The five of us were crammed into Althea’s car, a canary-yellow designer convertible that smelled aggressively of expensive vanilla perfume and faintly of old French fries.

  The top was down, and the wind whipped through my hair as we sped down the highway, toward the railyard. I had swapped the borrowed cat shirt for a black tank top and a pair of cargo pants from the Sarcophagus - standard, non-magical, and blessedly plain while waiting for Althea and Linda to pick us up.

  "Okay, but did you see the way Liam looked at Chloe during third period?" Linda asked from the front seat, twisting around to look at us. She was holding a bag of trail mix, offering them to the backseat like she was feeding ducks. "He literally tripped over his own backpack when she walked in. It was tragic."

  "Liam plays bass in that garage band, right?" Althea asked, keeping one hand casually on the wheel as she navigated the suburban traffic with terrifying ease. "The one that practices behind the convenience store? He’s cute, but I heard he washes his hair with bar soap."

  "That’s part of the charm!" Maya chirped, grabbing a handful of nuts. "He’s rustic! Like a lumberjack, but for suburban New Jersey!"

  "He’s a junior with a skateboard and a C-minus in English," Valentina drawled, leaning back against the plush leather. She was wearing a cropped leather jacket over her transformation outfit, looking effortlessly cool and entirely bored. "If Chloe dates him, she’s going to spend her entire senior year driving him to practice because his mom won’t let him borrow the minivan."

  I stared out the window. The New Jersey suburbs were blurring past in a wash of golden light. It was the "Golden Hour," that time of day photographers and cinematographers loved, where everything looked soft, nostalgic, and safe. Manicured lawns flashed by.

  Sprinklers hissed in lazy arcs, catching the light like diamonds. I saw a group of kids riding bicycles without helmets. I saw a mail carrier finishing his route, waving at a neighbor.

  It was sickeningly peaceful. It felt fragile, like spun sugar. One bad day, one tear in the sky, and all of this would just be kindling.

  "Hey, Cousin Reimi," Valentina said, nudging my arm with her elbow. "You're quiet back there. What's the verdict? Is Liam a catch or a dud?"

  The olive-skinned girl had warmed up to me much faster than I’d expected. It was uncanny, really, how much the girls in this little friend group reminded me of the Blossoms.

  I looked at the gummy bear Maya had pressed into my hand five minutes ago. It was red. I squeezed it between my thumb and forefinger until it deformed into a sticky lump.

  "I don't know who Liam is," I said flatly.

  "Right, right, Canadian exchange student," Valentina teased. She shifted in the seat, stretching her legs out as much as the cramped space allowed. "So, what about you? Leave any broken hearts back in the Great White North? Or do you just date knives?"

  Maya giggled, covering her mouth. "Val! Don't be rude!"

  "I'm asking!" Valentina grinned, tilting her head. "She's intense. Maybe she has a type. Are you into the brooding type? The 'I study the blade' types? Or maybe you like the soft ones you can protect?"

  Her knee knocked against my thigh, warm and solid. She left it there, a casual, comfortable invasion of space as she spread her legs.

  The contact of her knee against my leg sent a jolt of static through my nervous system. The smell of vanilla air freshener seemed to curdle in my throat.

  For a split second, the golden light of the highway vanished.

  The air smelled like menthol muscle rub and damp towels.

  I was sitting on the edge of a narrow bunk in the Paradise University dorms. The walls were covered in posters - bands I didn't listen to, movies I hadn't seen. The window was open, letting in the cool night air of the Sanctuary island.

  The mattress dipped as a weight settled next to me. A drop of cold water hit my bare shoulder.

  I didn't look up. I knew who it was.

  The bright red hair, wet from the university's gym showers, was stuck to her forehead in chaotic spikes. She smelled like cheap citrus soap and that specific, electric scent that always clung to her after a shift.

  "You're doing it again," she said. Her voice was bright, a little raspy from shouting spells all afternoon. "Thinking so loud I can hear it over the AC."

  I kept field-stripping my summoned sidearm, my fingers moving by muscle memory. "I'm busy."

  "You're brooding," my company corrected. She leaned back on her hands, her black band t-shirt riding up slightly. Her eyes, almond-shaped and bright amber with mischief, danced over me. "Thinking about the Princess again? Wondering if she's eating enough? Wondering if she noticed you breached the line for her?"

  I stiffened. "Shut up."

  "She's a dream, Reimi," she murmured, her voice dropping an octave, losing the teasing edge but keeping the warmth. She slid closer, her thigh pressing against mine. Her skin was warm, tan against the stark white of the sheets. "You can't hold a dream. She's a soft, fluffy cloud. You're the thunder that follows her. You can't be jealous of the cloud for being a cloud. For slipping through your fingers and dancing against the moon."

