As the doors to the debriefing room hissed shut behind her, Savannah sat in silence, the wheels of her chair barely whispering along the sterile floor.

  She wasn’t sure how to feel.

  Relief? Maybe.

  She was alive.

  She got to tell the story—most people didn’t even get that.

  But the weight in her chest felt less like survival and more like she’d just finished delivering a warhead.

  Not a report.

  A detonation.

  They told her she’d be promoted. A few honors. Protocols waived. Access expanded.

  She didn’t even process half of it.

  They said they’d send her a briefing package.

  Right now, only one thing mattered.

  She tilted her head back, wincing at the motion, and looked up at Bullseye.

  “…Can I see it?”

  Bullseye arched an eyebrow, walking slowly beside her. “See what, sugar?”

  “The creature,” Savannah said, voice heavy with something deeper than fear. “I need to see its corpse. Make sure it’s dead. Even if it’s just a picture.”

  Bullseye slowed. Her expression didn’t change, but the hesitation was clear.

  “S’not usually protocol.”

  “I don’t care about protocol.”

  Bullseye tapped her fingers against the side of her coat, then let out a quiet sigh. “Damn stubborn Veytharis…” she muttered under her breath, then pulled out a sleek comm device from inside her coat.

  She switched channels, flicking to a secure line. “This is White-Bullseye. I need a visual confirmation on Specimen Echo-9A. I’ve got Red Gale requesting an ID shot.”

  Savannah barely heard the response—her focus shifted inward, into the fragile current of her being.

  She closed her eyes.

  Slipped into the stream of her Mani.

  It was still a mess.

  Clotted energy webs, disjointed flow, small fissures forming along the edge of her core.

  But…

  It was repairing.

  Not fast. Not smooth. But inching its way back.

  Her center still felt like shattered glass being melted down and reforged, but the forge was lit now.

  That meant she had a chance.

  Bullseye was still on the line, quiet, nodding slowly.

  Then she glanced down at Savannah and said, “Alright, sugar. You’ll get your picture.”

  And Savannah just nodded, eyes still half-closed.

  Bullseye chuckled low as the secure image loaded. “You’re lucky the doc likes you,” she said with a tilt of her hat.

  She turned the screen slightly toward Savannah. A flickering, high-contrast still of a corpse—its headless body crumpled under reinforced containment bindings. Black, spidery lines etched across what remained of the torso, still faintly glowing. The sheer wrongness of it made the background blur like static.

  Then the image glitched—flickered—and deleted itself. Gone.

  Savannah grinned.

  Not a soft smile.

  Not a relieved one.

  A cruel one.

  Bullseye sighed dramatically and gave her a light bop on the forehead with two fingers. “Oi oi! Ow! Ow!” Savannah winced. “What the hell—?”

  “Your trait was flarin’,” Bullseye said, crossing her arms.

  Savannah scowled. “Oi! Yours is always flaring! I’m just glad my class got their payback,” She muttered, rolling her eyes, which caused her to wince. “Even if it wasn’t me.”

  Bullseye gave her a nod. “You did good, Red.”

  Savannah squinted suspiciously. “Oh boy. Here it comes…”

  “You need to stop bein’ so—”

  “Please spare me. I know. I know.” Savannah slumped deeper in the chair.

  Bullseye narrowed her eyes, smirking. “Sugar, you’re pushin’ it.”

  Savannah gave her an unapologetic grin.“So what now?” She asked, yawning behind her hand.

  Bullseye raised an eyebrow. “You hungry?”

  Savannah made a face. “No. I don’t even feel like I have a stomach.”

  Bullseye nodded. “Fair. Well, since you’re on medical leave for the moment, guess we’ll be sendin’ you home for a bit.”

  Savannah groaned. “Great. Home…”

  She paused, then turned her head up toward her captain. “…Can you promise me I’ll get to see Zoey when she wakes up?”

  Bullseye’s lips pressed together for a moment. Then she nodded. “Yeah. I’ll see to it. But you know she’s gotta go through procedure first. No direct contact ‘til she’s cleared.”

  Savannah didn’t argue.

  She knew asking to see the corpse was already crossing a line. And when you’re given an inch…

  You don’t take a mile.

  Still.

  She’d try anyway.

  ——

  Ding ding ding.

  The sound of a doorbell echoed through the sleek, modern high-rise apartment, bouncing off polished glass walls and the low hum of the aquarium embedded in the floor.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Seyvon yawned as he padded barefoot across the marble, boxers and a stretched-out tee hanging loose on his frame. His eyes were covered by a white cloth. He wasn’t expecting company. Hell, barely anyone even knew about this apartment—one of several homes he kept under wraps. So whoever it was at the door had to be either a friend or someone about to become body-shaped confetti.

  Either way, he wasn’t worried.

  He opened the door with the usual calm, almost bored expression he wore like a uniform—only for his brows to raise slightly under his cloth at the sight.

