The heavy iron door of the "Red Room" didn't stand a chance.
Mila didn't use a key. She didn't use a lockpick. She used a 20-pound sledgehammer and the pure, unadulterated venom pulsing through her veins.
CRACK.
The hinges shrieked. Mila stepped into the dimly lit basement, her chest heaving, her knuckles already bleeding through her fingerless gloves. Most people in Neo-Verona were afraid of the dark. Mila was the thing the dark was afraid of.
"I told you," Mila whispered, her voice a low, dangerous rasp. "I told you I wanted the payment by midnight. It's 12:05."
Across the room, a mid-level Essence user a man who could create shards of ice out of thin air laughed. He looked at Mila, a "normal" girl with no visible aura, and saw easy prey.
"You're a feisty one, aren't you?" the man sneered. He raised a hand, and six jagged spears of ice crystallized in the air around him. "Do you have any idea who I work for? I work for the Thorne family. I'm protected by the Golden Heir himself."
Mila's vision turned red at the mention of the Thornes. That name Xavier Thorne was a trigger she couldn't control.
"I don't care if you work for God himself," Mila growled.
The man flicked his wrist. The ice spears shot forward, aimed at Mila's shoulders to pin her to the wall.
Then, the world went silent.
As the ice entered a ten-meter radius around Mila, the crystals didn't shatter they simply ceased to exist. They turned back into vapor instantly. The blue glow of the man's Essence flickered and died. The hum of the electric lights overhead vanished.
The man's eyes widened. He tried to summon more ice, but his hands just shook. He felt it the terrifying, hollow vacuum that was Mila Volkov.
"My... my power..." he stammered, his knees hitting the floor. Without his Essence, he was nothing. The "Void" didn't just stop his magic; it made him feel like his very soul was being squeezed out of his pores.
Mila didn't wait. She crossed the room in three strides and grabbed him by the throat. She wasn't tall, but in that moment, she felt like a giant.
"Where is the Ledger?" she demanded.
"I... I can't..."
Mila slammed his head against the concrete wall. Thud. "Wrong answer. I have anger issues, remember? My therapist says I should count to ten. I'm currently at one, and I'm already bored."
"The Moretti Syndicate!" the man shrieked. "Dante Moretti took it! He's at the Sapphire Club tonight! Please, just let me breathe!"
Mila let go. The man collapsed, gasping as his Essence slowly returned to him like a painful electric shock.
Mila didn't look back. She had a name. Dante Moretti. The Kingpin. The man who thought he could buy the city's history.
The Sapphire Club: 1:30 AM
The club was a temple to excess. Neon blue lights, pulsing bass that shook the ribcage, and the smell of expensive gin and fear.
Mila walked through the front doors, ignoring the bouncers. As she moved through the crowd, the "Void" followed her. The music didn't stop, but the supernatural "vibe" of the room died. Essence users who were showing off by hovering glasses or changing the color of their eyes suddenly blinked in confusion as their tricks failed.
She reached the VIP elevator. Two guards, both high-level "Tank" types with skin like granite, stepped in her way.
"Invitation only, sweetheart," one grumbled.
Mila didn't speak. She just stepped closer.
The guard's granite skin began to flake away, turning back into soft, vulnerable human flesh. His eyes grew wide with terror. Before he could reach for his gun, Mila's fist connected with his jaw.
Crunch.
The other guard tried to grab her, but he felt the "hollow" sensation. It was like trying to breathe in outer space. He collapsed, clutching his chest.
The elevator doors opened.
Inside was a man who didn't look like he belonged in a club. He was dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than Mila's life. He was leaning against the back wall, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
Dante Moretti.
He didn't look surprised. He looked... fascinated.
"So," Dante said, his voice a smooth, velvet Command that usually made people's hearts stop. "You're the little glitch in the system everyone is talking about."
Mila stepped into the elevator. The doors closed.
The "Command" in his voice hit her like a wave of warm air and then it vanished. Her Void swallowed it whole. For the first time in ten years, Dante Moretti's voice was just a voice.
His eyes, usually glowing with a faint gold light, turned a deep, human brown.
