The first drops of rain struck the pier like scattered coins, quickly building to a steady downpour that washed the acrid chemical stench from the air.
Cyrus raised one hand, crimson energy rippling outward in subtle waves.
The twisted shipping containers groaned as they shifted into more natural positions, bent by wind rather than dragon claws.
Broken dock pilings cracked further under phantom gale forces. Scattered debris rearranged itself into storm damage patterns.
To any investigator, this would look like severe weather destruction—nothing more.
But Cyrus swayed on his feet, torn wing membrane still bleeding freely down his back.
Each step sent fresh crimson streaming between his shoulder blades, mixing with the rain.
"We need to go." Kane's voice cut through the downpour as he grabbed Cyrus's uninjured arm.
Cyrus's golden-flecked eyes remained fixed on the dark water where the construct had dissolved.
