The hangar swallowed us in cold, echoing air as the Onychinus car rolled to a stop. Harsh overhead lights gleamed along the jet waiting at the center—sleek, matte black, predatory.
Luke and Kieran hopped out first, already arguing about who got to "co-pilot" the private jet, which was definitely not an option.
Sylus stepped out next, moving with that quiet, precise gravity that made everyone else feel like ambient noise.
I followed last.
And immediately felt the absence.
My shoulder was light.
Too light.
Mephisto was gone—already halfway across the city by Sylus's command, watching over Elara.
Good.
Necessary.
But I felt the empty space where he should've perched like a missing heartbeat.
We boarded the jet.
The interior was dark steel and muted leather, humming with low Protocore energy. Sylus spoke briefly with the pilot, then moved toward the cockpit without acknowledging me.
Perfect.
The moment he disappeared behind the reinforced door, I slid into a window seat and dropped my backpack onto the floor. My pulse hadn't slowed since the explosion in the street.
Elara.
I needed to know she was okay.
I opened the laptop.
The trace-net rose across the screen in living, shifting geometry.
My hands hovered for only a moment.
What I was about to do was a violation.
Elara was my only friend. The only person who cared whether I slept or bled.
But if she was in danger because of me—
I exhaled once, low.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to no one. "I need to be sure."
My fingers moved.
Packets.
Hooks.
Abyssal geometry unfolding like a digital compass that always knew where to look.
Seven seconds.
Elara's feed opened.
Her apartment flickered into view—warm dim light, soft shadows, the golden glow of her bedside lamp. Elara sat curled on the couch with a book in her lap, wearing a gray hoodie far too big for her.
She looked… peaceful.
Alive.
And beside her, perched on the back of the couch, ruby eyes gleaming—
Mephisto.
Alert.
Still.
Watching the door like a sentry.
A tight breath escaped me—almost a laugh, almost a sob.
"There you are…" I whispered.
Relief washed through me so sharply it hurt.
I closed the feed.
Not because I wanted to—because watching longer would make it something ugly.
A shift of air behind me.
I didn't turn until the weight of attention pressed enough that I had to.
Sylus stood there.
Silent.
Expression unreadable.
A shadow carved out of colder light.
His gaze moved from my face—
to the faint glow of the trace-net—
to the now-closed feed that had held Elara and Mephisto.
He didn't need to ask what he'd missed.
"You verified her safety," he said.
Not a question.
Not reprimand.
Just fact.
I swallowed once. "Yes. Please don't tell her."
His eyes held mine—clinical, calculating, but with an undertow I couldn't name.
Then he stepped past me toward his seat.
"Good. I won't."
Just that.
Yet the air shifted—less hostile, more… aligned.
Engines rumbled below.
The jet lights dimmed.
We were taxiing before my heartbeat fully returned to normal.
The hum of the engines settled into a steady drone while Abyssal glyphs rippled across my laptop screen. I was already buried in noise patterns—sifting, isolating, hunting for anything that resembled Viktor's signature—when two shadows fell over the table.
Snacks hit the surface with varying levels of enthusiasm.
Luke flopped into the seat across from me, pushing a plate of chips and neon candies toward my elbow. Kieran sat beside him with perfect posture, placing a tray of fruit and water between us like a civilized counterweight.
"You need fuel," Luke declared, nodding as if diagnosing a patient.
"She's working," Kieran muttered. "Don't hover."
"I'm not hovering," Luke lied, instantly hovering. "Sooo… hacking destiny again?"
I shut the laptop halfway—not to hide it, but to prevent him from headbutting the code.
"I'm building traps," I said. "Trying to corner Viktor in his own shadows."
Luke's joking expression flickered.
Kieran's spine straightened.
"So," Luke said quietly, "you're trying to end it."
"I have to," I answered.
Luke reached for a chip, paused, then asked—softly:
"Are you scared?"
Kieran shot him a look, but the question stayed.
"I'd be stupid if I weren't," I said.
Luke's eyes softened—genuinely.
He nudged the chips closer. "Then you're doing the right thing."
Kieran folded his hands. "We can help, you know."
I blinked. "…You don't even know what I'm building."
"Doesn't matter," Luke said. "You're Onychinus now. We help family."
Kieran nodded once. "And Viktor is… an unacceptable variable."
The seriousness lasted four seconds.
Then Luke brightened.
"Also, Sylus would absolutely murder us if something happened to you, so we're extremely invested in your continued breathing."
"Luke," Kieran hissed.
"What? It's TRUE."
A startled laugh escaped me.
Luke preened.
Kieran looked relieved.
Then Luke leaned in again. "So! What do you need? Snacks? Intel? A distraction? A dramatic pep talk? Are we doing a montage??"
Kieran rubbed his temples. "Diana, please don't encourage him."
But he looked at me—quiet, intent.
"If there's anything we can actually do," he said, "ask."
I considered them, then nodded.
"Well… since you're offering, I could use help making sense of what he's capable of."
They straightened.
"He's doing things that shouldn't be possible," I said. "Not even with Evol."
"Such as?" Kieran asked.
"He messages me. Then erases the messages completely. Not just from the device—like they never existed. No logs. No fragments."
"And there's always something," Kieran murmured. "Always."
"Exactly. But with him? Nothing."
Luke tapped his fingers, unusually focused. "Not normal. Not even for high-tier Evols."
"And the blackout earlier," I said. "That was him."
Both of them stilled.
Kieran frowned. "Electricity alone shouldn't allow that level of interference."
"Maybe that's why we can't find records," Luke said. "He wipes them."
"Then we shouldn't be looking for data," Kieran concluded. "We should be looking at the electrical pulses that come before data exists."
My breath caught.
That—
that was the angle I hadn't tried yet.
"Good," a voice said behind me.
I didn't startle.
But my spine went rigid.
Luke and Kieran didn't even look surprised.
"Boss," Luke said casually.
Sylus's attention slid from the twins to me—to my laptop—then back to my face.
"You're asking the right questions," he said, voice calm. "But also the wrong ones."
He stepped closer.
"You're focused on what he can do. You should be asking why he's doing it."
Kieran nodded slightly. "He's breaking his patterns."
"Because of you," Sylus said, eyes on me.
My breath caught—just a fraction.
Luke nodded. "Yeah. He's been unhinged since she showed up."
"Fixation," Sylus said. "It makes even the disciplined reckless."
His tone carried weight—cold, precise weight.
"In the past forty-eight hours, Viktor has revealed more about himself than he has in months."
"He's getting sloppy," Luke said.
"Not sloppy," Sylus corrected. "Compulsive."
Kieran nodded once. "Which makes him predictable."
Sylus didn't disagree.
His gaze returned to mine.
"If you continue building this trace-net…"
A measured pause.
"…he will reveal even more."
I felt that in my bones.
"Because he can't help himself," Sylus finished.
Luke hummed. "Convenient."
"He is exposing himself," Sylus said. "And exposed men can be caught."
The engines thrummed steadily beneath us.
I opened the laptop fully.
"Then I'll keep building."
A flicker crossed Sylus's expression—recognition.
"Good."
He turned and walked toward the front.
Luke waited three seconds, then leaned dramatically across the table.
"So," he whispered, eyes bright with mischief and loyalty,
"what's our next move?"