Rode Mortis, a man whose name whispered fear through the city's underbelly, had a heart that was colder than the concrete he walked on. But even the coldest heart could crack, and his had been fractured by the loss of his daughter, Tanya. He had been forced to leave her with his ex-wife, a woman he had once loved but whose betrayal had left him with a hollow ache. Now, years later, a flicker of hope had emerged. A whisper, a fleeting glimpse, a name dropped in a back alley – Tanya was alive, and she was being hidden in a rundown apartment in the city's forgotten corners.

Rode, a man who could move mountains with a single phone call, found the apartment easily. He didn't need to knock, he didn't need to announce himself. He simply walked in, his presence a storm of unspoken threats. Tanya, a frail twelve-year-old with eyes that held a weariness beyond her years, was in the kitchen, washing dishes. She was nervous, he could tell by her body language and the subtle shake in her hands as she tried to be as quiet as possible.