Tom Clancys Splinter Cell Conviction (2026)

“You’re going to nod once if you want to keep your tongue,” Sam whispered.

Sam leaned close. “Good. Traps are just ambushes that haven’t flipped yet.”

The main room was all glass and shadow, a panoramic view of D.C. below. Galliard sat in a leather wingback, reading a tablet. Two more guards flanked the doors, but they were lazy—watching the skyline, not the dark corners. Tom Clancys Splinter Cell Conviction

He crushed the phone in his fist and melted into the alley.

“Black Arrow. Who’s their D.C. handler?” “You’re going to nod once if you want

Now the lie had a name: Black Arrow . A private military corp running off-the-books assassinations. And the man who could lead Sam to Reed was inside this penthouse. Lucius Galliard. Former CIA, now an information broker who thought he was untouchable.

Sam used the sound of a distant helicopter to mask his footfalls. He slid behind a marble pillar. The Sonar Goggles were offline—too much risk of the glow giving him away. Instead, he counted heartbeats. His own. Theirs. Traps are just ambushes that haven’t flipped yet

Then a ghost flickered across a grainy security feed in Valletta, Malta. Sarah. Alive. And Third Echelon’s new director, Tom Reed, had lied to him.

He emerged into the penthouse kitchen. Two guards. One by the espresso machine, one by the balcony door. Both with sidearms. Sam didn’t hesitate. He came up behind the first—a hand over the mouth, a sharp twist, and the man slid down the marble counter without a sound. The second guard turned. Sam threw a ceramic sugar bowl. The man’s pistol rose, but his eyes tracked the bowl for a split second too long. Sam closed the distance, grabbed the gun’s slide to prevent a round from chambering, and drove his forehead into the man’s nose. Down.

Three targets. One objective. No witnesses who can talk.

The safe house smelled of stale coffee and regret. Sam Fisher knelt by the window, the fractured moonlight catching the silver in his stubble. Three years ago, he’d walked away from Third Echelon. They told him his daughter, Sarah, was dead. Killed by a drunk driver. He’d buried her empty casket. Buried himself in grief.