Two days later…

  Thousands of agents. Hundreds of Veythari in the world.

  And yet—of course—Savannah had to end up in a car with Lucenzo driving and Aanya Rajavi riding shotgun.

  Aanya lounged up front like she just won a damn award. Her short black hair with sharp plum highlights, stylish earrings layered like weapons, and eyes the color of stormlit oceans—cunning, poised, smug. She wore a brown plaid blazer over a teal button-up with just enough accessories to scream effortlessly expensive.

  It was petty.

  And somehow, despite being the one fresh out the hospital, Savannah was in the back seat.

  Lucenzo glanced at Savannah through the rearview mirror, sensing the tension thickening like smog. “You good back there?”

  “Y’know,” Savannah muttered, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, “you’d think the half-dead girl would get the front.”

  “That would imply she was valuable,” Aanya said sweetly, not even turning around. “But from what I see? That title’s… definitely not for you.”

  “Oi, keep talkin’, Rajavi. You’re only strong when someone’s bleeding.”

  Lucenzo groaned, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “C’mon, can we not do this today?

  Aanya turned just enough to catch Savannah’s eyes in the rearview. “You know, I’m thrilled to see you recovering. Really. Seeing you helpless was just the kind of morale boost I needed.”

  He sighed and leaned his head against the window for a moment. “God, why do I try?”

  Savannah smirked, voice dry and venom-laced. “That’s cute. Did you write that one down?”

  Aanya tilted her head, mock innocence dripping from every word. “It’s so freeing, Savannah. We finally get to breathe without your ego sucking all the oxygen.”

  Savannah scoffed. “You finally feel powerful ‘cause I’m out the picture for a few weeks? That’s sad.”

  “I feel amazing, actually,” Aanya said, not missing a beat. “This is the longest you’ve ever shut up without trying to turn everything into a dramatic, solo act.”

  “Oi—careful. You’re gonna choke on all that salt when I’m back on my feet.”

  Aanya turned, one brow cocked. “You’re not exactly graceful on your feet, anyway. You pathetic little—

  Savannah growled, “Oi! You that scared? Gonna piss yourself again like back in Dustridge?!”

  Lucenzo’s aura flared—bright, sharp, oppressive.

  Not violent, but enough to shut down the temperature in the car like a stormfront rolling in.

  Both Savannah and Aanya froze, mid-lunge and mid-scream, their attention snapping to him as the energy sizzled in car.

  “Enough,” Lucenzo said coldly, glaring at both of them. “This is annoying. Aanya, you need to be kinder to Bella—”

  “Oi! Stop calling me Bella,” Savannah snapped, already bristling.

  “I’m trying to help your dumbass,” Lucenzo growled. “And you—” he pointed to Aanya—“you shut the hell up. You act like winning a damn argument is gonna win you a medal.”

  This… was Unit V-29.

  A squad of seven that had no business functioning—yet somehow still pulled off dangerous, high-class missions under White Bullseye’s watch. It was a dysfunctional mess: emotionally volatile, always two seconds from a meltdown… and still ranked top 12 in field performance.

  That was mostly thanks to four standout members.

  Savannah.

  Lucenzo.

  And two others currently on assignment.

  Aanya had clawed her way into the team over time—working twice as hard to prove herself among monsters. And in her mind, Savannah was the easiest threat to eliminate.

  But she hadn’t told Aanya. Yet. Savannah was now a Major General or rank A+. Technically outranking everyone in the car.

  She might tell her now. Or she might wait for a tactical moment. Let that title cut when it needed to.

  And while Lucenzo’s aura had calmed the bickering for a second, it didn’t last.

  By the time they rolled up to the Shady Hills Apartments, the arguing was right back at it.

  “Pshh. Tacky,” Aanya said, looking up at the exterior with a sneer.

  Savannah flipped her off instantly from the backseat.

  Lucenzo sighed and came around to help her out, only to be met with resistance.

