The figure under the dead streetlight did not move. Its long, dark coat hung motionless in the damp morning air, the hem touching the wet asphalt. Across fifty yards of empty street, its hollow eye sockets remained locked on the broken display window of the corner store. Behind the counter, Kael let out a sharp, ragged gasp. His hands shook as he dropped the roll of duct tape. The plastic spool clattered against the concrete floor. "Don't look at it," Arthur ordered in a harsh whisper. His grey hair was disheveled as he flattened his spine against the middle aisle wall. "Keep your eyes off the window, Kael. Do not give it a reason to focus on you." Vera did not move from her milk crate. She gripped the crowbar. Pale under the gray light through the ceiling joists, she drew breath in short hitches. Ethan stayed crouched against the iron shelf. He kept his head low, tracking the scene with Situational Awareness without shifting his position. The threat sensor on his forearm burned w

Heat came off the bite mark on Ethan's forearm. He stood in the middle of the avenue. Behind him, the corner store where he had left Arthur, Kael, and Vera had gone back into the mist. In the mud by the curb, Leon's boot prints and Nomy's running shoes pointed up the incline toward the eastern industrial district. The route to the Asylum. Ethan did not draw his knife. He did not assume a rabid was about to leap from the shadowed doorways. He had worn the mark for about two days. He knew what it did. It reacted to danger. It did not care if the danger had pale skin or human hands. Ethan scanned the street. To his right, an abandoned brick warehouse offered cover. Its double loading doors hung crooked on rusted hinges. A two-foot gap opened into a dark storage bay cluttered with wooden pallets and rotting cardboard boxes. Ethan moved without sound. He slipped through the gap in the loading doors. He crouched behind a stack of water-damaged crates set against the interior wall. He

The avenue led past rows of shattered concrete storefronts into the industrial district.Ethan walked along the eastern curb. His boots struck the cracked asphalt with steady rhythm. Silas walked beside him at an equal pace, his dark duster brushing against rusted utility poles. Morning fog had thinned into pale wisps. Steel crane frames rose against the gray sky. Silent brick factory blocks.Inside his canvas pouch, Ethan kept his fingers touching the wooden handle of his knife.His passive talent, Situational Awareness, maintained a continuous perimeter check. He noted the surrounding masonry, the open drainage vents, and the subtle shifts in the breeze.The threat sensor on his forearm throbbed with a faint warmth beneath his linen bandages. No immediate danger within fifty yards."The industrial intersection lies two hundred yards ahead," Silas said. His raspy voice was low. "The surface road bends toward the canal bridge. The side alley leads down to the lower transit entry."Eth

The carved glyph on the concrete pillar held Silas in silence. Ethan stood three feet away. He looked at the four broken rays in the stone. Then at Silas's jaw. Silas had not moved since stepping up to the pillar. His left hand stayed clamped on the brim of his leather hat. He didn't breathe. "You know what this mark means," Ethan said. Flat. Silas did not answer. He took a slow step back. His boots cleared the concrete dust on the tile. He pulled the hat low. The shadow took his eyes. He turned his face toward the escalator bay leading to the lower tunnels. "It is a marker," Silas said. Dry. "It means someone passed through here." "A marker for who?" Ethan stepped into Silas's line. "You told me the tracker trailing Leon carried an iron-tipped spear and a brass badge shaped like a broken sun. That carved ring has four broken rays." Silas adjusted his duster. He went still. "I see a lot of mark

The yellow lantern light cast long shadows across the damp concrete of the transformer room. Barek stood beside the wooden cable drum. His hands rested on the table. He watched Ethan. Across the room, Ira lowered the metal tin of water. She looked at him. Marcus and Joel stopped sorting copper wire. Ethan did not blink. He kept his back against the concrete archway. His right hand stayed inside his pouch, on the handle of his knife. "Leon called you Mr. Unfortunate," Barek said. Low voice. "He told everyone at the upper staging platform that your copy talent was defective. He said you could only capture weak shadows of real abilities. That relying on your talent in a real fight was a quick way to end up in a ditch." Ethan's face stayed still. The anger did not explode. It went deeper. Into his ribs. Hard. Ethan remembered the warehouse loft. Tram's laugh when the strength thread snapped over Pr