  "She's an idiot," I gritted out. "She's going to get herself killed one day. Or one of us killed trying to save her."

  "Maybe," my companion agreed. "But that's why she has us." She leaned in, her breath warm on my neck. "And that's why she has you, her scary shadow knight. She's not invincible, you know. Even she needs someone to watch her back. And someone to keep her safe when the lights go out."

  Her fingers found my free hand. Her touch was soft, her calluses a faint echo of my own.

  "But I'm right here," she whispered, a smirk playing on her lips that didn't quite hide the hunger in her eyes. "And I'm real. And I'm incredibly cute. And I'm bored."

  I looked at her. Really looked at her. The energy coming off her was like a solar flare - passionate, relentless, alive.

  She wasn't the perfect, noble leader. She was messy. She was loud. She was...

  "You're annoying," I muttered, but I turned my hand over, interlacing my fingers with hers.

  Akane grinned, a brilliant, blinding expression that made the war feel a million miles away. She leaned in, her wet hair brushing my cheek. "Yeah. But you love it."

  Then, her lips brushed over mine.

  She kissed me, her tongue passing over mine and the world narrowed down to the taste of citrus soap and the heat of a body that was still, miraculously, alive.

  "Don't," I snapped.

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  I flinched away from Valentina’s leg as if she were made of white-hot iron. I slid my back against the car door, putting six inches of dead air between us.

  Valentina looked at me, her smile freezing on her face. "Woah. Hey. Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

  "Sorry," I rasped.

  My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I gripped the duffel bag between my legs until my knuckles turned white. The gummy bear in my hand was pulverized.

  "I… had a weird thing going on in the past. A bed warmer. One of my closest friends. They're dead now."

  The friendly chatter in the car died.

  Althea, driving, didn't turn her head, but I saw her knuckles tighten on the steering wheel.

  Linda craned around, her eyes wide with horror. Maya, sitting on the other side of me, flinched so hard she dropped some trail mix, spilling it all over the floor mats.

  "Reimi, that's..." Maya whispered, her gaze flicking between my face and Valentina’s. "I... I'm so sorry. We didn't know."

  Valentina's expression had shifted. The cool, challenging smirk was gone, replaced by something raw and wounded. She pulled her leg back, folding her arms over her chest. The casual intimacy evaporated, leaving a chilling, awkward silence.

  "Okay," she said, her voice clipped. "Message received. Sheesh... touchy."

  She shifted away, looking out the other window, tracing the line of the passing trees. The silence in the car was heavy, thick with awkwardness. Even Althea quietly turned the radio down a notch.

  I stared at Valentina's reflection in the car window. My chest ached, a phantom limb where a body used to be.

  Then, I stared at the side mirror, trying to regulate my breathing. In. Out. Four seconds. Breathe.

  She wasn't her.

  She wasn't Star Hibiscus. Akane was dust. They were all dust.

  I focused on the mirror to ground myself, scanning the background.

  Two cars back. A beige Honda Civic. It had a dent in the front bumper and one headlight that looked dimmer than the other.

  It had been there since we left the Hoshino estate. It changed lanes when we did. It caught the red light when we did. It was driving aggressively for a civilian vehicle, tailgating a minivan to keep us in sight.

  I squinted against the glare of the setting sun. The silhouette in the driver's seat was hard to make out against the red reflection of the sunset, but the posture was distinct. One hand gripping the wheel at the 12 o'clock position, the other messing with the radio dial or a phone.

  I didn't say anything.

  I watched the Civic accelerate slightly to keep up as Althea took the exit ramp toward the industrial sector.

  "We're almost there," Linda announced, her voice a little too bright as she tried to break the tension I had caused. "The GPS says the old Railyard is just past these warehouses."

  I looked at the Civic in the mirror again.

  I could tell the others. We could stop the car. I could drag him out and intimidate him until he went home.

  But that would require energy. And time. And explaining to Maya why her neighbor was stalking us.

  He's a civilian, I reasoned, turning my gaze back to the road.

  We're entering a high-density mana zone - according to Momo and Popo. Not much Chaos Energy, but enough for an early stage event. As soon as we get close to the Wound, the Miasma will hit him. His lizard brain will panic. He'll turn around.

  It was a natural filter. Normal humans without mana cultivation couldn't stomach the proximity to a Rift. They got headaches, nausea, a sudden overwhelming urge to be literally anywhere else. He’d get within a block, vomit, and drive home.

  Five minutes later, the smooth asphalt of suburbia gave way to cracked concrete and gravel. The sun was dipping below the rusted skeletons of the train depot, casting long, jagged shadows that looked like teeth.

