No Control.

  No Deviation.

  No Second Chances.

  Sayua dared not blink.

  She’d made hundreds of time jumps, some deep into war zones, others into the hidden ruins of collapsed societies—but this one was different. Her pulse stuttered in sync with the calibration buzz in her arm as the blue-lit veins of her J.J.E. implant pulsed harder than usual.

  Pain flared down her forearm and into the meat of her shoulder, where steel and sinew met. The jump destabilizer was already burning through her system, overloading the delicate balance between her cybernetics and the remnants of her humanity.

  No control.

  No say.

  No self-doubt—at least none they could see.

  Follow the orders.

  No improvisation.

  No deviation.

  Not again.

  The Council of Twelve of The Ultimate Control had spoken. And when they did, the world, and everyone in it, obeyed. Even trackers like Sayua.

  This time, they wanted Merciless—the serial killer whose signature was both barbaric and brilliant. Twisted tech. Grotesque trophies. Victims who should have survived but didn’t. Five homicide trackers had failed before her. Some were never recovered. Some were found… in pieces.

  Now it was Sayua’s turn.

  She was finally assigned the mission, finally trusted after being sidelined to tier-three tracks. This time, she would prove her loyalty.

  Or she would die.

  Either outcome would satisfy the Council.

  But first, a detour: Paul Wayne Simmons. A sudden reassignment. Tier-three fugitive. Public murder. The kind of open-and-shut case the Council usually ignored—unless it was a cover for something else.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The jump ended abruptly. A searing snap hit her gut like an electric whip as the timestream flung her into hard asphalt. She didn’t fall—her joints locked to stabilize impact, cybernetic knees adjusting with precision. But her insides? Her stomach twisted in a symphony of nausea and sparks.

  Sayua blinked against the gleam of silver walls on either side of the alley, tall and sharp like mirrors lined with secrets. The air tasted of damp metal and decay. She knew this place—New Brisbane, Sector 6. A city rebuilt twice over after the Bioquake.

  Ahead, a man sprinted.

  Paul Wayne Simmons. Mid-forties. No priors. Committed a point-blank execution at Club Moves in front of three dozen witnesses. Now fleeing like he thought he stood a chance.

  Sayua took off after him. Her synthetic muscles contracted with rhythmic precision, propelling her forward faster than any fully human could match. Still, she let him run. Let him sweat. Let him believe.

  From the implant in her arm,

  The Communicator chimed in:

  “Sayua, the Council is online.”

  Of course they are.

  “I’m a little busy,” she muttered, vaulting a fallen service drone and closing the distance.

  Lady Speaker’s voice came through, cold and exact:

  “We have reviewed the evidence against Paul Wayne Simmons. He has been found guilty. Initiate execution protocol.”

  Sayua frowned. Something about the Council’s interest in this case felt… off. They didn’t usually interfere mid-track, especially not for a low-priority murder. Unless it wasn’t about the murder at all.

  “Simmons! The Council has found you guilty!” she shouted. “Stop running and submit for sentencing.”

  He kept going.

  Sayua activated her J.J.E., blue energy pulsing as her neural interface locked onto his movements. She rotated her forearm, formed a fist, and targeted his spine.

  “Target locked for eradication,” the embedded system announced.

  Simmons zig-zagged, trying to dodge the blast. Clever. Someone had seen the conviction broadcasts.

  He hit the command pad on his vehicle—door opening, engine humming. Freedom within reach. One step closer and he’d cross realms.

  But he didn’t make it.

  The beam hit center mass, and Paul Wayne Simmons disintegrated into ash before his foot reached the driver’s floorboard.

  Sayua exhaled.

  “Execution complete,” her system confirmed.

  “Well done, Sayua,” came Lady Speaker’s voice. “But you are cited for failing to state your name before carrying out the sentence.”

  Of course.

  Three things annoyed Sayua more than anything: being interrupted during a track, being cited in front of her peers, and—third, most of all—being extracted by the Council without warning.

  “Prepare for extraction,” said The Communicator.

  A surge of electricity ripped through her, burning her spine and grinding her joints. Her vision blurred with a flicker of blue code as her consciousness yanked across the temporal divide.

  Thirty-six hours of mandatory rest followed—three jumps in under thirty-four hours had pushed her to her limit. But rest wasn’t on her mind.

  Merciless was.

  Sayua had files to review. Clues to unravel. And a sinking feeling that Paul Wayne Simmons wasn’t just another tier-three fugitive.

  No one without deep connections should’ve had access to illegal tech from the Dark Hidden Market—and no one that poor should’ve tried to time-jump his own execution.

  Something was off.

  And it was leading her straight back to the killer no one had been able to catch.