Not enough to link us,” Harrington said, his tone firm. “Not yet. But they’re relentless, and if they keep digging, they’ll find threads that lead to you—and the others.”

  Logan hesitated. “What do you need from me?”

  “Liquidity,” Harrington replied. “I’ll need to move assets quickly. Set up redundancies in case they breach another operation. And be ready to shut down everything in Dehloran if necessary.”

  “That’s a lot of heat, Harrington,” Logan said warily. “The others aren’t going to like this.”

  Harrington’s voice dropped, cold and commanding. “I’m not asking for approval, Logan. I’m telling you to move. Now.”

  Logan sighed, but there was no argument in his tone. “Fine. But if this goes south—”

  “It won’t,” Harrington interrupted. “Because if it does, they’ll come for you before they come for me.”

  The line went dead. Harrington set the phone down, his jaw tightening. The Horsemen had reappeared like ghosts from a forgotten war, and for the first time in years, Harrington felt the creeping edge of uncertainty.

  ---

  The safe room was silent except for Amir Qadir’s ragged breathing. He was slumped in a chair, his face swollen and bloodied, his wrists bound tightly with zip ties. Around him, the Four Horsemen stood like shadows, their presence suffocating.

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  War loomed closest, his arms crossed, his gaze cold and unwavering. “We’re not here to play games, Amir. You know who we are. You know what we can do.”

  Amir’s head lolled forward, his voice barely a whisper. “I… I have nothing to say.”

  Famine stepped forward, his expression icy. He crouched to Amir’s eye level, holding a small blade in his hand. “You’re mistaken, Amir. You have everything to say. It’s just a question of how much this hurts first.”

  Amir’s eyes flicked to the blade, then to Marcus, who stood silently in the corner, his presence a silent but devastating threat. The man who had torn apart Amir’s compound without hesitation now watched with the calm detachment of someone who had nothing left to lose.

  “Please…” Amir croaked. “I don’t—”

  The blade sliced lightly across his cheek, a shallow cut, but enough to make him flinch. Famine’s voice was low, almost conversational. “Harrington. His operations. His backers. Names. Now.”

  Amir shook his head weakly. “You don’t understand. If I talk, he’ll—”

  “Kill you?” Conquest interrupted, his tone sharp. “Hate to break it to you, but your survival isn’t on the table anymore. Your only choice is how this ends.”

  War stepped closer, his voice a quiet growl. “We’re not Harrington. We don’t leave threads. Talk.”

  Amir broke. The fear, the pain, the overwhelming realization that his time had run out—it all spilled over. “Harrington… he’s not alone. There are others. Financiers. Politicians. He’s protected by a network. They fund him, shield him.”

  Famine tilted his head. “Names.”

  “Logan Daniels,” Amir whispered. “He handles offshore accounts. Dehloran is a major hub for their operations. It’s where they process information… communications. But Harrington… he doesn’t trust anyone fully. He always keeps contingencies.”

  War nodded slowly. “What contingencies?”

  Amir hesitated, his voice trembling. “He has kill switches. If any of his operations are compromised, he’ll shut them down. Data wiped, assets burned.”

  Famine stood, exchanging a glance with War. Marcus stepped forward, his voice low and cold. “Where is Harrington now?”

  “I don’t know,” Amir stammered. “He’s… he’s always moving. But he’ll come for me if he thinks I’ve talked.”

  Marcus’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “You’re right about that.”

  Before Amir could respond, Famine’s blade flashed. It was quick, clean, and silent. Amir slumped in the chair, his lifeless body a testament to the Horsemen’s efficiency.

  “Loose end,” Famine muttered, wiping the blade on a cloth.

  Conquest picked up Amir’s phone, scanning through recent calls and messages. “Logan Daniels. Dehloran. That’s our next move.”

  War nodded. “We hit Dehloran, we hit Harrington where it hurts.”

  Marcus’s eyes burned with cold fury. “Then let’s make it count.”

  ----

  Kessler leaned back in his chair, his mind racing as he absorbed the data sent by the Horsemen. The names, the locations, the pieces of Harrington’s web—it was all falling into place. But Kessler knew that knowing wasn’t enough. Harrington would burn his own empire before letting it be used against him.

  He reached for his phone, dialing a secure line. When it connected, a soft but steady voice answered. “Yes?”

  “It’s Kessler,” he said. “I need every asset we have monitoring Harrington’s network. Offshore accounts, communications, personnel movements. Especially Dehloran.”

  The voice hesitated. “You think he’ll move?”

  Kessler’s tone was sharp. “He’ll move the second he smells blood. But we’re going to make sure he can’t use everything. Freeze Daniels’s accounts. Target every safe house we know of. Make it look like a random sting if you have to.”

  “That could tip him off.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kessler replied. “We don’t need stealth anymore. We need pressure. Box him in. Make him choose between cutting his losses or exposing himself.”

  There was a pause, then a quiet acknowledgment. “Understood.”

  Kessler ended the call and stared at the map on his desk, his fingers tracing the lines connecting Harrington’s operations. The Horsemen were moving into position, and Kessler was determined to ensure that Harrington had nowhere to run.

  “This is your game, Harrington,” Kessler muttered to himself. “But I am changing the rules.”