The next day at the precinct, there was an awkward tension between Avren and me. We sat across from one another, shuffling case files, both pretending everything was normal. But I couldn't forget the plastic, the tools, the sound of a body bag zipping shut.
That's when the call came.
"Apolix," a voice barked across the floor. "Lieutenant wants you."
I pushed up from my chair and walked the hall, past buzzing phones and tired officers. Lieutenant Mary's office door was open. She was behind her desk, medals catching the weak light, her posture sharp enough to cut glass.
She didn't waste words. "I'm aware you're aware of Avren's hobby."
My mouth went dry. "Wait… you know?"
Mary's eyes never wavered. "Yes. I was the one who gave him the idea. There's a new killer in Zone Alpha. A Resonant. I want you with him when he handles it."
The air seemed to thin. I gave the only answer I could. "Yes, ma'am."
Back at my desk, I sat hard, mind spinning. Across the room, Avren stood, calm as ever. When he left, I followed.
We stopped first at a fresh crime scene. Concord tape rippled in the wind, the stink of rot clinging to the alley. Avren didn't flinch. He pulled out the Resonance lamp—an old device that revealed traces left behind—and began his work.
"The victim was attacked here," he muttered, pointing at faint scuffs in the dirt. "Fell, got up, stabbed again. The weapon…" He frowned, waving the lamp through the air. "Not steel. Not mundane. Resonance drained on contact—must've been a spiritual guardian."
He kept going, voice steady, detached. "Corpse was molested. Then dragged. Dumpster."
I stood behind him, arms folded, letting the details sink in. For the first time, I understood what he really did—not the cleanup, not the cover-up, but the act of shouldering the weight others refused.
And I was strangely okay with it.
We began tracking.
Avren moved like a hound on scent, following trails no one else could see. His visions guided us through side streets, across market stalls, deeper into the city's filth. Blood spots glimmered faintly, leading us like breadcrumbs.
By the time we found the killer, my pulse was hammering. The man stood in the shadow of a warehouse wall, muttering to himself, knife already in his grip. His guardian loomed faintly behind him, a twisted thing of bone and glass.
He lunged.
Flicker snapped into my hand, shifting from blade to whip in a heartbeat. Steel shrieked against resonance. The fight was fast, brutal—more reflex than thought. When the man staggered back, Avren was already there, syringe in hand. He jammed the M-88 into the man's neck, depressor hissing. The killer went limp instantly, crashing to the ground.
That's when the guardian roared to life. It lashed at us, shrieking as though its master's breath still fed it. I called Flicker forward, and the weapon shivered with delight, unraveling into black jaws that snapped down on the spirit. Its scream tore through the air—then it was gone, devoured, and Flicker pulsed stronger in my hand.
We loaded the body into Avren's car. My hands shook on the wheel well, but I forced them steady. He drove us back to his warehouse, that same empty building now prepared.
Plastic sheeting gleamed in pale light. The man lay strapped to the table, bound tight, every limb pinned. His eyes fluttered open, wild and terrified.
He screamed for his guardian.
Avren leaned close, voice cutting through the wail. "You killed five people. Each time you wanted more. Each time you got hungrier. And each time, you thought no one would stop you."
The man bucked against the straps. "Please—"
The blade slid into his chest. His scream rattled the walls. My stomach twisted, bile rising. The smell of iron hit like a hammer. Avren kept working, precise, methodical, never hesitating.
I turned away halfway through. My throat burned. I didn't know if I wanted to vomit or collapse.
Hours later, the body was gone—cut into neat bags of plastic, tied tight, stacked silent. We drove them to the harbor. The night water was black, endless. One by one, the bags vanished beneath the waves, swallowed without trace.
Avren wiped his hands on his coat, nothing in his eyes but cold focus. For him, it was just another day.
For me, it was everything.
When I finally walked into the apartment, I collapsed on the couch. Neo barely looked up from his phone, streaming some Azura Tower highlights. Fighters clashed on screen, guardians flaring in bursts of color. The crowd's roar hummed through tinny speakers.
I let the noise wash over me. Anything to drown out the memory of plastic sheets and screaming.
---
The next day, I went to Concord headquarters. Tara's office was stacked with files, her desk buried under the usual mess. She looked up the second I stepped in.
"You look like hell."
"I need to tell you something."
Her brows rose. "That bad?"
I sat across from her. "During my run in the Lawless City… I came into possession of a rift seed."
For once, she didn't speak. Just stared, weighing me like a scale. Finally: "You're sure?"
"Yes."
She leaned back, exhaling. "That changes everything. Rift seeds aren't just rare—they're volatile. Dangerous. You can stabilize them, plant them, grow new doors to places Concord doesn't even chart. If you're serious about keeping it… we'll need plans. Containment, exploration. You could shape entire routes through the realms."
"I kept it hidden until now. Didn't want anyone else touching it."
"Smart. But it won't stay quiet. Word gets out, you'll have every clan, guild, and half the free city hunting you for it."
I shrugged. "Let them try."
Tara smirked despite herself. "You sound like Matt." Then she grew serious again. "We'll set a timeline. A week for prep. After that, I'll start building the team. Four years from now, the Old Realm project launches. If your seed holds, it'll be our key."
I nodded, a weight settling but also something lighter, freer. A direction.
---
A week passed. Days blurred between shifts at Nynxreach, long hours at the precinct, and nights trailing Avren as he hunted the city's monsters. Sometimes I hated myself for helping him. Sometimes I told myself it was necessary. Maybe both were true.
Life felt strange. Chaotic. But for the first time in a long while—life felt great.