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He cracked his knuckles—the old titanium ones, a gift from a Belgrade black-market surgeon.
And Emzet crushed it between his titanium fingers.
Kaela grabbed his wrist. “They’ll kill us both.”
Emzet had built the first layer of its firewall when he was seventeen, hacking from a hospital bed after a stray round collapsed his left lung. By twenty-two, he owned the architecture. By twenty-five, he had become the architecture: Emzet Dark Vip, the most exclusive black-market exchange on the暗网, where sovereign states bought zero-days and crime lords laundered through AI-generated shell companies that dissolved after sixty seconds.