They never appeared in the news, and no one dared whisper their name, but the Sovereign Circle decided who lived, who ruled, and who vanished. Beneath the noise and busyness of the city's markets, business towers, and political meetings, they sat in silence, watching, pulling strings, and making kings out of men... or dust.
It was just after noon when a man in a grey coat was running through the streets with erratic breathing, his heart pounding with urgency. He moved quickly through an alley behind a private office building, one that bore no sign, only an embossed brass plate with the letters "OMEGA & CO. LTD" Its real identity was hidden from plain sight. The building was more than it seemed.
The man stepped inside, almost stumbling as he reached the lobby. A young, slim secretary with sharp eyes and a cold stare met him at the front desk.
"Can I help you?" she asked, barely glancing up.
"I... I need to speak with the boss. Immediately. It's urgent. Tell him it's related to a sighting," he said, trying to lower his voice.
The woman raised a brow. She turned around and picked up the intercom. Her voice was steady and practiced.
"Sir, there's a visitor… says it's urgent. A sighting."
A moment of silence passed. Then a response went through.
"Send him in."
She instructed him to go to the topmost floor and gave clear directions. He walked to the elevator, pressed the button, and when it arrived, the doors slid open automatically.
The man walked through a dim hallway and went past portraits of famous men and philanthropists. Each photo hung like a mask, some of them actual members of the Circle, hidden in plain sight.
At the far end sat a large oak door with a handle that had a lion shape.
He knocked once. Then twice.
"Enter."
He pushed open the door and walked in. The room was large and lined with bookshelves, maps, and a panoramic window behind the desk. Behind that desk sat George Agnew, a man who, to the world, was a kindhearted political donor, a champion for the poor, a savior of the masses.
But here, in this room, his true role lived. George Agnew was the local master of market manipulation, a hidden chess player in the Sovereign Circle; one can say he ran the errands in his community for them. The man smiling on flyers was only a shell. The real Agnew was ruthless, calculating, and utterly brilliant.
He looked up from his whisky glass with a calm expression. "Speak."
"I saw someone in the market. A young man. He was watching the flow of goods. Prices. Taking notes. It's like he could see something... something underneath."
George stood slowly. He walked to the window, his back to the man. "This boy," he said, swirling the glass in his hand. "How did he look?"
"About early twenties, tall, slender build. Sharp eyes. He wasn't just observing. He was absorbing... like he understood. You always told us to report such events immediately"
George chuckled. "Interesting. Someone mentioned a similar report a few weeks ago. Same market. The same type of look. Maybe we've found our little seedling."
He turned back around, his expression more serious now.
"We may have a prey in training."
The man stiffened. "Do you want me to deal with him?"
George shook his head. "Not yet. We don't kill ghosts. We study them first."
He walked over to the phone on the desk and dialed a number.
"Mary," he said to his secretary. "Send David in. Now."
"…"
Moments later, David walked in. Heavily built, clean cut, always dressed in a sharp suit. He was George's personal assistant, but in reality, he was much more. David was the man who cleaned tracks, erased people, gathered dirt, and made enemies disappear.
"You called, sir?" David said, standing straight.
"Yes. I have something for you. A new thread that just revealed itself."
He motioned to the man who gave the report. "He saw a boy in Brixton Market. Gave a description. The same one we got two weeks ago."
David's eyes narrowed. "Same person?"
"Not sure, but most likely," George said. "I want you to find out who this boy is. Everything. Where he lives. What he reads. Who he talks to. If he has a family. Weaknesses. Patterns. Teachers. Even what he eats for lunch."
David nodded. "Understood."
George looked at them both and walked back to his desk.
"If this boy is just another curious rat, we scare him. But if he's a seed... we pull him up before he becomes a tree."
He sat down again, sipping his drink.
"Begin surveillance immediately. But be smart. I don't want anyone to know we're watching. Not yet."
David left silently, pulling out his phone to start operations.
The man in the grey coat stayed behind, hesitating.
"Sir... if I may ask. Why such concern over a boy?"
George leaned back and stared into his glass.
"Because the most dangerous men I've ever met... started off as boys with notebooks."
He placed the glass down and turned slowly.
"And I don't plan on being on the wrong side of history." He discharged the man.
***
Alex's mind was swirling with thoughts as he was leaving the market. Some sharp, some clouded. The beggar's words still echoed faintly in his mind, like a whisper he was trying not to hear.
"I was a banker, boy."
He had no idea why it struck him so deeply. But it did.
He was barely ten steps away from the open street when his phone vibrated.
He pulled it out.
Message from: Raymond
"Come back to the Gatehouse immediately. Lesson continues."
Alex frowned. No "how was it?" No "hope you're safe." Just business, as always.
He was already turning toward the main road when the phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
No, not unknown. He knew that number.
Elliot.
He opened the message.
"You really are stubborn. I warned you, Alex. You'll receive what you are asking for since you refuse to heed advice. It's really not too late to stop now."
Alex stopped walking.
What advice?
What did Elliot mean?
What did he really know?
He stared at the message as if it would change or offer more.
But nothing came.
He was so not at ease. A sickening feeling that everyone around him was playing a role, but only he didn't have the script.
"Am I being used?" he muttered under his breath.
"What is all this, a test?"
He pocketed his phone and began walking again, faster this time. He had to get answers.
He had to go back to the Gatehouse.
But just as he crossed the street to enter a bus, something strange happened.
A small white van drove past slowly, and for a brief moment, the tinted window rolled down.
Alex saw a man in a dark suit staring at him.
Not blinking.
Not moving.
Just watching.
Then the van turned and disappeared.
Alex stood frozen. Not because he was afraid, but because the look in the man's eyes reminded him of everything he's been told about them watching him.
His heart skipped
"..."