CHAPTER 301: SHATTERED GLASS

The sharp sound of glass breaking was still hanging in the air, vibrating through the bones in my jaw as I met Grant’s eyes.

I tried the handle.

Locked.

I pulled it once more, harder, and the door rattled on its hinges, but it didn’t budge. Behind it, the house was silent, save for the faint echoes of a woman screaming.

My heart rate ticked upward.

"Grant," I muttered.

"Do it," he said, stepping back, hand hovering near his service weapon.

I took a step back, braced my heel, and kicked.

The door splintered near the lock, the wood cracking with a sharp report as it swung inward, slamming against the wall. The scent of dust and something metallic—blood—immediately hit my nose.

I drew in a breath, my senses sharpening as Observation activated without a conscious command.

The entry hallway was narrow, shoes scattered across the floor from the impact of the door. A framed family photo lay face down, glass cracked, the image within showing a smiling family. Jonathan Steward and his wife beside him, her hair tied in a neat ponytail, Mary was between them, smiling a small, uncertain smile that seemed out of place now.

"Clear left," Grant said, his voice calm, controlled, sweeping the immediate hallway.

I stepped over the debris, moving forward into the living room. A coffee table was knocked over, magazines and a mug shattered across the carpet. The air was thick with the scent of coffee and blood.

Then I saw him.

Jonathan Steward was on the floor, one hand clutching a knife embedded deep in his thigh, blood seeping through his jeans in a dark, expanding patch. His face was pale, jaw clenched against the pain, but his eyes were open, sharp with shock.

Behind him, his wife was screaming, her hands fluttering around his shoulders, unsure of whether to press down or pull back. Her eyes were wide, her voice breaking as she shouted words I couldn’t parse over the thudding in my ears.

On the other side of the room was Mary.

Thanks to Observation, I noticed the bruising around her wrists, faint but recent, the skin discolored in the shape of fingers. Her hair was tangled, her breathing sharp, shallow, as she pressed herself against the wall, eyes darting between her parents and the window.

Glass shards were scattered across the carpet near the window, but—

I paused, narrowing my gaze.

Deduction clicked into place.

The glass shards weren’t inside the house.

They were outside.

The window was cracked, the edges jagged, but the force had driven the shards outward, not inward.

Which meant someone had jumped through to escape.

An intruder.

Someone had been in this house, had tried to take Mary—again—and she’d resisted, at least for a moment. That hesitation had escalated into violence, the father intervening, leading to the knife in his thigh, and the intruder crashing through the window to flee.

And if the glass had just shattered—

He was still close.

"Grant," I snapped, dropping to one knee beside Jonathan. "Keep pressure on that wound and keep them calm."

Grant didn’t argue. He dropped beside the man, pulling off his uniform jacket to press down on the wound as Jonathan let out a strained groan.

"Ma’am, I need you to breathe," Grant told Mrs. Steward firmly, his voice steady. "Listen to me. Keep your hand here, hold it steady. You’re helping him."

Her hands shook, but she obeyed, pressing down on her husband’s leg, tears streaming down her face.

Mary’s eyes locked on mine, wide, terrified, and confused, as if she wasn’t sure which father she was supposed to run to.

Command Presence ran through my body.

"Mary, stay with your parents," I ordered, my voice firm but calm. "Stay. Listen to Officer Grant."

She blinked, frozen, before slowly moving.

I stood, pivoting toward the window, and leapt.

Glass crunched under my boots as I landed on the grass outside, shards sparkling in the sunlight. I scanned the yard, heart thundering.

There.

In the distance, a figure was limping, half-running, half-stumbling toward a motorcycle parked on the curb. The man was pale, thin, hair a tangled mess around his face, his clothes torn near the shoulder where blood stained the fabric.

He swung a leg over the motorcycle, fumbling with the keys.

"Stop!" I shouted, surging forward.

He didn’t even look back.

