The city breathed smoke that morning. Sunlight barely broke through the smog, and in the lower rings of the Morrows, the grind of machinery was a lullaby for those too tired to dream.
Inside the Crimson Jacks' hideout, a rare stillness hung in the air. The gang was fixing things—wires, vents, weapons. Normal work, but their hands moved slower than usual. The night before had changed something in all of them. Especially Ilias.
He sat cross-legged on the metal floor, the Osh'Kora staff resting across his knees. The runes etched into the metal glowed faintly, responding to his heartbeat, like the weapon was alive and listening.
"You know," Reverb said, half-smiling as he leaned against a crate, "I thought you'd be the type to sleep in after bonding with an ancient god-stick."
"Can't sleep when your hands won't stop buzzing," Ilias said, rolling his wrists. Energy crackled faintly between his palms, barely visible but felt. He looked at the staff again, like it was teaching him something invisible.
Then, without warning, he stood, walked to the far end of the hideout, and pointed the staff toward a broken drone lying in the corner. The air cracked—fwoom!—and the drone lifted off the ground, shaking violently before it dropped again with a metallic clang.
Everyone stared.
"Well, damn," Kojo said, grinning. "Now he's fixing things with pure rhythm."
"Guess it's my new skill set," Ilias muttered, hiding a grin. That easy laughter—brief, but real—was what kept them sane.
Until a knock sounded from the upper door.
Kojo went first. His voice changed—lighter, disarming—but his hand stayed near his holster. A tall man stood in the doorway. Slick suit, tailored so precisely it looked painted on. Eyes like polished mirrors. One of the high families' envoys—House Valencrest, the old rulers of the financial district. His presence alone drew silence.
"Mr. Ilias Venn," the man said, voice velvet wrapped around steel. "My lady extends an invitation. She has... taken notice of your recent feats."
"Not interested," Ilias said flatly.
The envoy smiled, thin and sharp. "House Valencrest provides safety, influence, and a place among those who shape the Morrows. Declining is—how shall I say it—unadvised."
Kojo stepped forward, shoulders squared. "You just threatened my brother, shiny shoes?"
"Not at all. I simply—"
He stopped mid-sentence. Seraph appeared behind them, silent as a blade. The envoy's mask slipped for half a heartbeat.
"Lady Seraphina," he said softly. "Your mother sends her regards."
Her jaw tightened. "You tell my mother," she said, voice low and dangerous, "that whatever she's trying to build back in her marble tower—it's already burning."
The envoy's smile twitched. "So be it."
He turned, his coat brushing the ground like a curtain falling. As he reached the door, Ilias called out: "Hey. What happens if I don't come?"
The man didn't turn around. "Then others will."
When the door shut, the silence was heavy.
Seraph finally exhaled, hands trembling. "You shouldn't have spoken to him."
"You knew that guy?" Kojo asked, frowning.
"He's not just a messenger," she said quietly. "He's an Eraser. A bloodbound enforcer. If he comes once, he'll come again—with company."
Her voice cracked on that last word. She looked away.
Ilias stepped closer, gently. "You don't have to pretend you don't care."
She spun on him. "Pretend? You think this is about me caring? My father's probably dead, my mother's playing politics with the people who kill for sport, and you—" She stopped, breathing hard. "You think this is about us?"
That word—us—hung between them like a note held too long.
"Seraph..." Ilias started, but she cut him off.
"Don't. Just—don't. Whatever you think this is, it's not. I have a family to save."
She stormed off down the hall, boots echoing on metal.
Kojo raised a brow. "Yeah, I'd say she's into you."
"Shut up," Ilias muttered.
"Brother," Reverb added, smirking, "even the blind rats in the sewers can see that one."
Later that night, Seraph's memories wouldn't let her sleep. Her mother's voice haunted her—soft, beautiful, venomous.