  Althea parked the convertible near a collapsed chain-link fence.

  "Okay," Maya said, unbuckling her seatbelt. "We're here. Everyone ready?"

  I opened the door and stepped out, drawing my weapon from the duffel bag.

  The smell hit me first.

  It wasn't just rust and oil. It was Ozone. Copper. Rot.

  The air was vibrating. A low-frequency hum that you felt in your teeth rather than heard. It was the signature of a reality tear. A "Wound" that was infected.

  "Ugh," Linda shivered, rubbing her arms as she climbed out. "It got cold all of a sudden. Does anyone else feel... spooky?"

  "It's the Miasma," I said, hoisting the heavy duffel bag. "It's a psychic deterrent. Low-level dread field. It keeps the normal people away."

  I turned and looked back down the access road, briefly flashing my Cinder Eyes.

  The beige Honda Civic was parked about a block away, half-hidden behind a dumpster. It was idling. The headlights were off.

  The driver wasn't getting out.

  I watched for a second. The distance was perfect. He was right on the edge of the fear radius. I could imagine him in there - sweating, heart racing, feeling that irrational urge to flee that all prey animals feel when they approach a predator's den.

  He stopped, I thought with a grim satisfaction. Biology wins.

  I turned my back on the car.

  "Everyone, focus," I ordered. "No transformations yet. You glow in the dark when you’re emitting that much mana. We go in quietly and see what the terrain inside is like first."

  The girls nodded, looking less like magical warriors and more like a very confused street gang in their fancy clothes.

  "Momo, Popo," I said. "Open it."

  The two fairies zipped out of Maya’s pockets. They spun in the air, tracing lines of light that shouldn't have existed.

  The air above the rusted turntable distorted. It didn't sparkle. It tore.

  It looked like a vertical slit in the world, bleeding black smoke. The sound was like tearing wet canvas.

  "Gross," Valentina whispered, wrinkling her nose.

  "Move," I said. I grabbed Maya’s shoulder and steered her toward the rift. "Don't touch the edges. It'll flay your skin."

  I stepped through, pulling Maya with me.

  Althea, Linda, and Val followed, their faces pale.

  The world shifted. Gravity lurched. We were inside.

  The portal behind us began to hiss, the reality knitting itself back together like a healing scab.

  Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

  My ears twitched.

  That wasn't the sound of the portal closing. That was the sound of gravel being kicked. Hard.

  Fast.

  I spun around, the Withered Calyx half-assembled in my hands.

  Through the narrowing slit of the portal, I saw him.

  He was sprinting. He wasn't in the car.

  He was running down the access road, his baseball bat clutched in one hand. He was pale—deathly pale. Sweat was pouring down his face. His eyes were wide and unfocused, darting around wildly. The Miasma was hitting him full force. Every instinct in his body had to be screaming at him to run the other way.

  But he was running toward us.

  "Maya!" he shouted. It was a breathless, garbled sound, choked with vomit and panic.

  "What—" Maya started, turning around.

  He didn't stop. He didn't hesitate for a moment.

  He launched himself into the air.

  It wasn't a hero's leap.

  It was a desperate, flailing dive. He threw himself at the closing rift like a man jumping onto a moving train.

  He hit the threshold just as the light vanished.

  WHUMP.

  He crashed onto the corrupted metal floor of the dungeon, rolling uncontrollably until he slammed into a floating railroad tie.

  The portal zipped shut behind him with a final, wet pop.

  Silence returned to the dungeon.

  We all stared.

  Julian groaned, curling into a ball, coughing violently as the toxicity of the dungeon air filled his lungs. He gripped the baseball bat so hard his knuckles were purple.

  "He..." Althea whispered, her eyes wide. "He followed us?"

  I stared at the boy writhing on the floor.

  He had felt the fear. I saw it in his eyes. He felt the primal imperative to run.

  And he ignored it.

  "Idiot," I hissed, finally snapping the barrel of the shotgun into place.

  KA-CHUNK

  "Civilian on deck. Protect the luggage."

  "Luggage?!" Julian wheezed, trying to stand up and failing. "I... I'm the rescue party."

  "You're about to be monster chow," I corrected. "Stay down and try not to breathe too much. The Miasma will kill you faster than they will."

  My Cinder Eyes flared. Momo and Popo zipped over to him, circling him like hyperactive hummingbirds.

  Great. Just what I needed. An extra liability on top of the crap I already have to deal with.

  But the sight of the kid, clutching a cheap aluminum bat, charging through a wall of pure fear...

  It was so stupid. So reckless. So...

  Painfully familiar.