The engine coughed, sputtered, then roared to life, the tires screeching against the asphalt as he took off down the street.

I sprinted after him, my boots pounding against the pavement, the world narrowing to the sound of my breath and the retreating roar of the engine.

But even enhanced by Endurance Boost, I couldn’t match the speed of a motorcycle.

I skidded to a halt, chest heaving, eyes tracking the figure as he disappeared around a corner, the echo of the engine fading into the distance.

No.

Not empty-handed.

I looked at him as I activated Scan.

Lines of blue light traced across my vision, locking onto the figure in the distance as the System processed the fragments of his appearance, the last vibrations of the engine, the smudges of fingerprints on the handlebars I glimpsed for a split second.

Scan: Complete.

Information flooded my vision, data aligning itself with brutal efficiency.

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Name: [BLANK]

Job: Hacker (S-Rank)

Skills:

Data Intrusion (Lv. 7) – Bypasse security barriers to extract, copy, or alter protected digital information without detection.

Network Manipulation (Lv. 6) – Alter data flow, permissions, and system behaviors within a network to gain strategic advantages.

Digital Camouflage (Lv. 8) – Mask digital presence, making tracking or detection within networks and surveillance systems nearly impossible.

Signal Disruption (Lv. 6) – Interfere with communications and electronic signals to disable monitoring devices or sever connections.

Encryption Break (Lv. 7) – Decrypt secured files and transmissions with advanced algorithmic attacks, revealing hidden data.

Remote Access Override (Lv. 6) – Gain control over distant systems, allowing command execution and system manipulation from a safe location.

Trace Erasure (Lv. 8)

– Eliminate logs, digital fingerprints, and residual data trails, ensuring infiltration leaves no evidence.

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The name glowed in my vision, a stark, impossible word that I had seen before:

Blank.

I swallowed, the world slowly expanding back into focus around me.

S-Rank. Hacker. Blank.

That explained how he got into the camera without detection, how he found Mary, how he kept slipping through the cracks.

I turned back toward the Steward house, glass still glittering in the grass, the shouts from inside drifting out as neighbors began peeking from their windows.

But the only thing echoing in my mind was that name.

Blank.

I jogged back toward the house, my mind already working, pieces clicking into place.

Inside, Grant had stabilized Jonathan, who was pale but conscious, the bleeding slowed under the firm pressure of towels and Grant’s jacket. Mrs. Steward was sitting beside him, her hand clutching his, tears drying on her cheeks as the initial panic began to fade.

Mary was sitting on the couch, her wrists cradled against her chest, her eyes red but dry, staring at nothing.

"Ambulance is on the way," Grant informed me as I stepped back through the shattered window frame. His eyes flicked up to mine. "Anything?"

I nodded once. "An S-Rank. Hacker. I don’t think he has a name."

Grant’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He likely assumed that I had an ability to figure this information out.

I turned my attention to Mary, who finally looked up at me, her eyes hollow.

"Mary," I said softly, kneeling in front of her. "Did he say anything?"

Her lips trembled, her eyes flickering toward her mother, then back to me.

"He... he said we needed to go home," she whispered. "That I wasn’t safe here. That I needed to go back with him."

She swallowed, tears welling again.

"But I... I didn’t want to go," she said, her voice cracking. "I didn’t want to go."

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting out a slow breath.

"You did the right thing," I told her, my voice steady. "You’re safe now."

Her shoulders shook, and she buried her face in her hands.

I stood, turning back to Grant, who was watching me with that unreadable look he always wore when the job got heavy.

"I’m going to need to get back to the precinct," I said. "Run an investigation on anyone who doesn’t have a registered name."

Grant nodded, looking down at Jonathan, who managed a weak thumbs-up from the floor, bloodied but alive.

"Go," Grant said. "I’ve got this."

I stepped back, the cold air outside biting at my skin as I looked out over the neighborhood.

Blank.

A ghost in the world.

But not for long.