He froze. His glass shattered in his hand. Not because of his power but because his hand was shaking.
"You..." Dante whispered, his pupils dilating as he looked at Mila. He didn't look angry. He looked like a man who had just seen a miracle. "My voice... I can't hear the hum anymore. You silenced the world."
Mila reached out, grabbing the lapels of his expensive suit and slamming him against the elevator mirror.
"Give me the Ledger, Moretti," she hissed, her face inches from his. "Before I decide to see if a 'God' bleeds as red as everyone else."
Dante didn't fight back. He dropped his head, inhaling the scent of her hair rain, gunpowder, and cheap cigarettes. A dark, twisted smile spread across his face.
"Do it," he murmured, his hands coming up to grip her wrists, pinning her to him instead of pushing her away. "Bleed me, Mila. It's been so long since I felt anything at all. You're perfect. You're my perfect little cage."
Mila's rage flared. She pulled back to punch him, but the elevator lights suddenly turned pitch black.
Not "lights off" black. Void black.
The temperature dropped forty degrees. The air became heavy, like being underwater.
A hand, cold as a corpse, wrapped around Mila's waist from behind, pulling her away from Dante and into the darkness of the elevator corner.
"He's touching you too much, Mila," a voice rasped into her ear. A voice that made her stomach flip and her skin crawl with a heat she hated.
Kyan Zale.
"Kyan, get off me!" Mila yelled, swinging her elbow back.
She felt it connect with something solid, but he didn't move. In the darkness, she could see his eyes two pits of endless, swirling ink. Even with her Void active, Kyan felt... different. He didn't rely on his power to be a monster. He just was one.
"The Moretti doesn't deserve to look at you," Kyan whispered, his grip tightening until she was pressed against his tactical vest. "I should have killed him at the gala. I'll kill him now."
"Try it, Shadow," Dante growled, his voice regaining its edge as the elevator doors began to open. "I'll burn your soul out of your body the moment she steps away from us."
Mila looked from the Kingpin to the Stalker. Her blood was boiling. Her head throbbed.
"I hate all of you!" she screamed.
Her Void power exploded outward, a massive shockwave of "Nothingness" that shattered every lightbulb in the hallway outside.
And in the silence that followed, she saw the third one. Xavier Thorne was leaning against the hallway wall, clapping his hands.
"Bravo!" Xavier cheered, his eyes dancing with madness. "The King, the Ghost, and the Brat. And all for one little girl with a big, big temper. This is going to be the best election year ever."
Mila didn't take the elevator back down. She took the stairs thirty-four flights of concrete and rusted iron shaking with a fury that felt like it was going to liquefy her bones.
She needed to move. She needed to hit something that wasn't a "God."
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the ghost of Kyan's hand on her waist. It wasn't just a touch; it was a claim. And Dante the way he had looked at her when his power died... he hadn't looked scared. He had looked like a man who had finally found the air he needed to breathe.
"Freaks," she muttered, kicking a stray soda can so hard it dented the steel fire door. "Absolute, power-tripping freaks."
She burst out into the alleyway behind the Sapphire Club. The rain was coming down in sheets now, cooling the heat in her skin. She leaned her head against the brick wall, closing her eyes, trying to find her center.
But there was no center. Not in this city.
A flicker of gold caught her eye.
Parked at the end of the alley was a car that cost more than the entire block. A sleek, matte-black Phantom. Leaning against the hood, holding a silk umbrella as if he were waiting for a lover, was Xavier Thorne.
"You're late, Mila," Xavier said. He didn't use his power. He didn't need to. He just smiled, that sharp, jagged smile that made him look like a shark in a tuxedo. "I was beginning to think the boys had eaten you alive."
Mila's knuckles turned white. "What do you want, Xavier? I already told your lapdog I don't have the Ledger."
Xavier tossed the umbrella aside, letting the rain soak his blonde hair. He stepped closer, his boots splashing in the puddles. "I don't care about the Ledger. My father wants it, sure. But me? I just wanted to see if the rumors were true."
He stopped exactly three feet away. Right on the edge of her Void.
