The lights of the city stretched before him, a network of glowing arteries pulsing with life, indifferent to the weight of his thoughts. Lionel Steenberg stood at the window of his penthouse office, a glass of whiskey resting untouched on the polished desk behind him. His eyes traced the skyline, but his mind was elsewhere—circling, dissecting, questioning. Alias. The name had become an obsession, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch, a presence that lingered in every briefing, every intercepted...