  A striking Middle Eastern woman stood there, short black hair still perfectly styled despite the wind outside, and those sharp blue eyes scanning him like she already knew the punchline to the joke he hadn’t told yet.

  “May I come in?” she asked smoothly.

  Seyvon smirked. “Oh. It must be Christmas.”

  She rolled her eyes as he stepped aside, letting her through.

  She moved into the apartment with the grace of someone who had done this a few times, but as her eyes roamed the space, she gave a quiet nod. “First time at this house, huh. I like it better. The aquarium under the floor’s a nice touch.”

  “Cost more than an arm and leg,” Seyvon muttered, shutting the door and heading toward the kitchen. “So… what brings you to my sacred, lazy temple this early in the damn morning?”

  “It’s 2:30 PM. Maybe you should take that blindfold off.”

  “Baby, you know I don’t start my day till 5,” he said, stretching his arms as he yawned. “I’m a 5 to 9 kinda guy.”

  She raised an eyebrow, settling onto his couch and crossing her legs casually. “Yeah. I can tell. Clothes still on the floor… a sock hanging from the bookshelf? Impressive ecosystem you got here.”

  “You can’t judge me when you just popped up uninvited,” Seyvon shot back as he moved into the open kitchen. “You lucky I didn’t have Randy shoot you.”

  “But Randy loves me.”

  “Randy’s just handsy,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t mistake finger twitches for affection.”

  She snorted quietly, watching as he prepped two mugs and started brewing.

  Two cups of black coffee.

  No sugar. No creamer.

  Just like she liked it.

  Seyvon glanced over at her from the kitchen, eyeing the teal blouse tucked neatly into fitted blue jeans, Prada heels propped against the edge of his expensive couch like she owned the place.

  “I like it,” he said casually.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Like what?”

  “The outfit. What else?”

  She smirked. “Thought maybe you were referring to the prize on your couch.”

  “Yeah, no.” He walked over with two mugs in hand. “I love ya, but I also hate ya. You interfere with my trait.”

  She grinned, taking the mug and breathing in the rich scent. “Mm. Classic deflection.”

  He didn’t laugh. He just looked at her flatly. “So how much this time?”

  Her smile didn’t waver. “Oh, why the look?”

  “Well, for one,” he said, “I hate bein’ on this side of the deal. Two—if you’re gonna pop up on me randomly, I’d at least like some—”

  CLANK.

  She hurled the mug at him.

  But before it could hit him, something intercepted.

  A creature stepped into view—upright on two spindly legs, but everything above the knees was a surreal mess of hands stacked and woven together in impossible ways. Long, extended hand-arms moved like silk as a bowl-shaped crown made of interlocking fingers gently hovered where a head should’ve been.

  The creature raised one hand and absorbed the flying coffee in midair. With another hand, it reassembled the mug and returned it to her—fresh, untouched, still warm.

  She smiled sweetly. “Thanks, Randy.”

  Seyvon snorted. “You lucky Randy likes you. I’ve killed people for less.”

  “I’m pretty sure you have,” she said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. Her eyes sparkled with mischief behind the rim of the mug. “And don’t worry. This information is worth way more than whatever your body could do for me.”

  “Wait—hold up,” Seyvon said, leaning forward with a hand raised.

  But she was already moving.

  “Sixty million,” she said flatly. “For the first half. I’ll start once it’s on the table.”

  He glared at her, lips tightening. “You’ve got the worst flirting game I’ve ever seen.”

  She smiled, smug as hell.

  Seyvon sighed and tilted his head. “Randy.”

  The creature of hands and quiet intent raised both its long, flexible arms—forming a perfect square between them. A shimmer of light filled the space, and then a sleek box appeared on the table between them.

  She leaned forward and opened it—then paused.

  “Gold coins?” she laughed, shaking her head. “It’s like tossing pennies in for a parking ticket.”

  He smirked.

  She chuckled and pulled a velvet cloth from her side bag, draping it over the box. One tug—fwip—and it vanished, completely gone without a trace.

  “Alright then,” she said, crossing one leg over the other. “Here’s your first taste.”

  She set her mug down.

  “Savannah’s awake. Sat through the whole debriefing. Gave up more info than I expected. Apparently, the creature’s identity threw a wrench in the classification system. It could use Black Magic and Manifestation. It was suspected before but she confirmed it.”

  Seyvon raised an eyebrow.

  “She ID’d it as a person. Said it was a classmate. Named Howard. I trust that’ll be enough for you to do your own research.”

  Seyvon blinked, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Damn… that’s some shit, now ain’t it, Randy?”

  Randy gave no reply, standing motionless, dozens of idle fingers twitching lightly in the air.

  She kept going. “It acted like a demon. Wanted to be seen as one. And it told her—direct quote—that she was going to be part of its “experiment.”

  “Experiment?” Seyvon echoed, his expression shifting from amusement to something.

