The War Room.

The team stood before the holographic images of the Headmaster and General Ironwood. The silence in the room felt heavy because of how close they came to a total disaster.

"She was inside," Seraph said, her voice a low. "She bypassed every physical security measure we have. She was in the vault. If the General's network hadn't spotted the start of the breach, she could have walked out with our supplies before we even knew she was there."

Draven stood beside her with his arms crossed and his face strong. "We were too slow," he growled. "She just... vanished. Like a ghost."

General Ironwood's face was strong and serious. "So, the Syndicate's Weaver is a perfect infiltrator. She can go anywhere, bypass any lock, and take whatever she wants. And we were lucky to even spot her." He looked at each of them, his gaze intense. "This is not a victory. This was a warning shot."

"Indeed," the Headmaster agreed, his own face looking deeply troubled. "Julian Sterling is not a man who makes idle threats. The attack on the Archive was a test of our defenses. He will not make the same mistake twice. We must prepare for an immediate counter attack. A more direct and violent assault."

The meeting ended on that serious note. The team was dismissed, given the unsettling instruction to wait, watch, and be ready for the disaster that was certainly on its way.

They braced for the counter-attack.

Draven spent his days in the training simulator, pushing himself to his limits, preparing for a fight he knew would be harder than any he had ever faced. Seraph checked every part of the Academy's security protocols, searching for the weak spots Silas had used.

But the attack never came.

A day passed. Then two. Then a full week.

Nothing.

The Syndicate was silent. The silence was not peaceful. It was unnatural. The waiting was a special kind of torture, far worse than an open declaration of war.

Then, the whispers began.

It started with an anonymous opinion piece, published in one of the nation's most respected and trusted news outlets.

It didn't mention the Syndicate. It didn't even mention Silas or Weavers. It simply raised "concerned questions."

*Is our nation's most valuable strategic resource truly safe?* the article asked. *Can we, in this age of new and terrifying threats, afford to leave our greatest supply under the sole, unchecked authority of a purely academic institution? The Academy is a place of learning, not a military base. Perhaps the time has come to consider a more... stronger security solution.*

The article spread quickly. It was clever. It didn't make any accusations. It just planted a seed of doubt, a quiet fear, in the minds of the public and the politicians.

At the same time, rich and powerful families in the capital started speaking out with "concerns." Several influential families, whose own children had been passed over for the Academy's elite programs, began to publicly voice their worries about the special treatment being given to "uncharted" Awakened. They didn't mention Jonah by name, but their meaning was clear.

"This new breed of power is dangerously unstable," one old lord said in a widely circulated interview. "To place all our hopes on such an unknown variable is a risk our nation cannot afford to take."

It was a perfectly planned attack.

In their workshop, Jonah and Vanessa watched the news reports with a growing sense of fear.

"This is not a coincidence," Jonah said, his voice a low growl. "They're talking about the Archive. They're talking about me. This is his next move."

"It's a political attack," Vanessa said, her eyes narrowed as she stared at the screen. "Sterling isn't going to send an army to take the Archive. He's going to make the nation's leaders give it to him."

"But how can we prove it?" Jonah asked, sounding frustrated. "These are just... opinions. Whispers. We can't fight whispers with swords or Progeny."

A determined look appeared in Vanessa's eyes. "No," she said, turning to her console. "But you can fight whispers with information."

She went to work. Her fingers moving fast across her holographic keyboard, her mind going deep into the hidden, digital underworld of fake companies and dark money.

For two days, she worked without sleeping, with the support of coffee and a quiet rage. Jonah watched her, bringing her food, but was so worried and concerned. This was a battle he couldn't help her with. This was a war fought in a language of code and secrets that only she understood.

Finally, late on the second night, she found something.

"I've got it," she said.

Jonah rushed to her side. On the main screen was a network of financial data, hidden bank accounts and anonymous donors that stretched across the globe.

"I traced the source of the funding," she explained, her finger tracing a glowing line through the chart. "The news outlet that published the article, and the political action committees that are backing those noble families... they're all funded by the same anonymous shell corporation."

She typed a command. The chart on the screen disappeared, leaving behind a piece of information. The name of the person who had founded that shell corporation.

Julian Sterling.

The awful truth was clear. This was Sterling's real power. He didn't need to break in and take the Archive by force. He was simply buying control of it. He was ruining what the public thought, creating a major political problem that had only a clear, "sensible" answer: putting the "unstable" and "weak" Essence Archive under the safe control of an outside group.

A third party like the Sterling Syndicate.

He wasn't going to steal their resources. He was going to make them hand it to him, and make them thank him for it.

Jonah stared at the name on the screen, feeling angry. This was a war they couldn't fight. They were soldiers, creators, and scientists. They were not politicians or media experts. They were completely unprepared to fight a battle of what people thought.

Julian Sterling wasn't just a villain. He was a master of a game they didn't even know how to play. And he was winning.

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