Night fell heavy over Praise's mansion. The walls were still trembling from the psychic probe that had clawed at their wards an hour before. Prince sat on the cold marble floor of the foyer, hands clenched, trying to block the echo still whispering in his head. The Hive's touch was like a needle sliding under his skull. Across from him Lammy rubbed at his fingers, each one trembling after over-drawing his sigils. Jed paced the corridor like a caged animal. Only Praise seemed steady, though her face was pale.
"Everyone breathe," she said, kneeling next to Prince. "The wards are holding. My parents built this place to survive worse."
Prince forced a nod. Her nearness steadied him more than the words. The scent of her hair — something like burnt cedar — cut through the Hive static. He could almost forget the screams from his dream.
Lammy slammed his palm on the tile. "We can't just sit. That was a scout. Next time will be worse."
Prince raised his head. "Then we make sure there isn't a next time."
Both Lammy and Jed looked at him. The words had come out harder than he'd meant, but he didn't take them back. For two years he'd run from the Hive, from the night of their escape. Maybe it was time to stop running.
Praise stood. "There's something you should see." She led them into the mansion's library, past rows of dusty volumes to a bookcase tucked in a dark corner. She pressed a hidden latch; wood creaked, and the shelf swung inward to reveal a narrow corridor lined with candles long burned out.
Inside, the air smelled of iron and ozone. Old journals lay on a stone table, pages filled with sigils and sketches. Prince traced a finger across one drawing — a summoning circle nearly identical to Lammy's protective wards, but larger, more intricate.
"These were my parents' experiments," Praise said softly. "They were trying to anchor lost spirits. Some of the wards still work."
Jed let out a low whistle. "This is a bunker."
"It's more than that," Lammy murmured. "It's a power source."
They spent the next hour reinforcing the mansion. Lammy chalked new lines over the old wards. Jed dragged furniture to block weak spots. Praise fetched jars of salt and oil from a hidden cabinet. Prince stayed at the center of the circle, eyes closed, feeling the currents shift. The Hive was still out there, brushing against his mind like a moth against glass. He pushed back, testing the strength of his gift. Sparks of light crawled over his knuckles.
When he opened his eyes Praise was watching him. "You're bleeding," she said, touching the side of his nose. A thin line of red stained her fingertip.
"It's nothing," Prince lied. "Just… feedback."
She smiled faintly. "You don't have to do this alone."
Her hand lingered on his cheek for a heartbeat. Heat flushed up his neck, but he didn't move. For the first time since the escape he let someone see the crack in his armor.
That night he dreamed again. A black tower rose out of a sea of screaming glass. Windows opened like eyes. From one of them the lieutenant stared down at him, his missing left hand replaced by a claw of living metal. I'm coming, the man's voice hissed inside his skull. I will finish what you stole from me.
Prince woke with a gasp, clutching his head. Praise was already there, sitting at the edge of his bed, a candle flickering in her hands. "Another vision?" she whispered.
He nodded. "The Hive's headquarters. He's planning something."
"We'll be ready," she said. "I'll make sure of it."
Dawn crept grey over the mansion. They gathered in the foyer to eat in silence. Jed cleaned his blades, Lammy's chalk-stained fingers drummed nervously on the table, and Praise stared at her parents' journals.
A sudden hiss snapped their heads toward the main doors. Smoke curled across the marble floor. A symbol — jagged, black, and pulsing with dark light — had burned itself into the wood overnight. The smell of scorched oak filled the air.
"It's a mark of claiming," Lammy said hoarsely. "They're saying this place belongs to them now."
Prince stepped forward, fists clenched. The Hive's echo throbbed in his mind, but beneath it something else flickered — resolve. He turned to the others. "Then we'll show them it doesn't."
The four of them stood together in the shadow of the burned sigil, the mansion suddenly feeling both like a sanctuary and a trap. Outside, the world was quiet. Inside, every heartbeat felt like the countdown to war.