The rain lashed against the windows of Sophie’s small apartment above a Parisian patisserie, mirroring the storm brewing inside Ethan. The intel Sophie had painstakingly gathered – digital copies of incriminating financial records, witness statements implicating Sinclair in numerous criminal activities, and even the elusive hidden ledger – was spread across the worn wooden table, illuminated by the soft glow of a single lamp.

They had been so close. So damn close.

Sophie had been exhilarating to watch, a master of deception and social engineering. She had woven a web of polite inquiries and subtle observations, extracting information from high-society gatherings and hushed conversations with an effortless grace that Ethan could only admire. He had provided the muscle, the focus, the driving need to see Sinclair brought to justice. They had been a perfect team.

But the perfectly constructed house of cards had just collapsed.

The evening had begun promisingly. Sophie, her face flushed with excitement, had presented a final piece of the puzzle: a coded message detailing Sinclair’s scheduled visit to New York City, a confirmation of his personal involvement in overseeing the final stages of his corporate consolidation – the very event Ethan planned to disrupt.

"This is it, Ethan," she had said, her voice barely a whisper. "This confirms everything. He'll be personally overseeing the… *acquisition* of another company, a small tech firm in New York. We expose this and everything he's built will crumble."

They had celebrated with a rare bottle of champagne, a silent toast to their impending victory. Ethan allowed himself a fleeting moment of hope, a vision of his parents' legacy restored, of Sinclair brought to his knees.

That’s when the knock came.

Not a polite rap, but a series of sharp, insistent blows that resonated with an unsettling urgency. Ethan's hand instinctively moved towards the small, concealed dagger he carried beneath his jacket.

"Who is it?" Sophie called out, her voice betraying a tremor of unease.

A gruff voice answered, "Police. We have reason to believe there's illegal activity taking place on these premises."

Ethan's eyes met Sophie's. Police? It felt wrong, staged. Sinclair had gotten to them.

"Stay here," he murmured, moving towards the door.

Before he could reach it, the door burst open, splintering the flimsy lock. Three figures, clad in dark, nondescript clothing, surged into the apartment. They weren't police. Their faces were grim, their eyes cold and calculating.

"Sophie! Get down!" Ethan shouted, drawing his dagger.

He moved with the speed and precision he'd honed over countless hours of training. He intercepted the first attacker, deflecting a clumsy blow with his forearm and driving the dagger into the attacker's side. The man grunted and staggered back, clutching his wound.

The other two assailants were more skilled. One lunged at Ethan with a knife, while the other moved towards Sophie, who was scrambling for cover behind the table.

Ethan parried the knife thrust, his muscles burning with exertion. He knew he was outmatched. He couldn't protect Sophie and fight them both.

"Run, Sophie! Get out of here!" he yelled, desperately trying to create an opening.

Sophie, despite her fear, understood the urgency of his words. She dodged the second attacker, who was trying to grab her, and made for the window.

As she reached the window, the attacker swung a heavy object - Ethan caught a glimpse of a metal pipe - and struck her across the back of the head. Sophie cried out, collapsing to the floor.

Rage, pure and unadulterated, surged through Ethan. He abandoned all caution and launched himself at Sophie's attacker, his dagger a blur of steel. He managed to disarm the man, but the first attacker, now recovered, joined the fray.

Ethan was forced to retreat, his body aching from the relentless assault. He knew he couldn't win this fight. He had to get Sophie out of there.

He feigned a retreat towards the door, drawing the attackers away from Sophie. Then, with a burst of speed, he spun around and hurled a chair at them, momentarily disrupting their attack.

"Sophie, now!" he screamed, his voice raw with desperation.

He managed to buy her a few precious seconds. She pulled herself to her feet, her face pale and bloodied, and stumbled towards the door. Ethan fought tooth and nail, deflecting blows, dodging attacks, buying her time.

Finally, she reached the doorway and disappeared into the hallway.

"Go!" Ethan roared, and with one final, desperate lunge, he kicked out the legs of the lead attacker, sending him sprawling. He then vaulted over the fallen man and followed Sophie into the hallway.

