Chains of the Cyber-Grimoire A Novel by Seirs

The Gala of Shadows

Chapter 7: The Gala of Shadows

The cold, damp air of the subway tunnel still clung to their skin, but the shimmering, holographic displays of the Zenith Heights gala were a jarring shift in reality. Nyxis pulled the velvet sash of her gown tight, her eyes scanning the room with clinical precision.

"You look like you're about to throw up, Thorne," she murmured, leaning into his side as they stepped off the elevator and into the gold-leafed opulence of the penthouse.

Harrison straightened his tuxedo jacket, the fabric itching against the fresh, cauterized wound on his side. He forced a stiff, practiced smile. "It’s the smell of money. It always gives me a migraine."

"Stop lying. You're jumpy. Keep it together. If these guards detect your resonance, we’re dead before we even reach the terminal."

"I'm fine. Just keep the comms channel quiet."

"I’m serious, Harrison. We’re deep in enemy territory. Act like you belong here, or I’m going to leave you to the sharks."

"I’ve got it, Nyxis. Really."

She adjusted the diamond-encrusted bracelet on her wrist—a piece of custom hardware disguised as jewelry. "Good. Because Gable is over there by the balcony. Keep your eyes forward."

The gala was a sea of excess. High-society sycophants toasted to a future that, in Harrison’s timeline, was already ashes. Leonard Gable stood at the center of the room, his white suit blinding under the crystal chandeliers, his smile wide and predator-sharp.

"He looks like he’s having a great time for a man planning the apocalypse," Harrison muttered.

"Don't look at him," Nyxis whispered, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the buffet tables. "Look at the guard by the lounge entrance. He’s the one we need to bypass. Give me a distraction."

"What kind of distraction?"

"Any kind. Spill a drink, start a fight, just be your charming, unstable self."

Harrison scanned the room, his eyes suddenly snagging on a figure near the grand piano. He stopped dead. His breath hitched, his heart skipping a rhythm that felt like a punch to the chest.

"Harrison? What is it?" Nyxis asked, following his gaze.

"That’s impossible," he whispered, his face draining of color.

"Who? Is it a Syndicate plant?"

"No," he rasped, his voice trembling. "It’s Julian. Julian Ward."

Nyxis squinted. An older man stood there, silver-haired and impeccably dressed, laughing at something Gable said. "Your mentor? The one who died in the lab collapse ten years ago?"

"He’s right there, Nyxis. He’s alive."

"Harrison, wait. Don't—"

But he was already moving, his feet betraying his caution. Julian Ward was leaning in, whispering something to Gable, his expression one of calm, detached calculation.

"Julian?" Harrison breathed, the word torn from his throat.

The older man didn't flinch. He slowly turned, his eyes locking onto Harrison’s with the weight of a man who had seen everything. There was no recognition of a student, no warmth—only a terrifying, cold curiosity.

"Stay back, Harrison," Nyxis hissed into his earpiece, her voice frantic. "He’s looking at you. Get out of there!"

Harrison stood frozen, the noise of the gala fading into a dull, rhythmic thrum. Julian took a step toward him, a glass of champagne in his hand, his eyes scanning Harrison’s face as if he were reading a ledger.

"Something wrong, sir?" a passing waiter asked, bumping into Harrison.

"I... I thought I recognized someone," Harrison muttered, his focus shattering.

Julian’s gaze tightened. He murmured something to Gable, who glanced over with a predatory grin, then began walking toward them.

"He’s coming over," Nyxis whispered, grabbing Harrison’s hand. Her grip was iron, pulling him toward the side of the room. "Harrison, look at me! You are Harrison Thorne, you are a ghost in their system, and you are currently failing your mission. Focus!"

"He shouldn't be here, Nyxis. He was burned to ash. I saw it."

"Then he’s a decoy, or a clone, or a trick of the light! It doesn't matter. We are here for the data. Now, are you with me?"

"I... yeah. I’m with you."

"Good. Then make yourself useful. I’m going to hit the climate controls. When the lights flicker, you get into the study. Don't look back at him. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Good. Don't be a hero. Be a shadow."

Nyxis tapped her wrist, her fingers blurring. Above them, the massive, humming chandeliers shuddered. The temperature in the room plummeted as the ventilation system shrieked.

"Now!" she yelled.

The room plunged into a micro-blackout. Guests gasped, the sudden darkness causing a frantic surge of movement toward the exits.

Harrison didn't waste a second. He ducked through the chaos, weaving between the startled elites. He reached the heavy oak door of the private study, his hand trembling as he keyed the override code Nyxis had bypassed.

The door clicked open. He slipped inside, the silence of the room a stark contrast to the panic outside. He turned to lock the door, but a cold click echoed in the small space.

He froze.

"You have the eyes of a man who has seen the Gate open, boy."

Julian Ward stepped out from the shadows behind the desk, a small, intricate runic gun leveled perfectly at Harrison’s chest. The older man’s face was unlined, devoid of the scars Harrison remembered.

"Julian," Harrison said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "You’re a long way from the grave."

"And you," Julian replied, his voice chillingly calm, "are a long way from home. Tell me, Thorne—does it hurt? Knowing that every step you take to save her only drags her closer to the pyre?"

"I’m not letting you touch her."

"You don't understand the sequence, do you?" Julian smiled, a thin, cruel line. "You think you're the one pulling the strings. But you're just the fuel, Harrison. You always were."

"I'm done being fuel."

"Are you?" Julian tilted his head. "Then why did you come back to the beginning? Was it love? Or was it just to see the moment you realized you had failed?"

"I haven't failed yet."

"Oh, but you have," Julian gestured to the door. "Look outside. The trap is already closed."

Harrison looked toward the window. Outside, the city was dark, but the skyline was beginning to pulse with that sickening, familiar violet light. The bridge was opening.

"You're too late," Julian whispered.

"I'm never too late," Harrison said, his hand sliding toward the iron dagger at his waist. "I’ve had ten years of practice."

"Ten years of dying," Julian corrected. "Let's see if the eleventh is any better."

Harrison lunged. The room exploded in a flash of runic fire.