Lady Isolde Valencrest had once ruled high society like a queen. Born into wealth, raised in power, married off to secure alliances. But she'd fallen for the wrong man—a rebel, an idealist, someone who believed the Churches and the Families had corrupted the city beyond repair.
Taren Kael. Seraph's father.
When Isolde ran away with him, she lost everything: her title, her position, her world. They lived in outskirts of the city close to the Morrows, scraping by, raising Seraph in the shadows of the towers Isolde once commanded. But she never lost her hunger for control.
Years later, when Taren confessed he was helping the underground resistance—smuggling Untuned out of the city, feeding intel to the gangs —Isolde saw an opportunity. She sent word to her old family.
Within hours, Sanctifiers dragged him from their home in chains. He looked at her as they took him away—not in shock, but understanding.
"You'll never forgive yourself," he said quietly.
Those words became her ghost.
Deep in the city's underbelly, Reverb received an encoded message. It was crude, glitchy, scrambled through half a dozen dead channels. But unmistakable. It came from Taren Kael.
"Captured. Torture imminent. Don't come for me. Protect her."
Reverb stared at the screen, throat tight. "Shit."
Kojo looked over his shoulder, jaw hardening. "That man saved me."
Reverb glanced at him. "What?"
"Years ago. During the first Riots. I was pinned under a collapsed building—fire spreading, smoke choking me out. He pulled me out. Didn't ask my name. Didn't ask for payment. Just... did it." Kojo's voice was rough. "Guess I owe him a debt."
"You're saying that was Seraph's old man?"
Kojo nodded slowly. "Yeah."
"We can't just charge into the high district," Reverb said. "Not without a plan. They'll see us coming."
"Then we make a plan," Kojo said, turning to Ilias. "You in?"
Ilias didn't hesitate. "If it's Seraph's father, we don't leave him."
Seraph's Breaking Point
They found Seraph in the old workshop, staring at a blank screen.
"I'm going," she said before anyone could speak. "I'm not asking permission."
Reverb sighed. "You walk in there, they'll use you to bait us."
"I don't care."
"You should," Ilias said, stepping forward. "Because if they catch you, they win twice. They kill your father—and the only person who could've saved him."
"You don't understand, Ilias—"
"Then help me. Make me understand."
Her eyes glistened, rage trembling just below the surface. "You think my mom's bad? The Families—the highborn houses—they're worse. You've seen what the Church does. The Houses fund it. They own the damn Choir."
Her voice broke. "I can't let them take him."
Ilias placed a hand on her shoulder. "Then we don't let them. But we do it smart. Together."
She didn't move. Didn't speak. But the faintest tear escaped down her cheek, and she didn't push his hand away.
High above the city, in her newly restored suite at Valencrest Manor, Lady Isolde stood before a vast window, watching the skyline. The air was clean here—filtered, perfumed. Every breath felt like power.
She closed her eyes, letting herself feel what she'd regained. The silk on her skin. The warmth of unfiltered light. The sound of servants whispering her title again. My lady.
"My lady," said a voice behind her.
A cousin—Lady Miren, sharp-tongued and cruelly honest. "You finally got your crown back. But tell me... was the price worth it?"
Isolde didn't answer.
"You traded love for marble walls," Miren continued. "Freedom for a leash. You think they'll keep you? You're a cautionary tale with jewelry."
Isolde's hands trembled. "You don't understand."
"Oh, I do," Miren said, stepping close. "You were free once. You left this golden prison. And now you crawled back into it."
Miren left without another word.
Isolde stood alone. The perfume in the air now felt suffocating. She looked down at her reflection in the glass. For the first time in years, she didn't recognize the woman staring back.
She had betrayed her husband. Lost her daughter. And all she had left was silence.
Then—Knock. Knock. Knock. Three slow raps on her chamber door.
She froze. The sound was familiar—too familiar. Her heart seized. Only one person knocked like that.
"No," she whispered.
The door opened. And standing in the doorway, was .