The night air roared past as the black-clad figure tore down the coastal highway, engine screaming. No one had ever seen Nyx’s face — not Interpol, not the DSO, not even the clients who paid them to steal government secrets. The latest job was their boldest yet: infiltrating the DSO headquarters itself and walking out with encrypted mission files.

Leon’s headlights cut through the dark behind them, growing closer with every second. He’d been briefed on Nyx — an international ghost with a trail of classified thefts — but nothing prepared him for the speed and precision of their riding. Still, he was gaining.

The chase ripped through empty stretches of road, the only sound the echo of engines and the occasional crackle of Leon’s comms. Nyx leaned into a curve—then a shape darted into the road. A stray dog.

They swerved hard. Tires skidded, gravel sprayed. The bike fishtailed before smashing sideways into a tree with a metallic scream. The engine coughed, died. Nyx’s body went limp, crumpled near the wreck.

Leon slowed to a stop, holstering his gun as he approached. The rider’s shallow breaths fogged the visor. He crouched, hands steady but heart thudding, and unlatched the helmet.

It came free with a soft click. Strands of hair spilled out, brushing against his gloves. For the first time, the phantom had a face— and Leon froze.