The man had tracked that story closely.

He really hoped, more than anything, that Lunel would finish what he started.

But Lunel had disappeared.

Gone without a trace.

And Michael Arthur had managed to escape too.

But now, someone had actually done it. Someone had exposed everything.

Who was it?

Was it the same hacker?

No. The rumors said that he was dead.

The man suddenly stood up and walked over to the little desk in the corner. He grabbed his laptop and brought it back to the couch, plopping it down on the coffee table.

He opened it, and his hands were a bit shaky.

He found his way to a hidden folder that was locked with a password and had top-notch encryption.

He set it all up five years ago, the day after his friend passed away.

The day after the "accident."

He typed in the password: twenty characters, a mix of numbers and symbols that only he knew.

The folder popped open.

Inside were some files.

Not his files.

They were files that had been sent to him five years back, three days before the accident.

The subject line read: "Found something. We need to talk. Flying to Turkey next week."

At that time, the man was in the U.S., living his life and working.

He had planned to hop on a flight to Turkey to meet his friend and go over whatever he had found.

They were supposed to map out the operation against Michael Arthur that they had been working on for months.

But then, the call came.

Car crash. The brakes failed. Dead on impact.

The man knew right away it wasn’t just a random accident. His friend had always been super cautious. Way too skilled. Too worried about safety.

Someone messed with the car. Someone had taken his life.

And the only one who had a reason was Michael Arthur.

The operation they were working on, the one that would expose him, got shut down in a hurry.

Evidence vanished. Witnesses disappeared. The whole thing was swept under the rug.

The man tried to keep going alone, but he wasn’t a hacker, just a private investigator.

He was just a friend looking for justice. And he didn’t succeed. So he saved the files, locked them up, and hid them away.

He waited.

For someone. Anyone. To pick up where his friend left off.

And now... Now someone had.

The man opened the files and looked through them. Inside were the bits of evidence his friend had dug up about Michael Arthur’s early operations.

They laid out the start of the trafficking network.

They talked about the first victims. This was the real deal.

The evidence that would lock in Michael Arthur’s fate for good.

But who should he share it with?

Who was behind all this?

He had to figure it out.

The man opened up a browser and started searching.

He dug into dark web forums, hacker communities, and anonymous boards, looking for hints about who had outed Michael Arthur.

He stumbled across mentions of an auction attack, a TV hijack, and files leaked all over the place.

But there were no names, no identities, just whispers and gossip. He kept digging deeper.

Eventually, he found a post buried in a secret forum.

Someone was claiming some credit, not showing off, just admitting they were involved.

The post was technical and detailed, laying out the hacking methods in clear terms.

He wasn’t just skimming it; he was breaking it down. He looked at the patterns, structure, and signature layering. Then he saw something:

Hidden in the code was not a message or a mistake.

It was a piece of the key.

Most people would have missed it, but not him.

He recognized this kind of work from way back.

With them.

The piece wasn’t complete, but it was enough, enough for someone who knew what they were doing.

He pieced together the rest from memory, from the way they used to operate.

The man read the details closely, and a chill ran through him.

He recognized this style.

This pattern.

This way of bypassing encryption was no way.

That was impossible.

He read it again, this time taking his time.

The multi-layered attack, the backdoor insertion, the data extraction technique.

It matched perfectly.

Just like the style from....

He couldn’t even think about the code names without his heart racing.

Phantom X.

And Nova X.

The hacking crew his friends had used. The unique style they’d developed together.

But they were both gone.

Dead.

So how?

The man kept scrolling.

The post had a symbol on it.

Not a name. Not some code.

A crescent moon.

The man stopped breathing.

He recognized that symbol.

It was something he’d seen a million times.

Years ago.

On a silver necklace.

Worn by someone he used to know. Someone really smart. Someone fierce.

Someone who had died twelve years back.

Or had she?

No. That couldn’t be right.

He had seen the death certificate and was there at the memorial.

She was gone.

But what if?

The man stood up and started pacing.

His mind was racing with possibilities.

The way they hacked was totally in line with Phantom X and Nova X’s style.

The crescent moon had always been her thing.

Three years ago....

When Lunel first showed up....

That man had moved to Istanbul.

Same flight. Same day.

He saw a young woman running from something.

They didn’t swap names.

They never talked again.

But he could still picture her face.

And now... Now he was curious.

Could it be?

Could that girl have been—?

No. No way, she was just some girl.

He might have been imagining things. But the pattern didn’t lie.

Hoping for something that was never going to happen.

But the hacking style, the symbol, the timing. It had to mean something.

The man sat back down.

He stared at the crescent moon on his screen.

He thought about his friends and what they’d wanted.