Location: Scrapper's Cove — Disposal Yard — Night
Silver-tongue struggled against Elijah's grip.
Her body twisted. Her shoulders strained against the lock. Her breath came in sharp, furious gasps. But his hand was firm around her throat—not choking, just holding. Feeling the pulse that raced beneath her skin.
"You fiend," she hissed. "Let me go. Now."
Elijah's Australian accent drawled in her ear.
"You sure are a feisty one, aren't you?"
He leaned closer. His lips brushed the curve of her neck—not a kiss, not quite. A breath. Warm, slow, deliberate.
Her skin turned pink.
Not from embarrassment. From something else. Something that made her breath catch and her muscles go slack.
"What—" she whispered.
Elijah's eyes—behind the mask—flicked to Nico.
The young man's face was no longer red. It was something else. Something darker. His pupils had dilated. His jaw was clenched so tight that the muscles stood out like cables. His hands trembled around the blade.
Oh, Elijah thought. So Nicky has a thing for Miss Silver-tongue.
Interesting.
I wonder if he'll explode from rage.
His free hand moved.
Not fast. Not rough. Just... smooth. His palm pressed against the side of Silver-tongue's neck, just below her ear. His thumb traced a line down to her collarbone.
Her face flushed.
Not pink now. Red. A deep, burning red that spread from her throat to her cheeks to the tips of her ears. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted.
She was frozen.
Not from fear. From something she couldn't name.
---
The aetherflux between them shifted.
Elijah felt it before he saw it—a ripple in the frequency field, a pulse that traveled from Silver-tongue's necklace into his own chest. Her unstable, jagged energy met the calm, dense warmth of his Aetherastrum.
And they exchanged.
Not violently. Not chaotically. Like water finding its level.
Her aetherflux flowed into him—thin, hungry, desperate. His Aetherastrum flowed into her—thick, warm, alive.
Silver-tongue's eyes rolled back.
Her body went limp against his chest. A sound escaped her throat—not a word, not a moan. Something in between. Something that sounded like the first sip of water after days in the desert.
She's getting drunk on it, Elijah realized.
And he was getting something too.
The Aetherastrum inside him surged. Not a flood—a trickle. But a trickle that added to the reservoir, that filled a space he hadn't known was empty. The quantity rose. Just a fraction. Just enough to notice.
It's like with Tyla, he thought. That night in the motel. The exchange. The way our frequencies aligned.
I've found a different way to grow stronger.
"Wonko," he thought.
"I see it." Wonko's mental voice was sharp. "Do not dare use such gifted power for your deluded, perverse fantasies."
"Seriously? I'm in the middle of a fight."
"You are groping a woman's neck while her paramour watches."
"I'm strategically distracting the enemy."
"You are—"
"Old man. Stop ruining the moment."
"What did you call me?"
"You heard me, you dam straight dude."
A pause.
Then, grudgingly: "...Focus on the fight."
"That's what I'm doing."
---
Nico's face was a mask of jealous fury.
His lips pulled back from his teeth. His nostrils flared. The necklace around his throat pulsed in violent, uneven rhythms.
Beside him, DJ Blowhard's round face had gone pale. But his hand was reaching for Nico's.
Their fingers interlaced.
The aetherflux around them changed. It wasn't two separate streams anymore. It was one—thicker, denser, more stable. The jagged pulses smoothed into a steady hum.
They're sharing, Elijah thought. Combining their frequencies.
The energy coalesced between them. Two spheres formed—one in front of Nico, one in front of DJ Blowhard. They grew. They pulsed. They took on the appearance of cannonballs made of compressed, shimmering air.
"I knew it," Elijah said.
His voice was loud. Cheerful.
"You guys are—"
"SHUT YOUR DUMB MOUTH!"
Nico's scream tore across the yard.
The cannonballs launched.
---
Elijah moved.
His left arm kept Silver-tongue pressed against his chest. His right hand came up—palm outward, fingers spread.
He whispered in her ear.
"Allow me."
Her head rested against his collarbone. Her body was still limp, still drunk on the aetherflux that had passed between them. She didn't resist.
The cannonballs were almost there.
Elijah's palm met the first one.
Not a block. Not a push. Something else. His Aetherastrum reached out—not to stop the projectile, but to accept it. The energy sank into his skin, flowed up his arm, spread across his chest.
It didn't hurt.
It felt like... a candle flickering in a strong wind. The flame dipped, wavered, almost went out. Then it steadied.
