Miles stared at the envelope, then lifted his gaze toward the President with clear confusion.

"What is it about, Mr President?"

Maxwell folded his hands on the table, studying Miles carefully.

"Tell me, Miles… do you know anything about time travel?"

Miles blinked, stunned. For a moment he wondered if this was a joke, a test, or some strange metaphor.

"Are you joking, Mr President?"

Maxwell shook his head.

"Not time travel in its literal sense. Something… similar. Something older. Just look through it. Then tell me what you know."

Miles exhaled slowly.

He picked up the envelope, ran his thumb over the heavy seal, and cracked the wax.

Inside were several aged-looking documents.

Maps. Sketches. Torn parchments preserved in plastic sheets. Diagrams. Cryptic text.

Some handwritten. Some printed.

Some impossibly old.

Miles lifted each page carefully, studying the ink, tracing the symbols with narrowed eyes.

Pictures of ruins.

Star patterns.

A circular structure half-buried in the earth.

A man's portrait from centuries ago.

Notes mentioning a vault.

Coordinates.

A drawing of a wheel-like arc titled Time Spiral.

His expression changed with every page he turned.

The calm on his face shifted into curiosity.

Then disbelief.

Then something like shock.

He tapped the edge of one photograph, reading the small faded caption under it.

This was not a joke.

This was not fiction.

A flood of new information surged into his mind. Things that did not match any history book. Maps that looked older than Haven's modern era. Secrets buried far too deep.

Miles finally set the papers down, looking at Maxwell with an expression he had never worn in front of anyone.

Genuine shock.

Maxwell leaned forward.

"Do you know anything about it?"

Miles shook his head.

"Not a single thing before looking at this. Where did you even find this?"

Maxwell sighed.

"That is a long story. But the reason I am showing you this… is because you deserve to know your real heritage."

He paused. "I only recently learned the truth. That you are the direct heir of the Great Sterling Empire."

Miles frowned.

"The empire? . I heard about it, I didn't know it was that big."

Maxwell smiled sadly.

"You can search the history books, but whatever is written there is either incomplete or altered over the centuries. The truth is far older than the Republic itself."

He tapped the papers.

"Centuries ago, the Great Sterling Empire ruled nearly half of this continent. Your ancestor, King Sterling, was one of the most systematic rulers this land had ever seen. Though he was a monarch, his governance was almost modern. He protected his people, built economic routes, promoted knowledge, and never allowed tyranny."

Miles listened quietly, absorbing every word.

"Eventually," Maxwell continued, "he divided his empire into smaller kingdoms, distributing power. And he kept a small portion for himself. The land that is now Citadel City and its surrounding region."

Miles leaned back.

"That part… I have never heard of it anywhere."

"No one speaks of it openly anymore," Maxwell said, voice soft. "Old kingdoms fade, new governments rise, and people stop questioning what came before. But King Sterling left behind something… hidden. Something he called time travel."

Miles narrowed his eyes.

"So the pictures and maps in this file… they belong to whatever he left behind?"

Maxwell nodded.

"Yes."

Miles looked again at the map. Ancient lines. Spirals. Structures marked with strange symbols.

Maxwell's voice became heavier.

"And do you know how we learned of this? It was during an investigation into a criminal organisation."

Miles lifted his eyes.

"Which organisation?"

Maxwell's gaze sharpened.

"What do you know about Treasure Hunters?"

Miles felt the room suddenly colder, as if the answer had been waiting there all along.The afternoon sun hung bright over Star Harbor as the presidential motorcade rolled out from the Sterling Enterprises project site. Maxwell Abbott had personally shaken Dion and Flora's hands, praising their management and the precision in every detail. June's presentation earlier had been flawless, each answer delivered with clarity sharp enough to impress even the most seasoned ministers. Miles watched quietly from behind, pride softening his usually calm gaze.

By the time the President left for lunch and preparations at City Hall, the atmosphere in the city had shifted. Security tightened, drones circled wider arcs, armored vehicles created a second ring of protection. Star Harbor was holding its breath.

Miles drove toward The Atelier next. Tonight would hold the formal presidential dinner, and he wanted one final look at the preparations. As his car turned into the street, he immediately noticed something unusual.

Adam's sedan was parked at an angle, hazard lights blinking. Several Secret Service agents gathered near the side of the building, tense and alert. Their tight formation and sharp gestures told Miles everything: something had gone wrong.

Miles slowed, parked at the curb, stepped out, and walked to them.

"Adam," Miles called, reading the stress on the agent's face. "What's the issue?"

Adam exhaled sharply.

"An unauthorized sniper tried to infiltrate our unit. He almost blended in with the team. We caught him at the checkpoint, but he broke formation and ran."

Miles' eyes narrowed.

"What? Where did he go?"

Adam gestured toward the narrow space behind the building.

"Behind The Atelier. He slipped into that area and vanished into the blind spot. We requested CCTV from the city, but it's slow. We're sweeping the surrounding blocks. He won't get far."

