They called him The Shadow Fox.
No one knew his real name—at least not on the streets. Among smugglers, fence dealers, and the city's underbelly, he was a whispered legend. A teenage thief who could lift a wallet without disturbing a thread, pick a lock blindfolded, and vanish into crowds like mist.
But before the myths… he was just a boy in Italy.
His name was Luca Ferini, and he grew up in a quiet, middle-class neighborhood on the outskirts of Rome. His parents—ordinary, hardworking people—never expected anything unusual. But Luca was different from the start.
At age 6, he began bringing home random things from school: a pencil case, a keychain, and a toy he claimed a classmate had given him. His mother questioned it but let it slide. Harmless, she thought. But it wasn't.
By the time Luca turned 9, it was no longer small trinkets. He thrived on risk. One day, he walked out with the teacher's wristwatch. Next, the principal's spare glasses. Eventually, he set his sights on the school's alarm system—not to destroy it, but to disable it, to see if he could.
And he did.
But it was his ego that caught him.
At age 12, he couldn't resist taunting the system. He left behind a calling card—a folded piece of paper shaped like a fox, resting neatly in the security control room. It was too perfect. Too cocky.
They traced it back to him.
His parents were mortified. Not just by the crimes, but by how little guilt he seemed to carry. They tried therapists, discipline, and even relocating him to a different school. Nothing worked. Luca was always three steps ahead. Always smiling.
By age 13, they made a painful decision: to send him to the Tarnell Military Academy in the United States—a place known for breaking the most stubborn spirits and rebuilding them into obedient soldiers.
It worked—for a while.
Luca disappeared from the headlines. But four years later, he reappeared… in chains.
Now 17, he was imprisoned in Blackridge, a fortress-like facility in North Africa built for the worst of the worst. No trial, no visitation. Only rumors surrounded how he got there.
Some say he stole something too important. Others whisper he uncovered secrets he wasn't supposed to. But what's certain is this: Luca wasn't like the rest.
He was still planning.
Still watching.
Still smiling.
Because The Shadow Fox always finds a way out.
SOMEWHERE IN THE PAST...
The Director's Office
Jayden and his friend made their way back to the orphanage. The building, old but familiar, stood under a sky that looked grayer than usual. It had been years since Jayden last walked those halls with purpose.
They went straight to the director's office. To their surprise, he was there.
Director Ivan, a tall man with graying hair and tired eyes, was usually away in meetings or locked in paperwork, but today he sat behind his desk, flipping through old files. He looked up as the boys entered.
Jayden shifted on his feet. His voice came out hesitant, almost unsure of itself.
"I… I wanted to ask you something. About… my family. And… the day I was brought here."
The director's hand froze mid-page. His brows furrowed slightly, and he looked up, puzzled. There was a pause before he spoke.
"Now?" he said softly, more to himself than to Jayden. Why now, after all these years? He had always expected the boy to ask… but he never had.
Instead of answering, the director asked gently, "What do you remember about them?"
Jayden lowered his gaze. The silence between them grew heavy.
"I… not much," he finally muttered. "Just a little. Bits and pieces."
The director leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. His eyes scanned Jayden's face for a long moment before he sighed.
"I always thought you'd come asking," he said. "Maybe when you turned thirteen. Or fifteen. But you never did. You seemed… content to leave the past alone. And now, just a few months from leaving us… You want to know?"
Jayden didn't respond. He just stared at the edge of the table. His friend stood beside him awkwardly, offering the director a polite, uncomfortable smile.
The director adjusted his glasses and sat up straighter.
"Alright. Let me tell you what I can."
His tone shifted, becoming gentler, more distant—as if pulling memories from another lifetime.
"This orphanage… It was founded by a war hero. After the First World War. He built it for children who lost their parents in the line of duty. Soldiers. Medics. Pilots. For a long time, it served that purpose. But after he died, things started falling apart and funding dried up. Support faded. We struggled."
He paused, then continued.
"Then one day, a large organization came to us. They offered full sponsorship. Enough money to keep the place running and to feed the kids."
"But there was a catch. One condition."
He looked between them with a cautious expression.
"They said we had to accept any child they brought us. No paperwork. No questions. Just take them in and raise them as our own."
Jayden's friend frowned, shifting his weight. Jayden remained still, eyes fixed on the table's grain.
"We were desperate," the director admitted. "And honestly? We didn't see the harm. It was just a few kids every year. Quiet drop-offs. No names. No explanations. Just… children."
He lowered his voice.
"Jayden… you were one of them."
For the first time, Jayden looked up and met the director's eyes.
Silence. A heavy, almost sacred kind.
Then his friend stepped forward and spoke softly.
"Thank you… sir. We'll go now."
The director nodded slowly. Jayden said nothing.
Later That Night
In the quiet of their room, Jayden sat on the edge of his bed, unmoving. His friend leaned against the window, arms crossed, lost in thought.
The air was still. No words passed between them.
Then Jayden finally broke the silence.
"…The Organization."