James stepped out of the Hale Estate and onto the street to catch a taxi back to his house in Killiney.

As he walked toward the main road, people started recognizing him from the broadcast. A woman walking her dog stopped and stared. Teenagers across the street pulled out their phones to take photos.

An older man at a café squinted at him like he was confirming something he suspected.

The whispers followed him as he passed. "Is that him?" "That’s the guy from the broadcast." "Team Zero, right?"

James kept his head down and walked faster. Yesterday he’d been anonymous. Today his face had been shown to billions while standing in front of an angel.

He flagged down a taxi and climbed in.

The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror and his eyes widened slightly with recognition, but he just asked, "Where to?"

James gave his Killiney address and the driver pulled into traffic without comment.

James pulled out his phone and leaned back in the seat. His screen was flooded with notifications - hundreds of messages from people he hadn’t talked to in years, friend requests from strangers, tags in posts he hadn’t made.

He ignored all of it and opened a news app instead.

The front page was dominated by Tower news. He clicked on an article titled "TOWER RESET: What It Means for Humanity" and started reading.

The article explained the angel’s message in detail - the reset from three hundred floors to one hundred fifty, the Story floors containing destroyed worlds that needed saving, and the grace period threat.

If challengers failed to clear a Story floor in time, Earth would face that same destruction.

Screenshots from the broadcast showed burning cities, shattered landscapes, and dying populations.

James scrolled to the comments section and found thousands of posts arguing back and forth.

Some complained bitterly about losing years of progress. "I cleared Floor 43 through THREE YEARS of work. Now I’m back at Floor 6 with everyone else. This is bullshit."

Others panicked about the grace period. "If challengers fail, we all DIE? We’re completely helpless."

Some supported the reset. "Finally everyone starts equal. This is humanity’s chance to unite."

Others discussed Team Zero specifically. "Who is James Ganner? Never heard of him." "Ireland? Didn’t know they had strong challengers." "How did unknowns break a decades-old record?"

James closed the app and looked out the window. The world was in chaos and his face was at the center of it.

The taxi pulled up to the house in Killiney twenty minutes after leaving the Hale Estate. James paid the driver with cash and got out onto the sidewalk in front of his property.

The driver nodded at him while still not saying anything about the recognition, but his expression made it clear he knew exactly who James was and what he’d done.

James headed up the driveway to the front door while his mind was still processing everything that had happened today.

As he approached the entrance, he noticed something wrong immediately that made his stomach drop with sudden dread.

The door was slightly ajar instead of being fully closed and locked. The TV was on inside the house and he could hear it playing from where he stood outside.

His mother never left the TV on when she went out anywhere, and she always locked the door without exception because she was careful about security.

James’s hand went to where his sword would normally hang, but he was in normal clothes without weapons.

He pushed the door open slowly.

The house was destroyed. Couch cushions thrown everywhere, drawers pulled open with contents spilled across the floor, kitchen chairs knocked over, papers and books scattered on every surface.

Someone had torn through the place searching for something, or just sending a message.

The TV was on, showing the Tower broadcast on loop.

James rushed inside. "Mom!" he shouted.

No answer.

He searched the entire house, running from room to room. Her bedroom with unmade sheets and clothes scattered from the closet. The bathrooms. The kitchen. The home theater. Every bedroom upstairs.

All empty. She was gone.

James stood in the destroyed living room trying to process what this meant. Where was she? Had she left before this happened, or was she here when someone did this?

Then he saw a piece of paper on the kitchen counter, held down by a coffee mug.

He picked it up and unfolded it.

"I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE LOOKING FOR. COME TO WAREHOUSE DISTRICT, DOCK 7, EAST PIER. MIDNIGHT TONIGHT. COME ALONE."

No signature. No explanation.

James stared at the note. What was he looking for? He wasn’t looking for anything.

But his mother was gone, the house was ransacked, and this note was here. They had her, or they knew where she was.

His hands started shaking as he held the paper, but not from fear. The shaking came from pure rage building in his chest like fire.

Someone had come into his home that he’d just bought to give his mother a better life, and they had torn through everything without respect.

His mother was missing from a place that should have been safe, and this note was the only clue.

His grip tightened until the paper crumpled in his fist. His mismatched eyes went cold the way they always did when he was truly angry.

He looked around the ransacked room one more time. Whoever had done this wanted him to see the destruction. The note talked about something he was "looking for" in cryptic language.

Unless they meant his mother. Unless this was their way of saying they had leverage.

The note specified Dock 7 at the East Pier in the Warehouse District. Midnight tonight.

He checked his phone. 9 PM. Three hours.

The note said to come alone, and James would do exactly that. Not because they ordered him to, but because he didn’t need anyone else.

Whoever wrote this had made a serious mistake. They didn’t know who they were dealing with or what he was capable of when someone threatened his family.

James crumpled the note completely in his fist. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

His mother was missing. The house was destroyed. Someone knew where he lived just hours after the global broadcast.

He walked to the door and stepped outside into the cold night air. The streets of Killiney were quiet at this hour, with only a few cars passing in the distance.

James raised his hand and flagged down a taxi driving past.

The driver pulled over and James climbed into the back seat.

"Warehouse District, Dock 7, East Pier," he said in a cold, flat voice that showed no emotion.