  “Don’t touch me—”

  “I’m literally trying to keep you from falling, Bella—”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Call me Bella again and I’ll show you a new use for a wheelchair.”

  After a few fuck yous, some shoulder nudging, and a glare-filled awkward shuffle, Savannah made it out of the car and into the wheelchair.

  Lucenzo gave a strained smile. “Goodbye.”

  “Go trip in the shower,” Savannah muttered.

  She wheeled through the lobby doors and into the elevator, hair messy, ribs aching, and a tired smirk forming as she leaned back in her chair.

  As the elevator rattled upward, Savannah looked up at the floor numbers increasing, her eyes half-lidded but her mind very much awake.

  She thought of Lucenzo. That annoying, smug prick.

  A few dates and suddenly he acted like they were destined soulmates.

  It was infuriating.

  …Not that she thought they were soulmates.

  But, the memory of Trevor drifted in like a breeze.

  Trevor was different—funny in a way that didn’t try too hard. Down to earth. Good looking, yeah, but he never clung to it like Lucenzo did. Trevor didn’t need everyone to see his shine. He just was.

  Lucenzo? He bathed in attention like it was his Manifestion fuel.

  And that trait of his?

  Impossible to ignore. Always there—pressing, watching, waiting to be obeyed. It had presence, dominance. It made her skin itch when she was already pissed.

  Aanya, at least, was simple.

  Straight system mentality.

  A product of the Veythari grinder.

  They were trained to be selfish.

  Climb or get crushed.

  Always aim to ascend—because Selfish Encasement was the highest form of Manifestion, the kind of energy that turned ambition into reality.

  Savannah didn’t hate that logic.

  She just hated Aanya.

  Still—none of it really got to her.

  Because once she was healed, she was going to send Aanya to the hospital. With her bare hands.

  The elevator dinged. She rolled forward and coasted down the hallway. Her eyes scanned the numbers until she reached her door.

  233.

  Home, for now.

  She knocked three times, knuckles sharp against the surface, then rang the doorbell for good measure. And waited.

  The door swung open to reveal a young man—not much older than Savannah—with messy hair, a tired expression, and a t-shirt that looked like it hadn’t known the concept of “folded.”

  Savannah blinked once.

  Then scoffed, “Geez, dipshit. Took you long enough.”

  He stared blankly. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Oi, she didn’t tell you she had a kid?” Savannah smirked, wheeling herself past him before he could answer.

  “Wait—what happ—” he started, but she was already muscling her way inside.

  “Can you move?”

  “Ow—my toes!”

  Ignored.

  “I’M HOME!” Savannah shouted.

  Crickets.

  No warm greeting. No confetti. Just the faint groan of a disgruntled human echoing from the hallway.

  The apartment was a surprisingly spacious one-bedroom with a massive deck overlooking New York City—big windows, dusty plants, and a fat orange cat sprawled across the armrest of the couch like it paid rent.

  Savannah rolled past the lazy feline and made her way down the hall to the bedroom.

  She found her mother, Sandra, lounging against the bed’s headrest, cigarette in hand, the soft glow of an old black-and-white movie flickering across her face.

  Sandra blinked, stared for a second, and exhaled smoke. “Hey… you’re alive.”

  “Yeah,” Savannah said, lifting a brow. “That disappointment in your voice or relief?”

  Sandra smirked. “Well, I figured as much. No one showed up with a flag or a government-issued pamphlet, so I assumed you’d show up eventually. Why are you here?”

  “Okay, Sandra, you don’t have to be a dick.”

  “Language, young lady.”

  “I think my grammar’s perfect the way it is.”

  “No, really,” Sandra said, sitting up slightly. “Doesn’t T.R.O have housing for rift-warped wunderkinds like you? Or do I gotta rearrange my whole apartment again? I’m not sure I’m wheelchair accessible.”

  Savannah tilted her head. “Not even gonna question why I’m in a wheelchair? And T.R.O is Russia’s organization… I’m E.R.O… Also I just didn’t wanna be there right now.”