Miles remained silent for two seconds, taking in the angles of the street, the narrow alleys, the shadows cast by the old stone structures.

Then he pulled out his phone.

"Leave this to me."

Adam blinked.

"What are you planning?"

Miles ignored the question and dialed Charles.

The call connected almost instantly.

"Boss?"

"There's a hostile sniper who tried to enter the Secret Service team," Miles said. "He ran behind The Atelier. Find him."

Charles didn't even pause.

"We're on it. Looking into it now. We will have him soon."

Miles nodded once and ended the call.

Adam watched him, half irritated, half bewildered.

"What was that, Miles? What is it you rely on exactly? Some hidden tech? Some underground intel network? God made eyes?"

Miles chuckled faintly.

"It works here. At least in Star Harbor."

His phone buzzed again.

Miles looked down.

A message.

One line.

A location pin.

He smiled.

"Adam," Miles said, lifting his phone. "I'm sending you the address. You'll find your sniper right there."

Adam took out his phone, eyes widening as the location arrived.

"That fast? This is ridiculous."

Miles shrugged lightly.

"Welcome to my city."

Meanwhile

Morning settled over London like a dim silver veil, sunlight barely slipping through the centuries old windows of the Curator's private palace. The long breakfast table had already been prepared, a gleaming stretch of polished mahogany crowned with porcelain cups, silver cutlery and carafes of steaming tea. The thirteen chairs were filled slowly one by one, each by a figure whose shadow alone could rewrite criminal history.

Basil Jefferson sat with the calm of a man who had already lived through too many storms. His posture earned curious glances.

A robed Sheikh from Dubai leaned forward, voice heavy with suspicion.

"A surprising sight, Basil. I thought you would not come."

A woman in a sleek grey suit from Germany tapped her fingers on the table.

"Indeed. I thought you retired long ago, Mr. Jefferson."

Elias rose from his seat at the head of the table, pouring himself a glass of wine even though it was barely breakfast.

"Come now, you two. Offer a little respect to our veteran."

The German woman adjusted her scarf quickly.

"Apologies, Mr. Jefferson."

Elias placed his glass down with a delicate clink.

"Before we begin, one of us is missing. Is Javier opting out?"

The room shifted with instant whispers, heads turning, eyes narrowing.

A lean man approached Elias quietly and bent toward his ear. Elias listened without blinking, his expression unreadable.

An elderly Russian with a washed out gaze and a cane snorted.

"He was the weakest among us. A loss, but hardly a catastrophe."

Elias lifted one finger without looking at him.

"Quiet."

The entire table fell into hush.

The man stepped back after delivering whatever message he carried. Elias finally exhaled, fingertips tapping the edge of his glass.

"You all arrived with entourages waiting outside. Silent killers waiting for a hand signal."

His gaze swept the table.

"Each one of you spent the last two days trying to pry into the others' movements. Rummaging through resources. Digging for secrets."

Several hunters stiffened, realizing he knew exactly what they had been doing.

"But," Elias continued with a small smile,

"Not one of you bothered to check where Javier was."

Basil raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

Elias rested both hands on the table.

"Javier moved ahead of us. While all of you arrived in London, he and his little gang flew straight to Star Harbor."

Gasps echoed down the table.

A man from Africa in a bold patterned coat growled.

"How did he move so fast without telling us?"

More whispers rose like a tide.

Elias lifted his hand again. Silence dropped instantly.

"Despite his haste, he is gone."

The word gone floated through the room like a death sentence.

"We cannot contact him," Elias continued. "Nor can the El Puño Cartel back home reach them."

The whispers grew sharp.

Across the table, Basil lowered his gaze, concealing the faint exhale of relief that escaped him. He relaxed only the slightest fraction, careful not to draw attention.

"There are two possibilities," Elias said. "The President of Haven is in Star Harbor today. Javier may have fallen into the eyes of the Secret Service."

A few hunters shifted uncomfortably.

"Or," Elias said softly,

"The man he was chasing gained the upper hand."

A bald monk from Hong Kong who had sat motionless until now finally opened his eyes. His voice was calm and even.

"I would like to know about this man. He is the reason we are gathered here, is he not, Mr. Elias?"

Elias smiled faintly.

"Thank you for not whispering behind my back. Yes, you are correct. Let us begin."

He drew a small remote and tapped it once.

A screen slid above the center of the table.

A face appeared.

Miles Sterling.

Ears perked around the room. Spines straightened. The name alone caused a ripple of tension so strong it felt physical.

Elias held up a hand.

"Yes. You heard me. His name is Miles Sterling. Grandson of Timothy Sterling."

Gasps. Murmurs. A few curses in foreign tongues.

The woman from Germany leaned forward, eyes bright with greed.

"Then he has the key?"

Elias smirked.

"He might. He is the rightful heir of the Sterling Empire. Eldest line. Oldest blood. Either Timothy passed the key to him… or he is the only one who can lead us to it."

The room erupted in whispers. Plans formed. Greed sharpened.

The hunt had begun.