Silverline Tower cut through the Manila skyline like a sword of glass and steel, seventy floors of corporate power that gleamed with an almost offensive brightness. Spade stood at its base, neck craned back, feeling very small and very aware of how much he didn't belong here.
The lobby was a cathedral to the post-blessing elite. Marble floors polished to mirror-brightness. Security guards in tactical gear, each one radiating the casual confidence of B-rank power users. Holographic displays floated in the air, cycling through stock prices and power rankings and news feeds about hero tournaments in distant cities.
A woman in an immaculate suit intercepted him before he'd taken three steps inside.
"Deliveries use the service entrance." Her tone wasn't rude exactly, just matter-of-fact, the way you'd redirect a dog that wandered into the wrong yard.
"I'm expected," Spade said, keeping his voice level. "Penthouse suite. Package for Kaizer Ventura."
Her expression flickered, surprise, then something that might have been respect or might have been fear. She gestured to one of the security guards, a broad-shouldered man whose arms suggested enhanced strength beyond anything physical training could achieve.
"Verify him," she said simply.
The guard approached with a small device that he waved over Spade's courier badge. It beeped, showing his face, his rank, his delivery confirmation code. The guard's eyes lingered on the D-minus classification for a moment too long.
"He's clear," the guard said, sounding disappointed. "Express elevator, private access. Don't touch anything."
Spade nodded and moved past them, his awareness still extended, still feeling for threats. The elevator was at the back of the lobby, real luxury, the kind that made his courier bag look even shabbier by comparison.
The doors closed with a whisper of expensive machinery. Spade selected the penthouse floor and felt his stomach drop as the elevator began its ascent.
Forty stories.
Fifty.
Sixty.
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:
Abort delivery, leave the package in the elevator, walk away. This is your only warning.
Spade stared at the message for three seconds, then deleted it and pocketed his phone.
Walking away wasn't an option. Not because he was brave, he wasn't. Not because he was loyal to Kaizer Ventura, he'd never even met the man. But because in the courier business, your reputation was everything. Fail a high-profile delivery and you'd never work again. You'd be back to day labor, to begging, to the underclass that the Blessing had created.
Sixty-five stories.
His awareness suddenly flared, a disturbance, something wrong. The elevator lurched slightly, and for a terrifying moment, Spade thought the cable was going to snap. But then the movement steadied.
Seventy. The doors opened.
The penthouse was exactly what Spade had expected, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the sprawl of New Manila, modern art that probably cost more than he'd earn in a lifetime, and enough space for a dozen people to live comfortably.
But it was empty.
Spade's instincts screamed danger.
He took one step out of the elevator, his awareness expanding to its fullest extent, feeling for any disturbance in the air. His fingers tingled with the readiness to generate threads.
"You came."
The voice came from behind a massive desk near the windows. A figure stood up, tall, lean, with the kind of presence that made the space feel smaller. Kaizer wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than Spade's entire apartment, and his eyes crackled with barely contained energy. Literally crackled. Small arcs of electricity danced between his irises.
A-rank Storm-aspect.
"The package," Spade said, keeping his voice steady. He moved toward the desk, lifting the courier bag from his shoulder.
"Stop."
Spade froze.
Kaizer moved around the desk with fluid grace, his footsteps silent on the polished floor. He was studying Spade with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
"You were attacked," Kaizer said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes, sir. Two men. Pyrokinetic and enhanced strength, I evaded them."
"How?"
"Sir?"
"How did a D-minus Spider-aspect evade a C-rank Pyrokinetic and his partner?" Kaizer's eyes narrowed. "Describe exactly what happened."
Spade hesitated, then recounted the encounter, the thread trap, the wall-climbing, the escape across rooftops. Kaizer listened without interruption, but something in his expression changed as the story progressed.
"You used your threads as a tripwire," Kaizer said slowly. "just to create an obstacle."
"Yes, sir."
"And your awareness, you felt them coming before you saw them."
"Yes, sir."
Kaizer was silent for a long moment. Then, to Spade's surprise, he smiled. It wasn't a warm smile.
"You're beginning to understand," Kaizer said. "That's rare. Most people with your power level try to fight directly. They try to match strength with strength, and they die quickly." He gestured to the courier bag. "Open it."
Spade set the bag on the desk and carefully unsealed it. Inside was a metal case, unmarked and locked with what looked like a biometric seal. Kaizer pressed his thumb to it, and the case clicked open.
Inside was a vial of viscous silver liquid.
