Dante was born in the forgotten back alley of the city. The neon lights spilled over the streets in a sparse manner. Only the desperate heard the whispers they exchanged. His mother had passed away when he was a child. His father did not care for him. The man spent more time piling up debt than he did raising a son. Dante found solace in the things that made sense. He clung to patterns, logic, and order.

  As a child, he spent hours taking apart broken radios and cracked alarm clocks. He took apart whatever he could get his hands on. He was astounded at how the pieces fit. A machine could be brought to life with the right gears and wires. His father never caught him when he snuck out to the old abandoned warehouse beyond their house. There, Dante discovered old computer parts. They were rusted but functional. By the age of thirteen, he had assembled his first working machine from scraps.

  It wasn't electronics that held his interest—puzzles in general. Ciphered messages, ancient code-breaking methods, and riddles that are hidden in textbooks. Words were not needed when symbols and numbers said more.

  Dante became a man of contrasts. Lean and tall, with an angular face that was never quite fully in the light, his dark eyes had an intensity that disturbed others. His black hair was always slightly disheveled as if he had more important things to do than worry about appearances. He dressed in muted tones—gray, black, deep navy—preferring function over style.

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  His hands were slender and calloused from years of typing and tinkering. He could tear apart the most complex encryption with ease. He could also reassemble the most delicate mechanism. He spoke only when necessary. His words were measured and deliberate. Some saw his silence as coldness. Those who knew him understood the truth. Dante was not disinterested in people. He simply preferred to listen. He analyzed everything. He searched for the missing pieces.

  By his twenties, Dante moved like a ghost in the digital world. Firewalls fell before him. Databases opened like diary pages. Encrypted messages unraveled with little effort. No security system could keep him out. No network could resist his skills. Organizations hunted him. Some wanted his talents. Others wanted to erase a threat.

  He remained elusive, choosing his alliances carefully. For Clavius, he was more than just a hacker—he was an architect of information, a puzzle master who could make problems disappear or surface at just the right time.

  And now, as he received the encrypted email from Elias, his lips curled slightly at the challenge presented to him. A missing woman, a city full of hidden dangers, and a game that required his particular expertise.

  Dante leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the desk as code flickered across multiple monitors.

  This would be interesting.