The next morning arrived in shades of orange and violet, but the mood inside Selka and Rhon's cluttered hideout was anything but calm. Luma sat on a stool, poking the cracked casing of an entropy monitor while Juno paced the room like a caffeinated squirrel.
"I don't like silence," Juno muttered. "Silence means someone somewhere is planning something unnecessarily theatrical."
Ion raised an eyebrow. "That's oddly specific."
"Yeah, well," Juno said, stopping to pull a wrench from her jacket, "the Bureau hasn't responded since we hijacked half their signal grid. That's either them sulking or preparing something absurd."
Selka looked up from her console. "We just got a courier drop."
Luma blinked. "Already?"
Rhon was the one who retrieved it. He returned holding a sleek obsidian case, surprisingly clean for a Bureau dispatch. "It's addressed to Juno. Personally."
Ion straightened. "Don't open it."
Naturally, Juno opened it.
Inside was a polished medal, gleaming unnaturally in the low light, set in velvet and surrounded by a fan of silver wires.
"A… medal?" Luma tilted her head. "Did they just send you a trophy?"
Selka leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "It's humming. And look at that pulse. That's not an award. That's a resonance device."
Rhon stepped back. "It's bait."
Before anyone could react, the wires pulsed and the room was bathed in flickering spectral light. Luma's gauntlet whined and flared blue.
"Get down!" she shouted, diving and dragging Juno with her.
The device erupted with a blinding flash and a high-pitched shriek that felt like it clawed through bone. But instead of exploding, it reversed. The walls contracted inward, then expanded outward like lungs taking one massive, panicked breath. A reverse pulse—like entropy had been rewound and slammed back into motion.
When the light faded, the hideout was a wreck. Shelves collapsed. Consoles sparked. One wall now bore a strange mirrored sheen—like the air had been imprinted with memory.
Ion knelt beside the casing. "Radiant resonance inversion," he muttered. "They sent you a spectral disruptor disguised as a medal. They're trying to destabilize us without a direct attack."
Selka was already pulling equipment from a hidden stash. "We can counter this. But we'll need to recalibrate our whole transmission array."
"And move fast," Rhon added. "If they're targeting us now, they'll target the students next."
Juno rubbed her temples. "Okay, officially: I hate being right."
Luma exhaled slowly, looking around the wrecked space. "They're trying to stop us from teaching. That means it's working."
Ion nodded grimly. "We need to accelerate the classroom. And protect it."
Juno lifted the damaged case. "I'll mount this in the rogue classroom. Let the kids see what fear looks like—and what it can't stop."
"Careful," Selka said. "That's still volatile."
"I'm volatile," Juno grinned. "This is just décor."
Luma smiled, despite everything. "Let's rebuild. Then let's teach louder."
As they began repairs, the outside wind picked up, scattering loose blueprints like confetti. The message was clear: the Bureau had noticed them. But they weren't backing down.
They were just getting started.