Chapter 117

The sun barely peeked through the cracks in the tin roof of Alex's makeshift room, casting a dim light over the cluttered space.

The air was thick with the smell of stale sweat and smoke from the nearby factories. Alex sat on a rickety wooden stool, hunched over a small, battered radio, its surface covered in scratches and grime.

His fingers trembled slightly as he turned the dial, tuning in to the familiar voice of the news reporter.

"...last night's shocking attack at the gala," the reporter's voice crackled through the static. "Authorities are still piecing together the details of the incident."

Alex's heart pounded in his chest. He leaned closer to the radio, his breath shallow and rapid.

The room seemed to close in around him, every sound amplified, every sensation heightened.

"Among those targeted was Ethan Anderson," the reporter continued. "The heir to one of the country's most prominent Super Houses and lead partner in the Monument Project."

A wave of happiness washed over