Frankie did not tell them she could feel direction.
Not because she distrusted them, but because saying it aloud would turn instinct into expectation. If she was wrong, they would hesitate next time. Hesitation got people killed far more reliably than monsters did.
So she walked.
The lower district moved around them in its usual morning rhythm — loud enough to pretend yesterday hadn't happened. Vendors argued over coin weight. A boy chased a loose chicken through a puddle. Someone loudly swore the temple tax collectors were skimming again.
Normal noise.
But Frankie noticed something the others hadn't yet.
People were avoiding certain streets without realising they were doing it.
They took longer routes. Crossed earlier than needed. Paused at corners before committing to a turn.
Instinct.
The city felt something was wrong.
Marco walked just behind her shoulder, cane tapping softly, his posture loose in the way of someone trying to appear unimportant. Luca stayed on her right, the wrapped spear resting across his shoulder like a walking staff instead of a divine weapon.
Tomas and Yara followed in argument as usual, which helped the disguise.
Rafe watched rooftops.
Frankie let the warmth beneath her ribs guide her steps.
Not pulling.
Not pushing.
Simply warmer when she faced the correct direction.
She turned down a narrow brick lane.
The warmth sharpened.
She slowed.
Marco noticed immediately. "Here."
Luca scanned the alley. "Doesn't look like much."
The place barely qualified as a street. Drain water crawled through a shallow channel along one side, carrying the city's refuse toward underground runoff tunnels. Old crates leaned against a wall that hadn't been repaired in years. The air smelled damp, mineral, wrong.
Frankie crouched beside the grate.
The warmth pulsed once.
Below them, something scraped.
Yara's blade slid free with a quiet sound. Tomas stopped breathing loud enough to give them away.
The scraping stopped.
Then the grate shifted.
Not lifted — pushed slowly upward by uneven pressure, like whatever was beneath it didn't fully understand leverage yet.
The scavenger emerged halfway and got stuck for a moment, shoulders catching on the metal bars. Its limbs jerked violently as it forced itself through, skin scraping raw against iron.
Luca moved first.
The cloth fell from Red Oath as he stepped forward and drove the spear downward — not into the creature, but across its shoulders, pinning it long enough for it to tumble sideways onto the stone instead of lunging directly at Frankie.
The moment it landed it screamed.
The sound was not human.
But it also wasn't fully monster.
The thing scrambled upright with feral urgency and rushed toward the nearest movement — Tomas.
He barely got his weapon up in time as claws struck sparks off metal and drove him backward into the wall.
"Still fast!" Tomas barked.
"Not stable," Frankie replied.
The creature overcommitted. Its weight shifted too far forward.
Marco stepped into its path.
The scavenger hit him with full momentum.
Marco moved half a step.
That was all.
The impact died against him as if the force had nowhere to go.
For a split second the creature froze — confused.
Luca exploited it instantly. Red Oath swept low and knocked its legs out from under it.
Frankie didn't strike.
She watched Marco.
He understood.
Marco brought the cane down across the creature's chest. The strike looked restrained, almost careful.
The sound was not.
Bone collapsed inward and the scavenger went limp, twitching once before stilling.
Silence returned.
Frankie felt dominion rise — but not all of it came to her.
She focused.
Marco — Bastion Demon
Level 2
Dominion: 41 / 200
So finishing mattered.
Good.
She stored that away.
Rafe crouched near the corpse but didn't touch it. "Fresh turn. Not long gone."
Yara pointed at the grate. "They're coming from below."
Frankie shook her head slowly.
"No."
She stepped past the body and walked ten paces farther down the alley.
The warmth increased.
There — carved shallow into brick — a symbol.
Three intersecting lines within a circle.
Not random damage.
Not gang marking.
Placed at waist height.
Luca frowned. "Directions?"
"Placement," Frankie said.
A voice behind them answered:
"Or containment."
They turned instantly.
Callista stood at the alley entrance, academy cloak pulled over her uniform, expression calm but eyes sharp.
Tomas groaned. "You brought a gifted?"
"She brought herself," Frankie said.
Callista stepped closer to the corpse, studying it without flinching.
"You were right," she said quietly. "Students have disappeared from the auxiliary register."
Luca's grip tightened. "How many?"
"Enough that the Academy stopped announcing absences," she replied.
She crouched beside the marking, careful not to touch it.
"This isn't religious," she continued. "It's logistical. Whoever is doing this is mapping movement zones. Herding them."
"Herding?" Yara asked.
Callista looked at the corpse.
"Predators don't scatter prey. They control where it runs."
Frankie felt the warmth again — faintly deeper in the district.
Not random attacks.
A net tightening.
Callista stood and looked directly at Frankie.
"You felt it before you saw it, didn't you?"
Frankie didn't answer.
Callista didn't push.
Instead she said, "Then we follow the pattern before the priests erase it."
Luca rested Red Oath against his shoulder.
"Good," he said quietly. "Because this isn't stopping at scavengers."
Frankie looked down the street where the warmth waited.
Someone in the city wasn't just releasing monsters.
They were organising them.
And that meant intelligence.
Which meant intent.
She turned and started walking.
The others followed.
Behind them, the corpse lay cooling beside the marked wall — just another thing the district would pretend not to notice.
Ahead of them, the pattern continued.
They reached the next junction before anyone spoke again.
The street ahead split three ways — market road, stairwell descent, and the abandoned dye warehouses that no one used after flooding ruined the foundations years ago.
Frankie slowed automatically.
The warmth beneath her ribs didn't spread this time.
It narrowed.
Focused.
She looked toward the warehouses.
Callista followed her gaze, then quietly said, "If I were building a holding site, I'd use somewhere people already avoid."
Rafe muttered, "I hate when the gifted sounds practical."
Marco's grip tightened on the cane. "There will be more."
Frankie nodded once.
"Yes," she said.
Then softer, almost to herself:
"And next time… they won't be unfinished."
The group stood for a moment longer before moving again — not toward the busy streets, but toward the empty ones.
Somewhere ahead, something was preparing.
And for the first time, Frankie felt certain they had just walked into the edge of it.