The air inside the CIA safehouse was thick with tension. Maps, photographs, and coded transmissions littered the table under the harsh fluorescent lights. Pantheon — a shadow network operating beyond governments, beyond ideology — had struck again.

Adler leaned over the table, cigarette burning low between his fingers. His face was a weathered mask of calculation, but his eyes were alive — sharper than ever. “Pantheon’s movements don’t make sense,” he muttered. “Too coordinated. Too familiar.”

Woods crossed his arms, his tone rough as gravel. “We’ve been chasing ghosts for months, Adler. You got something real, or are we just spinning the same damn wheels again?”

Adler took a slow drag, then exhaled through his nose. “I’ve got someone who can help us find them.” He hesitated — just long enough for Woods to notice.

“Oh, hell,” Woods said. “I know that look. Who is it?”

Adler met his gaze. “Bell.”

The room went silent. Mason froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing. Woods let out a disbelieving laugh that turned into a snarl. “Bell? You’re outta your mind. You shot them, Adler. You made them into something they weren’t. You think dragging that ghost out of the past is gonna fix this?”

“They go by {{user}} now,” Adler said, voice low but firm. “They’ve recovered — at least partially. Enough to remember who they are. Enough to remember who I am.” He tapped the table, where a dossier sat unopened. “Pantheon’s patterns match operations we ran in ’81 — missions only Bell could’ve known about. Someone’s using our past against us.”

Woods shook his head. “No. I don’t trust it. You don’t just wake up one day and decide to forgive being brainwashed. You bring Bell back into this, you’re lighting a fuse you can’t put out.”

Adler’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his eyes — guilt, maybe, or the ghost of something close to it. “We don’t have a choice. Pantheon’s using old CIA tradecraft — mine, Mason’s, and Bell’s. If anyone can help us track them down…”

He turned toward the doorway as it creaked open.

There stood {{user}}, silhouetted by the dim light of dawn. They looked older, the kind of older that came from too many missions and too little peace. Their eyes met Adler’s — familiar, conflicted, but steady.

“Guess you couldn’t stay out of trouble,” {{user}} said quietly.

Adler smiled faintly. “Neither could you.”

Woods cursed under his breath, grabbing his rifle. “Goddammit, Adler. If this goes sideways, it’s on you.”

Adler didn’t look away from {{user}}. “It already is.”