The rift did not announce itself dramatically.
There was no siren, no full-scale lockdown—just a subtle red escalation on GRIMM's internal boards and a recalibration of threat markers that shifted from monitor to deploy.
That alone made Sergio uneasy.
"Mid-tier rift," he muttered, adjusting his gauntlets as the transport doors sealed. "But they're sending us instead of a full unit."
Roman leaned against the wall, straight sword resting against his shoulder. "That's not new. We've been outperforming projections."
"That's exactly why it is new," Sergio replied. "GRIMM likes to test limits right before things break."
Isaac didn't comment.
He stood near the rear of the transport, eyes half-lidded, breathing slow and even. Isen remained unsummoned, but the air around him held a faint chill, Black Ice reacting to proximity rather than intent.
Rebekah watched him carefully.
Not with suspicion.
With calibration.
Lisa broke the silence. "Rules are the same. No hero plays. No overextension. We secure civilians first, collapse second."
Isaac nodded immediately. "Understood."
Lane sat beside the wall, knees drawn in, fingers idly tracing patterns of water across the floor plating. Her attention wasn't on the briefing—it was on the absence of something.
No pressure spike. No distortion hum. No warning instincts screaming.
She didn't like that.
The rift opened into what used to be a residential manufacturing block—long corridors, overhead conveyor rails, abandoned housing units stacked like hollow teeth. The air smelled metallic and stale, warped by low-level dimensional bleed.
Civilians were present.
Too many.
"They didn't evacuate fast enough," Rebekah said quietly.
Isaac was already moving.
He didn't sprint. Didn't bark orders.
He guided.
"Roman, left flank—keep them moving. Sergio, with me. Rebekah, lock the upper walkways. Lisa—rear guard."
Lisa hesitated.
Not because the plan was bad.
Because Isaac hadn't looked at her when he said it.
Then she nodded and moved.
The Sols emerged in clusters—elongated shapes crawling along walls and ceilings, bodies segmented and twitching, mouths splitting too wide when they shrieked.
Sergio took point.
His dual daggers ignited with magma heat as he plunged forward, blades carving arcs of molten light that severed limbs and cauterized wounds instantly. He moved like a storm compressed into human shape—violent, fast, efficient.
Roman followed, precise and surgical.
Signara cut clean lines through space, light sharpening the blade's edge just enough to disrupt Sol regeneration without burning out its core. Every strike had intent. Every movement conserved energy.
Isaac stayed between the civilians and the Sols.
Always between.
Black Ice bloomed—not outward explosions, but barriers, ramps, angled plates that redirected attacks and gave people time to run. He moved with them, matching pace, voice steady.
"This way. Don't stop. Don't look back."
Lane felt it again.
That weight.
The Sols adapted faster than expected.
New variants dropped from the upper levels—smaller, faster, almost insectile, bodies vibrating at frequencies that fractured Rebekah's root constructs on contact.
"Adjustment needed," Rebekah called. "They're learning."
Lisa stepped in.
Her scythe cracked reality open as it emerged, blade curving with silent authority. Gravition flooded the corridor—not killing pressure, but finality. Sols slowed as if recognizing something older than fear.
She cut once.
Twice.
Bodies fell apart cleanly.
For a moment, it worked.
Then the floor collapsed.
Not from damage.
From absence.
Reality gave way beneath a group of fleeing civilians as a pocket-rift destabilized, opening a vertical void that swallowed light and sound.
A child screamed.
Isaac moved without thinking.
He shoved a civilian clear, leapt forward—
—and missed.
Roman caught Isaac's arm, light flaring as he anchored them both to solid ground.
But three people fell.
Gone before anyone could reach them.
The scream cut off mid-syllable.
Silence rushed in to fill the space.
The Sols retreated.
Not defeated.
Satisfied.
The rift collapsed shortly after, sealing itself with a low, disappointed hum.
Back at GRIMM, no one spoke during debrief.
The mission was logged as Partial Success.
Civilians saved: twelve.
Confirmed losses: three.
Team performance: exemplary.
Psychological impact: pending.
Isaac sat alone afterward, hands clasped, staring at nothing.
Lisa found him there.
"You did everything right," she said.
He didn't answer.
Roman stood in the doorway, expression unreadable. Sergio leaned against the wall, unusually quiet. Rebekah watched from afar.
Lane approached last.
She didn't speak.
She just sat beside him.
After a long while, Isaac whispered, "I was fast."
Lane nodded. "You were."
"I chose correctly."
She nodded again.
"But it still wasn't enough."
Lane looked at him then.
Really looked.
"No," she said softly. "It never is."
Isaac swallowed.
For the first time since the quiet began learning—
It took something back.
And the story moved forward, whether they were ready or not.