The world narrowed to motion.Steel sang as Corvin’s daggers flashed, twin arcs cutting through the air with lethal precision. He was fast—faster than most hunters Lumi had seen—his feet barely touching the ground as he closed the distance. The plaza erupted into movement, dust lifting from cracked stone as Corvin struck first, blades angled for the demon’s throat.Igor stepped aside.Not hurried. Not strained.Just… gone.Corvin’s daggers sliced through empty space. He twisted mid-strike, recovering instantly, spinning low to carve at Igor’s legs.Igor pivoted.The flat of his blade met Corvin’s wrist with a sharp clang, knocking one dagger wide. He followed it with a lazy backstep, cloak barely stirring.Lumi lunged a heartbeat later.His sword burned faintly in his grip. He swung from the side, aiming to box Igor in, to force him to commit.Igor ducked between them.For a split second, Lumi and Corvin were facing each other, blades inches from colliding.They both jerked back.Igor

The night air beyond the estate was colder than it had any right to be.Not biting. Not cruel. Just… watchful.Scott stood with his hands in his coat pockets, staring out at the dark stretch of land that marked the edge of their territory. The wards hummed faintly beneath his boots, a low, constant thrum that reminded him where safety ended and the unknown began.Corvin stood beside him, arms folded. Silent. Thinking.Cleodora lingered a step behind them, her posture stiff. She didn’t like this place. She didn’t like standing still outside the protection of stone walls and sigils. And she really didn’t like the way the shadows seemed to lean in, as though listening.They waited.Footsteps approached.Measured. Confident.A tall figure emerged from the estate gates, cloak trailing lightly behind him. The sigil of authority glimmered faintly at his collar. The patriarch’s face was stern, carved from stone and expectation.“What are you doing outside the estate?” he demanded.“Don’t you

The sewer swallowed them whole the moment they descended.The air changed first.It grew thick, damp, heavy with the weight of rot and stagnant magic. Each breath tasted wrong—metallic and sour, like rusted coins left too long in the mouth. Water trickled constantly somewhere out of sight, an endless, patient sound that echoed through the stone.The passage opened wider than any of them expected.Not a narrow tunnel, not a maintenance crawlspace—but a vast underground artery carved to carry an entire city’s refuse. The ceiling arched high above, lost in shadow. Stone pillars rose from the glowing water below, ancient and eroded, their surfaces etched with old sigils that had long since failed to fade.The water itself glimmered faintly.Not clean. Never clean.A sluggish current rolled through the channel, thick with waste and broken enchantments, glowing a sickly green as corrupted magic bled into it. Every so often, something disturbed the surface—ripples spreading without a source,

The Blackwell mansion loomed ahead of them, iron gates yawning open like a mouth that hadn’t finished swallowing.Scott slowed first.Then stopped.Someone was standing at the entrance.She stood beneath the archway, cloak drawn close around her shoulders, hair damp against her temples as though she’d walked a long way to get there. The sigils embedded in the gate recognised her and pulsed faintly in greeting.Cleodora.“Cleo?” Scott blinked. “What happened? Why did you leave? You had us worried.”For a moment, she didn’t answer. Her gaze flicked over them—Scott, Corvin, Lumi—lingering for half a second too long on Lumi before settling back on Scott.“I’m sorry,” Cleodora said quietly.That was all.No explanation. No humour. No irritation at being questioned.Just apology.Scott frowned but waved it off, already moving. “We’ll talk about this later. We need to find out what Dad wants.”He brushed past her and headed inside.Cleodora followed.---The moment they crossed the threshold

Morning light had a way of making the field look harmless.Dew clung to flattened grass. Discarded cups glinted dully where the sun caught them. The bushline stood quiet and ordinary, leaves stirring lazily in the breeze as if nothing had ever screamed there.Scott arrived first, boots crunching softly over gravel.Corvin followed at his shoulder. Lumi hung back a step, eyes already moving, reading the place in a way that had nothing to do with sight. Cleodora walked beside him, expression unreadable.Police tape fluttered at the perimeter.A handful of officers lingered nearby, tired-eyed, coffee in hand. One man stood apart from the rest, posture rigid, gaze fixed on the trees.Scott approached him.“You’re Huxley, right?” he asked.“I am and you are”“We’re the ones taking this case off your hands,” Scott started. “Have a nice day.”Huxley studied him for a moment. Then nodded.He turned and gestured sharply at one of the officers. “Reed. Pack it up.”Reed exhaled, not bothering to