He found her leaning against the wall, struggling to breathe. The blow to her head had left her dazed and disoriented.

"We have to get out of here," he said, his voice strained. "They'll be back."

He helped her to her feet, and they stumbled down the narrow staircase, the sound of their pursuers echoing behind them.

They emerged onto the rain-slicked streets of Paris, the neon lights blurring in Ethan's vision. He scanned the surroundings, searching for a safe haven, a place to regroup.

But then he saw him.

Standing across the street, partially concealed in the shadows of a doorway, was Phillipe Dubois, Sophie's father. He wasn't looking at them with concern or worry. His face was impassive, almost… satisfied.

Ethan felt a cold dread grip his heart. He understood now. It was a setup. Phillipe had betrayed them.

"Sophie," he said, his voice tight with anger, "your father..."

Before he could finish the sentence, Sophie swayed and collapsed into his arms. He caught her, his heart pounding in his chest. He checked her pulse. Faint, but there.

"We need to get her to a hospital," he muttered, but knew it was too risky. They would be watching the hospitals.

He looked back across the street. Phillipe Dubois was gone.

He felt a wave of despair wash over him. He was alone, injured, and on the run. Sophie was unconscious, her life hanging in the balance. And the man who had orchestrated it all, the man he had trusted, was Sophie’s own father.

He carefully lifted Sophie into his arms, ignoring the searing pain in his ribs. He had to get her to safety. He had to protect her. And he had to find a way to make Phillipe Dubois, and Victor Sinclair, pay for what they had done.

The hunt for justice had just become a personal vendetta.

He had no idea where to go, what to do. But one thing was certain: the rules had changed. This was no longer just about exposing corporate corruption. This was about survival.

He found a dingy, anonymous hotel a few blocks away, paying in cash and using a false name. He managed to clean Sophie’s wound and stop the bleeding. He sat by her side, watching her, praying she would wake up.

As the night wore on, Ethan’s mind raced. He replayed the events of the evening, searching for clues, for answers. Why would Phillipe betray his own daughter? What could Sinclair have offered him?

He knew he couldn’t trust anyone. Not anymore.

When Sophie finally stirred, her eyes fluttering open, Ethan felt a surge of relief.

"Ethan… what happened?" she whispered, her voice weak.

He told her everything, the attack, her father, the betrayal.

Her eyes widened in horror. "No… I don’t believe it. My father wouldn't…"

"He did, Sophie," Ethan said, his voice gentle but firm. "I saw him. He was there. He knew."

Tears streamed down her face. The betrayal was too much to bear.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

Ethan looked at her, his eyes filled with determination. "I'm going to finish this, Sophie. I'm going to expose Sinclair, and I'm going to make your father pay for what he's done."

"But… how?" she asked, her voice filled with doubt. "They're too powerful. They control everything."

"They may control everything here," Ethan said, "but they don't control me. I'm going to New York. I'm going to Sinclair Tower. And I'm going to bring him down."

Sophie looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and admiration. She knew he was serious. She knew he wouldn't back down.

"I can't go with you," she said, her voice filled with regret. "I'm too weak. And I'm too much of a liability."

"You're not a liability, Sophie," Ethan said, taking her hand. "You're the strongest person I know."

"But I can't help you," she said. "Not now."

Ethan nodded. He understood.

"Then stay here," he said. "Heal. And when this is all over, we'll figure out what to do next."

He knew he was asking her to do something incredibly difficult, to stay behind while he risked his life. But he had no other choice. He had to go it alone.

He spent the rest of the night preparing, packing his few belongings, sharpening his dagger, and formulating a plan. He would leave at dawn. He would take the first flight to New York. He would confront Victor Sinclair.

As the first rays of sunlight crept through the window, Ethan looked at Sophie, sleeping peacefully, her face still pale and bruised. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"I'll be back," he whispered. "I promise."

Then, he turned and walked out the door, leaving behind the wreckage of their alliance, the ruins of their hope, and the shattered trust that could never be repaired.

He was alone now. Utterly alone. But he was more determined than ever.

The Steel Requiem was about to begin. And it would be sung in the heart of Sinclair's empire.