"Rumors?" Mila hissed.
"That there was a girl in the slums who could make a Thorne feel... ordinary." He reached out, his fingers trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. He slowly pushed his hand past the invisible line of her power.
Mila watched as the golden sparks that always danced around Xavier's skin the manifestation of his Molecular Rupture simply snuffed out. One second his hand was a weapon that could turn a tank into dust; the next, it was just a hand. Pale, scarred, and human.
Xavier let out a shaky breath, his eyes blowing wide. "It's quiet. My god, Mila... the air... it stopped screaming."
He didn't grab her. He just rested his palm against her wet cheek. His skin was burning hot, a contrast to the icy rain.
"Don't touch me," Mila growled, but her voice lacked its usual bite. She was exhausted. Her anger was a fire that had run out of wood.
"You hate this, don't you?" Xavier whispered, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "You hate that we want you. But you don't realize what you are to us. We've spent our whole lives with our brains on fire, Mila. Dante hears every lie like a gunshot. Kyan is literally rotting into the shadows. And me? I'm one bad day away from detonating this entire city."
He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers.
"You aren't a girl to us," he breathed. "You're the off-switch. You're the only peace we've ever known. Did you really think we'd let you just live? We'd burn Neo-Verona to the ground just to hold your hand for five minutes of silence."
Mila shoved him back, her heart racing not with romance, but with the terrifying realization that she wasn't being hunted for her crimes. She was being hunted for her existence.
"I'm not a drug," she snapped. "And I'm not a vacation. Stay away from me, Xavier. Or I'll see how 'peaceful' you feel when I'm twisting a knife in your gut."
Xavier laughed, a genuine, delighted sound. "God, I love the way you look when you're threatening to murder me. It's adorable." He stepped back into his car, the golden sparks returning to his skin the moment he left her radius. "Sleep well, Mila. If you can."
3:00 AM. Mila's Apartment.
Mila climbed the stairs to her fourth-floor walk-up, her key trembling in the lock. All she wanted was a shower and ten hours of sleep.
She pushed the door open and froze.
The smell hit her first. Expensive sandalwood and ozone.
Her apartment the tiny, one-room box with the peeling wallpaper was gone.
In its place was a palace.
The walls had been knocked down. The floor was now polished white marble. A king-sized bed with silk sheets sat where her old sofa used to be. A massive floor-to-ceiling window now looked out over the city, even though her building shouldn't have been tall enough for that view.
On the bed, a single black box was waiting. Inside was a dress made of liquid silver and a note written in elegant, heavy calligraphy.
Your old life was too small for you. I've expanded it. Don't bother checking the lease I own the building now. And the three blocks surrounding it. You're safe here, Mila. Only I have the key.
— Dante.
Mila let out a scream of pure, unadulterated rage. She grabbed a crystal vase from the new marble countertop and hurled it at the window.
But the vase didn't hit the glass.
A shadow rose from the floor, catching the vase in mid-air. The shadow curdled and thickened until Kyan was standing there, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"He's arrogant," Kyan said softly, placing the vase back down. "He thinks silk and marble can buy a soul like yours."
Mila backed away, her hands shaking. "Kyan? How did you... my Void was on! You shouldn't be able to manifest!"
"I waited," Kyan said, stepping into the light. His tactical gear was gone, replaced by a simple black shirt that showed the jagged scars on his arms. "I waited until you took a breath. Until your guard dropped for a split second. That's all I need, Mila. A second."
He moved toward her, his footsteps making no sound.
"Dante wants to cage you in gold," Kyan whispered, stopping just inches away. "Xavier wants to use you like a toy. But me?"
He reached out, his hand stopping just short of her hair. He didn't touch her. He just let her feel the cold radiation of his presence.
"I want to be the reason you never have to be angry again. I want to be the shadow that kills the things that make you scream."
"You're the thing that makes me scream!" Mila yelled, her eyes welling with frustrated tears. "All of you! You're suffocating me!"
Kyan's expression didn't change, but his shadow flickered a sign of his internal pain. "Then scream, Mila. I'll make sure no one else hears it."