The second strike came twelve hours later.
Not in Norveth.
Carla was awake when the first encrypted alerts began to stack across the secure network, each one stamped with escalating urgency. She had learned long ago not to trust silence after an event like Norveth Prime. Silence meant alignment. Alignment meant intent.
Julie emerged from the adjoining room already dressed, hair still damp, eyes sharp. "I'm seeing chatter on three closed channels," she said. "Military-grade traffic, but deliberately throttled."
Carla didn't look away from the projection hovering above the table. A rotating globe shimmered in muted gray, data streams crawling across continents like veins.
"Location?" Carla asked.
Julie flicked her wrist. Two points flared crimson.
"Helvior City," Julie said. "Energy capital. And Sundra Vale—financial transit hub."
Carla's expression didn't change. "Simultaneous?"
Julie nodded. "Within thirty seconds of each other."
The room darkened as the system pulled live feeds. In Helvior City, a coastal skyline ruptured as a refinery complex detonated with terrifying precision. Not an uncontrolled explosion—pressure valves released first, fire suppression delayed just long enough to guarantee structural failure without igniting the surrounding residential zones.
In Sundra Vale, the attack was quieter. A cascading blackout rolled through the financial district, followed by a delayed implosion of a subterranean data center buried beneath six levels of reinforced concrete. No fire. No spectacle. Just disappearance.
Julie exhaled through her teeth. "They're choosing contrast."
"They're choosing messaging," Carla replied. "One attack to dominate headlines. One to cripple quietly."
The console chimed.
No emblem this time.
Just raw data.
Casualty numbers were already climbing in Helvior. Sundra's were minimal—for now. Markets were freezing. Communications rerouted through emergency protocols that hadn't been tested in decades.
Julie folded her arms. "This is coordinated. And it's not reactive. They planned for Norveth to succeed."
Carla zoomed out further. Additional cities pulsed faintly—unlit, dormant. Sleeping threats.
"They're mapping behavior," Carla said. "Response chains. Political thresholds. How long before states overcorrect."
Julie glanced at her. "You sound like you've seen this before."
"I've studied it," Carla replied. "In fragments. Failed attempts. This is the first time I've seen it executed cleanly."
Julie's jaw tightened. "By a mafia syndicate."
"By something wearing the skin of one," Carla corrected.
Another alert cut through their exchange—this one internal.
Julie's console flashed amber. "That's… not good."
"What is it?"
Julie hesitated. "Command just reclassified the Helvior incident."
Carla turned slowly. "To what?"
Julie met her gaze. "Industrial accident."
Silence settled heavily between them.
"That's impossible," Julie said. "The blast pattern—"
"I know," Carla replied. "Which means someone just pulled political override."
Julie's eyes hardened. "They're lying."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Carla didn't answer immediately. She was already tracing the implications. Insurance markets. Energy futures. Military readiness clauses that only triggered under specific classifications.
"They're protecting something," Carla said. "Or someone."
Julie shook her head. "This goes all the way up."
The console updated again. A classified memorandum scrolled past, partially redacted.
INVESTIGATION HALTED PENDING REVIEW
ASSET MOVEMENT TEMPORARILY SUSPENDED
Julie laughed softly, without humor. "They're freezing us out."
"They're buying time," Carla said. "And White Rose just learned exactly how much."
Julie leaned back against the table. "You think White Rose anticipated this reaction?"
"Yes," Carla said without hesitation. "They needed it."
Julie frowned. "Why?"
Carla highlighted the three cities—Norveth, Helvior, Sundra—and drew invisible lines between them. "Different alliances. Different economic roles. Different military doctrines."
Julie's eyes widened slightly. "They're testing coalition coherence."
"And proving it doesn't exist," Carla finished.
The implication hung in the air. If governments couldn't even agree on how to name the attack, they wouldn't agree on how to respond to the next one.
Julie straightened. "We need to move. If Command won't sanction it—"
"They already did," Carla said.
Julie blinked. "What?"
Carla brought up the Black Tier clause embedded deep in the directive. "No oversight. No extraction guarantee. But also—no obligation to follow reclassification orders."
Julie's lips curved into a sharp smile. "So we're officially unofficial."
"Exactly where White Rose wants us," Carla replied.
As if summoned by the thought, the secure console flickered again.
This time, the emblem bloomed without preamble.
The white rose unfolded slowly, petal by petal, elegant and deliberate.
Julie muttered, "They're enjoying this."
The message appeared.
You see the pattern now.
Three moves. Three reactions. Three lies.
Carla felt the familiar cold settle deeper. "They're counting," she said.
Another line followed.
Helvior burns. Sundra disappears. Norveth panics.
Governments choose comfort over truth every time.
Julie leaned closer. "They're lecturing."
"They're recruiting," Carla said quietly.
The next line proved her right.
I don't destroy systems.
I replace them.
Julie's breath hitched. "That's not a threat."
"No," Carla agreed. "It's a mission statement."
The message paused—just long enough to be intentional.
Then:
You should ask why your own people are slowing you down.
Julie's head snapped up. "That's manipulation."
"Yes," Carla said. "But it's not baseless."
The emblem faded.
Julie turned sharply. "You don't believe them."
Carla met her gaze steadily. "I believe they're telling the truth selectively."
Julie paced once, controlled but tense. "If there's a faction inside Command—"
"—then we're already compromised," Carla finished.
Another alert interrupted them. This one was subtle, nearly buried.
Julie caught it anyway. "Encrypted internal packet. High clearance."
Carla nodded. "Open it."
The file decrypted slowly, as if resisting. What emerged wasn't a report—but a delay order. One issued before the Sundra blackout.
Timestamped forty minutes prior.
Julie stared at it. "They knew."
"Yes."
"They let it happen."
"Yes."
Julie's voice dropped. "How many more?"
Carla zoomed the globe again. One of the faint pulses brightened—just a fraction.
"Too many," Carla said.
Julie looked at her then, really looked. "You're calm."
Carla's expression was unreadable. "I'm focused."
"That's not the same thing."
Carla didn't deny it. "White Rose wants me angry. Or desperate. I won't give them either."
Julie nodded slowly. "So what's our move?"
Carla's eyes tracked the glowing point on the map. "We go where they don't expect immediate response."
"Sundra's already down."
"Which makes it irrelevant," Carla said. "Helvior is burning—but stabilized."
Julie followed her logic. "So the third point."
Carla highlighted a dormant node.
"Valen Reach," Julie read aloud. "Neutral territory. No standing military alliances."
"And minimal intelligence presence," Carla added. "Perfect place to hide a lie."
Julie smirked. "Or reveal one."
Carla shut down the projection. "Pack light. No official routes. No digital footprint after launch."
Julie nodded. "And if Command tries to pull us back?"
Carla checked her weapon, voice steady. "They won't."
"Why not?"
Carla met her eyes. "Because they're watching too."
Outside, the world was fracturing along invisible seams. News feeds screamed narratives carefully curated to calm, to obscure, to delay.
Three cities had been struck.
Three governments had lied.
And somewhere behind the pattern, White Rose was counting the steps to the next move.
Carla and Julie moved in silence, preparation efficient, unspoken coordination flawless. Whatever doubts had surfaced earlier were now locked away, compartmentalized where they belonged.
This was no longer a mission.
It was an exposure.
And the world, whether it knew it or not, was learning the same lesson Carla had learned years ago:
It never burns alone.