Dawn crept through cracks in the boarded windows, thin and colorless. The rain had stopped, but the city’s distant screams hadn’t. Alex sat slumped in the break room chair, wrapped in a half-dry coat. Every muscle in his body ached. His right hand pulsed in slow, rhythmic pain. Across from him, Mei Lin was already awake. Her hair was tied back, her sleeves rolled up. The phone in front of her glowed with spreadsheets and notes. Numbers. Inventory. Ratios of survival. “You don’t sleep,” Alex muttered. “I optimize,” she said without looking up. “And we’re out of time.” He leaned back, closing his eyes. “How long?” “Seven hours until the Haunting stabilizes. Maybe less.” Her tone was calm, as if she were giving a quarterly report. “That means seven hours to make another lock, test it, and scale production.” Alex laughed once, low and hollow. “You talk about ghosts like they’re a supply chain.” She looked up at him, eyes flat. “Everything is a supply chain now.” He studied

The silence was its own kind of monster. No rustle of paper. No gurgle of tar. No distant groans from the flooded warehouse below. Only one sound reminded Mei Lin she wasn’t completely alone— Alex’s breathing. It wasn’t peaceful breathing, either. It rasped. It cracked on every exhale. Each inhale sounded like it fought through broken glass. He didn’t sleep like a man. He slept like someone being dragged under. Mei Lin sat in the far corner, knees pulled to her chest, back pressed against cold metal. Her phone—the room’s only light—glowed beside her. 1:15 A.M. Alex had guessed eight hours until dawn. She didn’t guess. She counted. Her mind, trained on margins and metrics, began doing what it always did in crisis: Evaluate. Measure. Adjust. Her eyes returned to him. The “warrior” who sealed a warehouse with blood and will was nothing like the legend he’d one day become. Right now, he was a soaked, trembling twenty-one-year-old slumped over a

The sky outside had softened into a dull, bruised gray. Dawn hadn’t arrived. The darkness had simply… thinned. Alex sat upright, back straight, Soul Lock heavy in his lap. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked to the door—shoulders tense, jaw locked. His ruined hand throbbed under the bandage, a slow, burning pulse that gnawed up his arm and into his skull. He ignored it. Pain meant he was alive. Across from him, Mei Lin slept with her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around herself. The bronze bell rested beside her hand—her lifeline. Even in sleep her fingers twitched toward it, making sure it was still there. Warrior and Tycoon. Monster and Calculus. Two strangers stuck in a glass cage of fear. Alex’s watch shift ticked on. And then— A faint noise drifted from outside. Not inside the warehouse. Outside, past the walls, past the Soul Lock’s boundary. Sirens. Not the panicked, dying kind from last night. Not the police. These were differ

The wind on the rooftop turned sharp. Alex shifted, putting himself slightly in front of Mei Lin without thinking. His burned hand pulsed under the bandages, each heartbeat a small knife. The new guy stepped fully into the dawn light. He looked… normal. Too normal. Black jacket. Calm eyes. A small smile, like the end of the world was just entertainment. Alex hated him instantly. “Name,” Alex said. The young man shrugged. “People used to call me Jin. But names don’t matter now.” Mei Lin tightened her grip on the bronze bell. “Why are you here?” Jin’s smile widened. “To see if the rumors were true.” Alex froze. “What rumors?” “That someone got the first Soul Lock before the Haunting Day officially hit.” He glanced at Alex’s hand. “Looks like it was you.” Alex didn’t answer. Jin continued, walking casually closer—too close. “And to check if the timeline really broke.” Mei Lin blinked. “…Timeline?” Jin pointed at the sky, where pieces of high-tier shadows still

The alley went silent. Cold wind pushed between the buildings, carrying the faint echo of sirens and distant screams. The Marshal stood like a blade planted in the ground—straight, cold, unmovable. Alex felt the hairs on his neck rise. This man wasn’t normal military. This was someone trained to fight ghosts… and trained to kill people like him. Mei Lin stepped slightly behind Alex, her fingers gripping the bronze bell so tight the veins on her wrist turned white. The Marshal’s eyes swept over them—clinical, emotionless. “Move,” he ordered. “You’re under immediate protective custody.” Alex didn’t move. “Protective? Or containment?” The Marshal didn’t blink. “Same thing.” Mei Lin whispered, “Alex, we can’t fight him—” Alex raised his burned hand slightly. The Marshal’s gaze locked onto it. A faint glow pulsed under the bandage—gold spreading up Alex’s forearm like cracks in heated metal. The Marshal’s voice dropped quieter. Almost respectful. “