The city never slept—but that night, even the neon lights flickered like they were holding their breath.
Holo-screens across the Morrows' skyline blazed with the same breaking headline, looping every thirty seconds in garish red text:
UNIDENTIFIED ANOMALY DESTROYS CULTIST OF SILENCE — CHURCH ENFORCERS ON SITE
The footage was shaky, captured by a civilian drone before Church jamming kicked in. A crater in the middle of the industrial ring, the ground turned to glass, smoke rising in twisted columns. And in the center—barely visible through the interference—a dark figure lying face-down in the ruins.
The voiceover was clinical, sanitized. The Church had "secured the scene." An investigation was "ongoing." Citizens were advised to "remain calm and report any suspicious activity."
No mention of the figure's name. No close-up of his face. No sign of Kojo.
Inside the Crimson Jacks' hideout—a converted warehouse that smelled of oil and sweat and desperation—the gang watched in silence.
Ilias stood motionless, the holo-light painting his face in shifting blues and whites. His jaw was tight, hands clenched at his sides. Beside him, Seraph sat on a crate, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the screen like it held answers she couldn't find. Her mother's blood was still under her fingernails. She hadn't washed it off yet. Couldn't bring herself to.
Mira stood near the doorway, arms crossed, face tight with worry. She'd been pacing for the last hour, checking her comm every few minutes, waiting for word that never came.
"That's him," Seraph said softly, voice raw from crying. "That's the cultist. The one from the alley."
"And the one who fought Kojo," Ilias finished, voice flat.
Reverb sat hunched over his console, fingers flying across holographic interfaces, trying to pull data from scrambled feeds. "Can't get a lock. Church scrambled all the signals around the site. They didn't just clean it up—they wiped it from the grid entirely. Satellite feeds, street cams, private drones—everything within a two-kilometer radius is dead or corrupted."
"Then he's alive," Ilias said.
Reverb raised an eyebrow, not looking away from his screens. "That's not how I'd read it, boss. That much divine power in one place? That kind of destruction? Most likely scenario is the Church found a corpse and scraped it into a box."
"No." Ilias's eyes sharpened, and there was certainty in his voice that made everyone look at him. "Listen. If the Church found him dead, they'd display it. Parade it. Make an example. You know how they work. They want to own miracles, not bury them. The fact that they're being quiet means they either don't have him, or they don't want anyone to know they do."
Seraph's voice cracked. "So they took him."
Reverb turned to her, expression grim. "Or someone else did. The Morrows eat their ghosts fast. Scavengers, gangs, organ runners—anyone with eyes on that site had maybe thirty seconds before Church enforcement showed up. If someone grabbed him, they knew exactly what they were doing."
Mira stepped forward, voice tight with controlled fear. "We need to find him. Now."
Reverb sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I'm trying. But whoever moved him knew what they were doing. Blackout route through the old service tunnels, civilian-grade scramblers to avoid Church detection, perfect timing to slip out before the perimeter locked down. They got him out clean."
Ilias frowned, mind working through possibilities. "Who has that kind of reach? That level of coordination?"
Seraph stood slowly, realization dawning on her face. "I think I know."
Everyone turned to her.
"Who?" Mira asked.
Seraph hesitated, jaw working like she was chewing on words she didn't want to say. "Someone from Kojo's past."
Ilias tilted his head. "That narrows it down to a lot of pissed-off people."
"No," Seraph said, looking at the holo-map that showed the industrial district's layout. "Someone who could hide him. Someone who'd know exactly how he fights, what his limits are, how to move him without killing him. Someone who—" She stopped, jaw tight. "Someone who used to love him."
Reverb groaned, head falling back against his chair. "Oh hell. You don't mean her, do you?"
Ilias looked between them, feeling like he'd missed part of a conversation. "Her who?"
Seraph gave a small, humorless smile. "Rhea Vance. Queen of the Iron Crescent. Ex-fiancée. And the only person who ever punched Kojo and lived to tell about it."
Mira's eyes widened. "Wait. That Rhea? The one he—"
"Yeah," Seraph said quietly. "The one he left."
The room went still. Even Reverb stopped typing, which meant this was serious.