  “Mmhm.”

  She ran him through a few more things. Information he could sell later. He leaned back. “Alright. What about the Veythari angle?”

  She smiled sweetly. “That’ll be another sixty million.”

  Seyvon groaned and shot Randy a glare. “You’re enabling her.”

  Randy simply created another box of gold without a word.

  She reached for it with a pleased hum, then pulled the same cloth trick and made it vanish.

  “Well,” she said, brushing invisible lint off her jeans, “she’ll be waking up very soon.”

  Seyvon tilted his head. “When? And how the hell do you know that?”

  She smirked.

  He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “This bit was only fun when I was the one running the show.”

  She winked. “Well… welcome to the audience.”

  “Imma need a bit more for 120 million, ma’am.” Seyvon leaned forward, voice dipped into a dry, unimpressed tone.

  She chuckled, swirling the last sip of her coffee. “Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t shortchange you.”

  She leaned back and, with that same confident grace, began to list off more—details E.R.O hadn’t even finalized on paper.

  “The E.R.O. is planning to shift containment zone protocols based on Savannah’s report. A lot of their Rift sensitivity models are getting thrown out. They’re reshuffling teams too—especially near hotbeds where Veythari might’ve been stationed before.”

  Seyvon raised a brow. She wasn’t done.

  “And when the Veythari wakes up?” She tapped her temple. “I’ll have the name. And the location. You’ll get both.”

  That made Seyvon look up, more alert now. “Oh?”

  She smiled wider, “You also don’t have to worry about Ashara’s idiocy anymore,” she said coolly. “The Den Mother’s having her executed. Idiot went too far killing the Abyssal Hand.”

  Seyvon blinked. “She’s dead?”

  She gave a faint smile. “Not yet. Probably being tortured, though.”

  Silence crept in.

  Everything lately felt off. Pieces were moving, sure, but not the ones he expected. Something about it kept scratching at the back of his mind like a scratch he couldn’t quite itch.

  She rose and began heading toward the door. “Leaving so soon?” Seyvon teased.

  “Yeah?” she teased over her shoulder.

  “Well damn, I was gonna turn some cartoons on,” he replied, lazily slumping deeper into the couch.

  She laughed, sauntering to the door as Randy held it open like a perfect butler made of nightmares.

  “I got work to do,” she said with a wink. “You know how they love us, Seers.”

  Seyvon waved her off, one hand in the air as she disappeared into the hallway.

  The door clicked shut.

  Silence fell again.

  He leaned his head back against the couch, exhaled, and muttered under his breath:

  “Damnit.”

  That woman… she knew too much. More than she should’ve.

  Seyvon leaned into the couch, one arm draped lazily behind his head, the other sinking into a cushion like gravity owed him something. Everyone was scrambling—cults, governments, though the Lords hadn’t made a move. Which was a cause for concern in his book. Across from him, Randy rested as hands went different ways at once—arms, elbows, limbs draped over the couch.

  “Everything’s shifting,” Seyvon muttered. “Too fast. Too deliberate.”

  Randy said nothing, as usual.

  Seyvon nodded anyway. “Exactly what I thought.”

  His fingers tapped a beat against his thigh. “That park incident? Definitely wasn’t some rift-rebound. That was too unexpected. Coordinated. Even that Seer had details that didn’t make sense unless she was looped in from the start.”

  He sat forward, thoughts clicking into place. “But a plan for what? That’s the part that doesn’t line up.”

  He paused, eyes narrowing. Then he pulled the lens back.

  Veythari.

  A place with no rift but was responsible for a rift-rebound.

  A creature beyond anything they’d seen.

  No cults making moves.

  And the E.R.O? They were sitting on information and didn't want anyone asking questions.

  Seyvon smiled. “Someone’s behind this.”

  He could feel it in his teeth. That electric certainty.

  He stood and reached out, dapping up fifteen of Randy’s hands in sequence. Randy still didn’t respond.

  Seyvon grabbed his phone, walking toward the balcony. The city beneath him is spiraling and moving like an organism. He dialed.

  Rings. No answer.

  Voicemail.

  “I know this mother—”

  He hung up and called again.

  Finally, a voice:

  “What?! What?! I’m in a creative space right now.”

  “Tch. After what you did to that park—”

  “I did no such thing! That was a chaotic expression of civic anxiety. It had no structure, no nuance! Art is—”

  “Save it.” Seyvon sighed. “I was joking. Got a few things to run by you. I’ll hit you up, after your creative “energy” runs out.”

  “That’s fine. Thanks for calling me for a text-worthy conversation. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my canvas. Farewell.”

  Click.

  “Mason’s such an idiot,” Seyvon muttered, chuckling to himself.

  He turned, watching the city breathe beneath him.

  Something was coming. He didn’t know what. But he knew he was right.

  And this time, he wouldn’t just be reacting.

  He was officially in the game.

  Not a piece.

  A player.