"Evolution serum," Kaizer said casually, as if he was discussing the weather. "Distilled from a B-rank Steel-aspect user who volunteered for genetic extraction. One dose can accelerate aspect development by months, maybe years. Worth roughly three million pesos on the black market. Worth even more to the right buyer."
Spade felt his mouth go dry. Three million pesos. He'd just carried three million pesos across the city for a delivery fee of five thousand.
"You could have stolen it," Kaizer continued, still watching him with those crackling eyes. "You could have run. Sold it yourself... disappeared into the underclass."
"I signed a contract, sir," Spade said, because it was the only thing he could think to say.
Kaizer laughed, a sharp, genuine sound. "A contract. In a world where might makes right, you're worried about a contract." He picked up the vial, holding it up to the light. The liquid inside seemed to shimmer with its own inner luminescence.
"The men who attacked you," Kaizer said, his tone shifting to something more serious, "they weren't random thugs. They were sent by someone who knew what you were carrying. Someone who has access to delivery schedules and route information."
"Someone inside your organization," Spade said quietly.
"Yes." Kaizer set the vial down and looked directly at him. "Which means this delivery isn't over. I need you to do something else."
Every survival instinct Spade had was screaming at him to refuse, to leave, to get as far away from this situation as possible. But he stayed silent, waiting.
"I need you to carry a decoy," Kaizer said. "An identical case, filled with colored water. I'll leak information that I'm transferring the real serum to a secondary location. Whoever tried to steal it will try again."
"And you want them to come after me," Spade said slowly.
"Yes."
"With respect, sir, I'm D-minus. If they send someone serious---"
"They won't send someone serious," Kaizer interrupted. "That's the point. They'll send street-level interceptors again, maybe slightly better equipped. They think you're nobody. They think you're an easy target." He leaned forward. "Prove them wrong."
"Why me?"
"Because you're clever," Kaizer said simply. "Because you think before you act. Because most importantly, you don't think like a fighter. You think like prey that learned to hunt." He pulled out a credit chip and set it on the desk. "Fifty thousand pesos for the decoy run. Plus a bonus if you can identify who comes after you."
Fifty thousand pesos. That was four months' rent, that was food security... that was medical bills paid and debts cleared.
That was also probably a death sentence.
Spade looked at the credit chip, then at Kaizer Ventura's crackling eyes, then at the silver vial worth three million pesos.
His awareness was still extended, still feeling for danger, and it was whispering that this was a trap. Not from Kaizer, from the situation itself. Accept this job and he'd be painting a target on his back. Refuse it and he'd offend an A-rank corporate warlord.
Neither choice was safe.
But only one choice paid fifty thousand pesos.
"When?" Spade asked.
Kaizer smiled again, that same dangerous smile. "Tonight. I'll have the decoy case delivered to your apartment within the hour. The target location is an abandoned warehouse in Port District. Should take you about ninety minutes to reach on foot."
"On foot?"
"Transportation would be too obvious. A courier on foot, taking back streets? That's normal." Kaizer picked up the real serum and sealed it back in its case. "One more thing."
"Sir?"
"If this goes well," Kaizer said, his tone shifting to something almost conversational, "I'll sponsor your evaluation for aspect evolution training. The Bureau usually only offers that to C-ranks and above, but I have connections."
He gestured to Spade's hands, to the faint shimmer that indicated his power. "Spider-aspects can become terrifying if properly developed. Most never get the chance because they test low early and get written off."
Spade felt something stir in his chest, not quite hope, but maybe the shadow of it. Evolution training. A chance to develop his power beyond its current pathetic state. A chance to be more than a D-minus courier.
"I'll do it," he said.
"Good." Kaizer pulled out a card and handed it to him, matte black, with just a phone number embossed in silver. "If things go bad, call this. I'll have extraction on standby."
Spade took the card and the credit chip, feeling their weight in his palm. Fifty thousand pesos for what was probably going to be the worst night of his life. He bowed slightly, and turned toward the elevator.
"Courier," Kaizer called after him. "One last piece of advice."
Spade turned back.
"Spiders don't fight fair," Kaizer said. "Remember that. They don't hunt what they can overpower. They hunt what they can outsmart."
The elevator doors closed on those words, and Spade began his descent back to ground level, back to the underclass, back to the shadowy world where people like him survived by being careful and clever and very, very paranoid.
His phone buzzed again. Another message from the unknown number:
You just made a terrible mistake.
Spade deleted it without responding. He'd made the only choice he could afford to make.
Now he just had to survive it.