Grief made us quiet. Rage made us plan.
Five Umbra lay dead near the barrier, masks torn, throats cut. Their silence filled the backroom until the candle felt loud. Mara paced, knife turning in her hand. Jonas sat with his fists wrapped, cloth stained dark. I stared at the ledger until the ink blurred.
"They think fear is theirs," Mara hissed. "They think they get to choose who dies."
Jonas rumbled low. "Then we strike."
"Not just noise," I said. "A wound they can't hide."
Sector Nine had a depot—coin, weapons, relic shards stacked like offerings. Guarded, yes. But arrogance makes guards slow.
"We burn their hoard," I said. "Leave them nothing but smoke."
The Lexicon pulsed under my ribs, heavy, approving.
Mara's smile was sharp. "Finally."
---
Sector Nine smelled of oil and hot brick. The depot crouched at the edge of a freight line, patched walls, lanterns swinging yellow over the gates. Fang sigils scratched deep into the doors.
Two guards at the front. One smoking on a crate. Two circling the back. Another pair by the side gate with a bottle between them.
"Roof hatch west," Mara whispered. "Trap on it. Sloppy."
Jonas tapped the alley. "If they run, they find me."
"Good," I said. "Quick, clean. We leave fire behind."
---
Mara went first. She crawled over shingles, slid to the hatch, slipped a cloth around the warning bell. It never rang. Her knife flashed once, and the roof watcher slumped forward without a sound. She dropped inside. A thud. Silence. She waved us in.
I took the side door. Old lock, easy. Inside smelled of rope and rust. Lanterns swung over aisles of crates. A supervisor counted in a ledger. Two guards leaned on boxes, sharing smoke.
I slid a Jammer puck under a crate. It hissed and died. Their comm bands snapped silent.
"What the—" one guard began.
Mara dropped from the rafters, blade opening his throat. The second tried to shout. She cut the air from him before he managed a word.
The supervisor pulled a red shard from his belt, lashing sparks across the aisle. Jonas entered then, breaking a spear with his shoulder and flattening a man with one swing. The lash cracked against him, burned his coat. He swatted it aside and kept walking.
I circled, cut the rope above. A lantern crashed, flames swallowing the ledger and the man's sleeve. He screamed, dropped the shard, clawed at fire. Mara ended him quick.
"Crates," I said.
---
Coin. Shards humming faint, blue and green. Weapon parts stacked like bones.
I scattered smoke powder across the piles. Mara slit sacks open, silver spilling loud on the floor. Jonas tipped a crate; shards clattered, humming higher.
Boots thundered toward us. Jonas blocked the doorway, fists sending men crashing back into the dark. Mara's knives flickered, cutting throats before shouts could build.
I struck a spark.
The depot inhaled fire. Rope caught, powder burned, shards popped like snapping bone. Heat rushed up the walls.
"Out," I ordered.
We ran. Jonas held the doorway, battering the last guard aside. Mara slipped through the smoke like a shadow. I tossed one more line of powder behind me. Fire followed us into the night.
---
By dawn, Sector Nine glowed orange. Smoke rolled into the barrier light, turning the sky dirty. People ran with buckets, shouting. Helix agents scribbled notes, calling it "unfortunate." Fang enforcers stormed in late, beating whoever was near.
We watched from a roof. Dockhands pointed at the blaze. A child whispered a word his mother tried to hush. It looked like Umbra.
Mara let out a breath. "That's for them," she said.
Jonas' fists were raw through the wraps. "Fang bleeds."
"Coin melts. Shards crack," I said. "Pride burns hottest."
The Lexicon pulsed hard, threads of rumor already weaving faster than the smoke rose.
---
Back in the shop, the air smelled of ash. Mara leaned against the wall, soot striped across her cheek, still smiling. "They'll talk for weeks."
"Let them," I said. "Stories cut deeper than knives."
Jonas sat heavy, chair groaning. "They'll come."
"They will," I said. "Helix will write rules. Fang will swing clubs. But the people will sharpen their whispers."
Mara's voice thinned. "The five."
I wrote in the ledger:
Sector Nine depot erased. Coin to slag. Shards to dust. Pride to smoke. For the five.
The ink bled dark.
The Lexicon throbbed once, pages turning slow, heavy. It always feels like a hand asking the same question: Carry it?
I whispered back, "Carry it."
Mara gave me a look. I shook my head. "Talking to furniture."
She smirked faint. "Tell the chair it owes me a drink."
Jonas almost smiled. Almost. Then he washed his hands until the water ran clear again.
The candle guttered. The shop quieted. Outside, the city still burned.
Sometimes a shadow can't save the world. It can only make tomorrow possible.
---
Author's Note (Relic):
Jammer Puck (Uncommon Tech Relic): Disrupts comm bands in a small area, cutting coordination.
Smoke Powder (Common Tech Relic): Fine dust that bursts into thick choking fire when sparked.