  Sandra raised a brow. “So what, you just rolled up here like this is a halfway house? I could’ve been busy.”

  “With what, exactly?” Savannah glanced toward the kitchen where the young man was limping and rubbing his foot with a bag of frozen peas. “Speaking of, who’s that? New boyfriend?”

  Sandra flicked ash into a tray and grinned. “That’s Tony. He’s a nice guy.”

  “You’ve known him what—five hours?”

  “Three months, smartass. You always assume the worst.”

  “I always have the worst to assume.”

  Sandra stretched, arms above her head as her black hair fell lazily down her back. Her green eyes flicked over to Savannah with that trademark mix of amusement and exasperation. She was dressed in nothing but a bra and a pair of loose shorts—because modesty was clearly a dead concept in this household.

  Honestly, with her smooth skin and unbothered confidence, Sandra looked more like Savannah’s slightly irresponsible older sister than her mother. And considering Savannah was 18, that comparison was barely exaggerated.

  Sandra let her gaze drop to the wheelchair. “You really gonna need that inside?”

  Savannah stared at her. “No. I don’t like it anyway.”

  “Good,” Sandra said, standing and stretching again.

  “You didn’t throw my stuff out, did you?”

  Sandra made a face like she had to think real hard about it. “Mmm… maybe some of it. But I think most of it’s in storage. Tony can grab it for you.”

  Savannah rolled her eyes. “Oi! Aren’t we considerate.”

  Sandra laughed and sparked another cigarette like it was part of her breathing rhythm. “Of course, sweetie. I’m all heart.”

  She leaned back into the bed with a smirk. “Besides, you’d take forever to do it yourself. And one of us would have to keep getting the damn door. That would be so annoying.”

  Savannah snorted. “Of course.”

  Eventually, after Sandra finally peeled herself out of bed, they all migrated into the living room. Tony—grumbling but compliant—hauled up the storage containers that held what little remained of Savannah’s civilian life.

  Piece by piece, the living room transformed into her space.

  Couch cleared. Blanket unfolded. Wheelchair folded up and shoved into the corner like an unwanted memory.

  She laid back, a plain sheet tossed over the worn cushions, limbs still sore but free. Not comfortable—just familiar.

  Tony and her mom retreated into the bedroom. Door half-closed. Familiar murmurs. Light giggles. Heavy breathing.

  Years ago, that sound would’ve made her skin crawl.

  Now? Just noise.

  The usual disgust at her mother’s taste in men—especially ones her own age—had turned into cold indifference.

  Let that woman live her best life.

  And I’ll live mine.

  That’s what she told herself ever since her dad died when she was six. Sandra had always been selfish. A woman of impulse and smoke, of temporary lovers and permanent complaints. Savannah made it her life’s mission to not end up like her.

  She hobbled into the kitchen, body still aching, grabbed a half-empty pack of cigarettes, and plucked one out like it was routine.

  She lit it. Sat down. Flipped through the channels with dead eyes.

  No phone.

  No messages.

  No strength.

  Her mom was screwing some guy her age.

  She wasn’t strong enough to protect her class.

  Now she was benched—medical leave.

  And her circle? Scattered.

  One friend was across the world in Africa, hunting Rift Beasts.

  Another stuck playing hero with the A.A.A.P.

  The last… in a coma. After touching something no one could explain.

  Savannah exhaled slowly, smoke curling up into the dim ceiling light.

  She felt tired.

  Not just physically—soul tired.

  Like every little decision she’d made ended up being carried on her shoulders.

  She blinked. And looked around.

  “This wasn’t the vacation I expected,” she mumbled to herself. “But hell…”

  She dragged in one more breath of smoke, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.

  “I’ll make the most of it.”

  Sleep came faster than she expected. Heavy and quiet. No aura, no alarms, no screaming rift.

  Just a girl in a city that never slowed down, finally resting.