The second cannonball struck.
The same sensation. The same flicker. The same steadying.
Elijah stepped back—one step, two. His heels dug into the gravel. His arm trembled. But he held.
Silver-tongue's eyes fluttered open.
She saw Nico. She saw DJ Blowhard. She saw the empty space where the cannonballs had been.
"They..." she whispered.
"They attacked you," Elijah said. "Your loser friends. They don't care about your life."
She struggled against his chest.
"Let me go—"
"Now, now." His voice was soft. Almost gentle. "Stop being stubborn. The only one protecting you right now is me. Do you want to toss that away?"
Her body went still.
Anger flickered across her face. Then something else. Something that looked like confusion. Then shyness.
Her resistance faded.
She stopped struggling.
---
"You BASTARD!" Nico's voice cracked. "Unhand her!"
"I would," Elijah said, "if you'd stop being a baby about it. And if you'd stop attacking me."
"I'll kill you!"
"See? Baby."
Nico's hands were still locked with DJ Blowhard's. Their aetherflux was still combined, still humming. But something was wrong.
Elijah could feel it.
The Aetherastrum inside him was not just accepting their energy. It was pulling. Drawing the aetherflux conflux out of their necklaces, out of their bodies, into itself. Not increasing his own reservoir—not exactly. More like... digesting. Consuming.
The energy flowed from them to him in a steady, invisible stream.
Nico's eyes went wide.
"What's happening?" he screamed.
His skin began to crack.
Not his bones. His flesh. Fine lines appeared on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands. They spread like spiderwebs, like dry earth in a drought.
"Nathan Drayke—what did you do?!"
DJ Blowhard's face was splitting too. His round cheeks fissured. His lips peeled back from his teeth.
They tried to let go of each other.
Their hands wouldn't move.
Something invisible held them together—the same something that was pulling the aetherflux out of their bodies. They strained. They pulled. Their fingers remained locked.
"No—no—NO—"
Their bodies burst.
Not outward. Inward. Their flesh collapsed into clouds of crimson mist—fine as smoke, dense as blood—that hung in the air for a moment before the wind caught it and scattered it across the yard.
Nico was gone.
DJ Blowhard was gone.
Only the necklaces remained—dark metal, carved with symbols—clattering to the gravel where their owners had stood.
---
Emberdown watched from the ground.
His massive frame was still sprawled among the buoys. His back was burned. His face was bloody. But his eyes were wide—wide with fear, with understanding, with the dawning realization that he was next.
He scrambled to his feet.
"No—wait—I didn't—"
Elijah moved.
Not fast. Not slow. Just... inevitable.
His hand touched Emberdown's necklace.
The same pulling sensation. The same invisible stream. The same skin cracking, flesh collapsing, blood mist blooming.
Emberdown fell.
Silver-tongue stared.
Her body was still pressed against Elijah's chest. Her neck was still pink. Her face was still flushed. But her eyes—her eyes were filled with something new.
Fear.
Not of Nico. Not of the necklace.
Of Elijah.
"Please," she whispered. "Please, I—"
Elijah looked at her.
His hand was still on her throat. Not choking. Just... holding.
"I'm afraid," he said quietly, "you won't save her."
---
A new voice cut through the yard.
"Oh, I think you're right about that."
Elijah turned.
A figure stood at the edge of the disposal yard, where the gravel met the beach. He was tall—not as tall as Emberdown, but taller than Elijah. A greenish bandana covered the lower half of his face. His eyes were dark, cold, empty.
He raised his hand.
A gesture. Fingers curling, then snapping.
Silver-tongue's necklace moved.
The metal band around her throat contracted. Not slowly. Not gently. It ripped inward, tearing through skin, through muscle, through cartilage. Her hands flew to her neck. Her mouth opened. No sound came out.
She collapsed.
Dead before she hit the ground.
Elijah stared at the new figure.
The man's arms were bare. And around each arm—from wrist to elbow—were rings. Five on the left. Five on the right. They glowed with the same unstable aetherflux as the necklaces, but brighter. More controlled.
Not his power, Elijah realized. The rings. Like the necklaces. But stronger.
The man's eyes crinkled above the bandana. He might have been smiling.
"Nathan Drayke," he said.
His voice was calm. Almost pleasant.
"I've been paid very well to take extra care of you."
He stepped forward.
The gravel crunched beneath his boots.
And the rings around his arms began to hum.
---