A stormy night. A black sedan lost control on the winding mountain road, crashed through the guardrail, and slammed into the rocky hillside. The front was totally crushed.

The driver died instantly. In the back, a woman covered in blood was unconscious—but still instinctively curled her arms around the little girl under her, protecting her even in that state.

An hour later, in a military hospital somewhere in the western region.

The emergency room doors swung open. A few doctors stepped out and removed their masks. One looked at the elderly general waiting outside and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Whitmore… we couldn’t save her."

Mr. Henderson's body tensed. He held the girl a little tighter. She looked up at him blankly, her expression vacant, seemingly unable to understand what those words meant.

The girl's name was Annabelle Paddison. The people who'd just died in that crash were her parents.

Today was her sixth birthday. Her father, Bayard Paddison, and mother, Sophia Whitmore, were top-tier weapons engineers working at a military research facility.

They were always busy. But today, they'd finally found time to take her out for a birthday trip. Just the three of them.

Midway, an urgent call came in—something had gone wrong with their project. As the lead developers, they had no choice but to rush back overnight.

On the drive, her parents had been comforting her, promising a proper celebration next year. Her mom had been hugging her, whispering, "Annabelle, once this project wraps up, I’ll quit and spend all my time with my baby girl. Okay?"

That voice still echoed in her ears. She hadn’t even responded yet…

Then the car spun out of control, smashed into the cliffs. Her dad died on the spot. Now her mom… was gone, too.

Why was she the only one left?

Annabelle had an IQ of 180. She was young, sure—but she understood more than people realized.

Mr. Henderson looked at her, his expression filled with complicated emotions.

"Annabelle, come with me. Let’s see your mom and dad."

Her face stayed blank. He sighed heavily. Her parents were always working; he’d basically watched this kid grow up. Seeing her like this… it hurt.

He would’ve liked to give her more time to grieve properly. But the situation didn’t allow for that.

Bayard and Sophia’s identities were highly classified. This accident happened too suddenly—there was no time for a proper process.

They had made breakthroughs in several key military technologies, and right now were leading a major weapons upgrade project. If word got out that both lead researchers had died, the consequences could be catastrophic—nationally.

So, things had to be handled quietly. Fast-track the cremation. No official ceremony.

Not only would their ashes be unable to rest in the national heroes’ cemetery—there wouldn’t even be a proper headstone.

The whole thing had happened so fast. Even Mr. Henderson was struggling to accept it. The research facility had just lost two of its brightest minds. The loss was, frankly, immeasurable.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then carried Annabelle into the room.

Bayard and Sophia were lying side by side, bodies cleaned up, no blood—just like they’d fallen asleep.

Annabelle reached out with a trembling hand. Her fingers brushed against Sophia’s cold face.

And just like that, the silence shattered.

The little girl who’d been frozen in shock finally broke down—screaming, bawling her heart out.Everyone in the room felt a tug at their heartstrings. This kid was way too mature for her age. She’d always understood how demanding her parents' jobs were—never once threw a tantrum, never asked to be accompanied. So quiet, so composed, it was almost surreal for a child her age.

Now though… sigh.

Poor kid…

Mr. Henderson watched her, thinking that maybe it was actually good she finally cried. Better than holding everything in like before. She'd been too calm, too quiet—and that had worried him more.

No matter how they coaxed or tried to comfort her, Annabelle wouldn’t stop crying. She cried till she passed out from exhaustion, and Mr. Henderson had to carry her back home.

She stayed with him for a while after that. Looked okay on the outside, but buried herself in silence. Barely talked at all.

Most of the time she'd just sit in her room with the tiny laptop her parents had built for her, glued to the screen for hours. Only showed up when someone called her to eat.

She had a ridiculously high IQ, but totally missed the mechanical gene from her folks. Instead, she had this insane natural pull towards computers, especially cybersecurity—showed signs pretty much as a toddler.

Growing up in the military compound with her parents, she was surrounded by top tech people. They noticed she was into it, found her entertaining, and let her hang around. Even though her parents were in weapons engineering, Annabelle practically lived in the cybersecurity department these past few years.

The pros in the cyber office rarely saw a kid this gifted and so eager to learn. They basically started grooming her like the next-gen prodigy.

Honestly, they probably spent more time with her than her own parents did.

Even being that young, Annabelle had her own views. She turned down Mr. Henderson's offer to enroll her in school and instead signed herself up to study directly in the cyber unit.

She stuck around for years, working on network security. Her talent was scary good—but what was more impressive was how long she'd sit still just quietly grinding and learning.

After squeezing everything out of her mentors, she started bouncing between top military regions to learn even more, constantly leveling up. Most real experts in this field are locked into military service. It’s serious business.

And Annabelle? She was in a league of her own. Barely twenty, and nobody in the entire region could touch her skill level. The cybersecurity unit basically revolved around her.

But after everything she'd been through, that bubbly little girl was gone. Now she barely talked. Her life was all work and training—nothing else seemed to stick.

She zoned back into reality, realizing how deep she'd gone into her thoughts. Weird—she rarely drifted off like this.

Wait, wasn’t her birthday coming up? Hard to tell anymore—she hadn’t properly celebrated in years.

Everyone assumed she skipped birthdays because of what happened back then. But truth was, she’d already moved on... it was just never her thing. That kind of personality doesn't flip easily.

Big crowds? No thanks. If it meant avoiding small talk, she'd rather stare at code all day.

Then her mind drifted to the new assignment: heading to Jingdu to set up the new National Cybersecurity Department. With the internet booming in recent years, their local military cyber team had been handling protection duties over there.

Now, the higher-ups wanted to carve that section out and build a standalone department. And she’d be taking the lead—as the head.

Not that it fazed her. It was right up her alley. She'd been sent out to help form cyber units in other regions before—nothing new, really.

She didn’t care much about moving. Over the years, no matter how many top-level bases wanted to poach her, she never budged.

She only stayed because she got used to the place. People overthought it, tried to find hidden meaning—but nope, it was just habit.

Then another thought popped in, and a headache kicked in. Now how was she supposed to say no to that?