"Left how?" Ilias asked carefully.
"The permanent kind." Seraph's voice was distant, remembering. "They were engaged. Young, stupid, in love. Kojo promised her they'd build something together—a gang that actually protected people, that fought for the Morrows instead of just feeding off them. But then the Church came for him. Experimented on him. Turned him into whatever he is now." She paused. "When he got out, he told her he had too many demons to fight. That she deserved someone whole. Then he walked away and never looked back."
"Damn," Ilias breathed.
Reverb leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Well, that explains the blackout. The Iron Crescent owns half that district's under-grid—power, water, surveillance, everything. But if Rhea's involved, this just went from dangerous to biblical. That woman holds grudges like other people hold breath."
Ilias cracked a grin despite himself, despite everything. "Then I guess we're writing new scripture."
Seraph nodded, jaw set with determination. "Then let's find him. Before the Church does."
Reverb glanced at Mira, then back at the others, expression serious. "You're forgetting one thing."
"What's that?" Ilias asked.
"Rhea Vance doesn't give back what she takes. And she's been waiting five years to have a conversation with Kojo. If she's got him now, unconscious and helpless?" Reverb's smile was grim. "That's not a rescue. That's an opportunity."
The room fell silent again, heavier this time.
Miles away, in a part of the city where neon died and shadows lived, Rhea Vance walked through the ruins like she owned the place. Because she did.
She was beautiful in that don't-touch-me kind of way—sharp cheekbones, dark skin that seemed to drink in light rather than reflect it, eyes like molten amber that missed nothing. Her hair was braided tight against her skull, adorned with small metal rings that chimed softly when she moved—each one a trophy from someone who'd underestimated her. She wore leather and steel, practical but elegant, and carried herself with the kind of confidence that came from breaking men twice her size and making it look easy.
The Iron Crescent moved around her in disciplined silence, picking through the debris with practiced efficiency. They were her soldiers, her family, her empire. Scavengers, fighters, survivors—loyal to the bone because she'd earned it, not demanded it.
"Found something, boss," one of her men called, voice shaking slightly despite himself.
Rhea's eyes flicked toward him. He stood beside a shattered tram, staring down at a half-buried figure like he'd discovered a live bomb.
Her boots clicked against metal as she approached, each step measured, deliberate. She knelt beside the figure, and for a moment, her breath caught.
Kojo.
Unconscious, bloodied, barely breathing. The divine glow that usually surrounded his Ọwọ́ Ogun gauntlets had dimmed to faint scars of light tracing his veins like dying stars. His chest rose and fell slowly, each breath labored. Blood matted his hair, and his face was a mess of cuts and bruises. But he was alive.
Against all odds, against all logic, the stubborn bastard was still alive.
For a long moment, Rhea just stared at him. At the same face she'd once kissed under neon rain. At the same hands that had held hers and promised forever. At the same man who'd walked away because he thought he was protecting her.
Then she exhaled—long, low, bitter. "You dumb bastard."
Her second-in-command—a scarred woman named Kemi, built like a tank and twice as mean—crouched beside her, hand resting on the knife at her hip. "Want us to finish him? Before the Church gets curious?"
Rhea stared at him for a long moment, face unreadable. The same man who had once promised her the world. Who'd held her hand under neon rain and said we'll build something better. Who'd walked away because he said, I got demons to fight first. Come with me when I'm done.
She'd hated him for that. Still did, some days. Hated that he'd thought he was protecting her by leaving. Hated that he'd been right—the Church would have come for her too. Hated that she'd never stopped caring, even after five years of silence.
She smiled—bitter, amused, something soft underneath. "Nah. Let's take him home."
Kemi blinked, surprise cracking her usually stoic expression. "Home?"
"Yeah." Rhea brushed a thumb over the scar on Kojo's cheek—one she'd given him, years ago, in a fight that ended with both of them bleeding and laughing on a rooftop. "Can't let a man die twice, can we?"
She stood, all business again. "Get him to the docks. And for the love of sound, don't let anyone hear a thing. The Church smells divine blood like sharks smell blood in water. Move quiet, move fast, and if anyone asks questions, you didn't see shit."
