"Hey! I'm just asking for directions—"
"Shut the hell up!" the man roared from inside.
The door burst open, and six more figures surged into the hallway. The air in the corridor became a chaotic kaleidoscope of lethal energy.
Thomas saw streaks of crimson fire, arcs of jagged lightning, and silver ripples that distorted the very air. These weren't just security guards; they were a high-grade execution squad, and they were treating him like a public enemy.
"Damn! I'm doomed!" Thomas braced himself. He hadn't even had time to drop his bags or reach for his threads. In a world of gods, a lost detective was about to be reduced to ash for the crime of being a bad navigator.
"Wait! Keep your hands off him!"
The shout was loud, echoing with a desperate, frantic authority. Thomas recognised the voice instantly: Trevor.
