The ground was still warm when Cain moved.
Not glowing. Not burning. Just warm in the way something feels after it has been wounded and hasn't yet decided whether to die. The pit behind them had collapsed into itself, layers of infrastructure folded inward like a crushed ribcage. Smoke drifted upward in uneven columns, carrying the smell of scorched metal and ruptured conduits.
Cain didn't look back again.
Hunter did. Once. Long enough to confirm nothing was following. Long enough to see secondary collapses ripple through the area as whatever remained of the nexus finally burned itself out.
Then he turned and caught up.
They moved through the outskirts in silence. No pursuit. No sirens. Just the distant, uneven groaning of a city readjusting to fresh damage. Cain felt it in his joints with every step. The fight had taken more than time. It had taken precision. There would be consequences for that.