As they carefully lifted Kojo onto a makeshift stretcher, a faint hum pulsed through the air—almost like his heartbeat was tuning itself back into rhythm, resonating with something deeper than flesh and bone.
Rhea watched them carry him away, then turned to scan the skyline. Church drones were already circling, their searchlights cutting through the smoke. She had maybe ten minutes before they locked down the entire district.
"Kemi," she said quietly.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Set charges on the north perimeter. Make it look like scavengers hit the wrong cache. Give them something to investigate that isn't us."
Kemi grinned. "You got it."
Deeper in the Iron Crescent's base—a converted warehouse that had been reinforced with enough stolen Church tech to make it a fortress—three figures watched the rescue on a flickering screen.
The first was Tzark—a towering alien with skin like cracked obsidian, glowing veins of molten orange running beneath the surface. He looked like a fusion of volcanic rock and muscle, built for war in a way that made humans nervous just by proximity. His voice was deep, rumbling, like stones grinding together. "He fought well. But reckless. Always reckless."
Beside him sat Vess—slender, androgynous, with pale blue skin and four arms that moved with eerie independence. Their eyes were entirely black, no pupils, reflecting nothing. Vess was a strategist, a thinker, someone who saw ten moves ahead and three dimensions sideways. "He survived contact with a Silence Entity. That alone makes him valuable. Or dangerous. Possibly both."
The third figure—Kaela—leaned against the wall, grinning with too many teeth. She was humanoid but wrong in subtle ways. Her skin shimmered faintly, like oil on water, and her eyes shifted colors depending on the light. She was a shapeshifter, a spy, someone who could be anyone she needed to be. "I say we keep him. He's fun. And Rhea likes him."
Tzark grunted, arms crossed over his massive chest. "Rhea loved him. That's different. Dangerous different."
Vess tilted their head, all four hands moving in unconscious patterns like they were calculating probabilities. "The Church will come looking. We need to decide if he's worth the risk."
Kaela's grin widened, showing teeth that definitely weren't human. "Since when are we afraid of the Church?"
"We're not afraid," Vess said calmly. "We're smart. There's a difference."
Tzark stood, bones cracking audibly. "Then we wait. See what he does when he wakes up. If he's still the same fool Rhea fell for—" He paused, something that might have been a smirk crossing his stone features. "—then maybe he deserves to live."
Kaela laughed, the sound like wind chimes made of knives. "And if he's not?"
"Then we bury him before the Church finds him. Simple."
Back in the hideout, Mira sat beside Seraph, hands folded in her lap, voice quiet. "You know her, don't you? Rhea."
Seraph nodded, still staring at nothing. "Met her once. Years ago. Before she and Kojo... before everything fell apart."
"What's she like?"
Seraph almost smiled. "Terrifying. Beautiful. Loyal to a fault. And vindictive if you cross her. She's the kind of person who'd burn down half the city to protect the people she loves, and the other half to punish the people who hurt them."
Mira exhaled slowly. "So if she has him..."
"Then he's either the safest he's ever been," Seraph said, "or in more danger than the Church could ever put him in."
Mira leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "Great. Just great."
Ilias walked over, staff resting on his shoulder, face set with determination. "We'll find him. Whatever it takes."
Seraph looked at him—really looked at him—and something in her chest tightened. Here was this kid, barely older than her, who'd lost his parents, been hunted by the Church, watched people die, and still refused to give up. Still believed they could win.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "We will."
Beneath the docks, in a room that smelled of salt water and engine oil, Kojo drifted in and out of consciousness, caught between pain and half-remembered music.
He saw flashes—a woman's face, familiar and distant. A hand brushing his hair back, gentle despite the calluses. Her voice saying something that sounded like, "You still owe me that dance, you stubborn ass."
He tried to speak. The words wouldn't come. His throat was raw, his body broken, every nerve screaming.
But he was alive.
Somewhere above, Church drones passed overhead, their scanners sweeping the docks in methodical patterns. And in the shadows, Rhea watched them go, arms folded, a small smile playing at her lips.
"Let them search," she whispered to the darkness.
"My boy's already home."