The dye warehouses had once been valuable.
That was obvious even in decay.
The buildings stood broader than the surrounding homes, their brick darker from decades of chemical staining. High windows lined the upper floors, most of them broken and boarded from the inside after the flood years ago turned the lower levels into rot-filled basins. Since then, the district had slowly learned to step around the place rather than reclaim it. Businesses moved elsewhere. Residents preferred safer streets. Even thieves disliked ground that could collapse under their weight.
Abandonment was protection.
Frankie stopped at the edge of the lane leading toward the warehouses and watched the air instead of the buildings.
The mark beneath her ribs did not flare like it had near the half-turned scavenger. Instead it held a tight, steady pressure, the sensation of standing near something breathing slowly in the dark.
Marco felt it too. His cane tapped once against the stone and then went still, his posture shifting subtly forward as though bracing against wind that wasn't there.
Callista studied the structures with a thoughtful calm that didn't match the unease in the rest of the group.
"This place has layers," she said quietly. "Old work sites always do. Storage, drainage tunnels, waste pits. If someone wanted privacy, they wouldn't need to dig."
Tomas frowned toward the flooded entry ramp. "You're saying they're under it?"
"I'm saying," Callista replied, "if something intelligent was operating inside a city that feared looking closely, it would choose somewhere that already taught people not to approach."
Rafe scratched the back of his neck. "You make it sound organised."
Frankie answered before Callista could. "It is."
She stepped forward.
No one argued. Not even Luca.
The closer they moved toward the warehouse doors, the more the district noise seemed to thin behind them. It wasn't quieter exactly; it was muted, as though sound didn't travel comfortably here. Even their footsteps landed softer than they should have on broken stone.
The main doors hung partially open, warped from old water damage.
Frankie didn't touch them immediately. She crouched instead, brushing her fingers along the ground where mud had dried into ripples weeks ago.
There were newer marks over it.
Dragged.
Not chaotic like a struggle. Directed.
Marco lowered his voice. "Multiple."
Frankie nodded. "Taken inside."
Sofia shifted closer to Luca but didn't speak. The wooden spoon she still carried from earlier rested tucked into her belt like she wanted to feel armed even if she wasn't.
Frankie pushed the door.
It moved with a low groan.
The interior smelled of mold, dye residue, and something sterile that didn't belong to either. Sunlight cut through holes in the roof in pale columns, illuminating a wide processing floor filled with overturned vats and collapsed scaffolding.
Empty.
But not unused.
A thin line of ash-pale dust traced along the ground in looping paths, too deliberate to be drifting debris.
Callista crouched beside one of the lines. "This repeats."
Rafe looked down. "Looks like something dragged its tail."
"No," she said. "It returns to the same points."
Frankie followed the pattern with her eyes. Each line curved toward the same wall at the far end where a metal drainage grate had been forced open.
Her mark tightened sharply.
"There," she said.
They approached slowly.
The grate had been bent outward, not broken — peeled, like Jalen's shop wall.
Marco exhaled softly. "Same strength."
Below the opening, darkness descended into a narrow service channel large enough for a person to crawl through without difficulty.
The sterile smell was stronger here.
Frankie felt it coat the back of her throat.
"They're moving people underground," Luca said.
Frankie shook her head slightly. "Not just moving."
She looked down into the dark and the pressure beneath her ribs pulsed once, slow and certain.
"Preparing."
Rafe glanced behind them. "We should get priests."
"No," Frankie said immediately.
Callista's eyes flicked toward her. Not questioning — measuring.
Frankie continued, "If priests come, angels disappear. Then it starts again somewhere else and we learn nothing."
Tomas rubbed his face nervously. "And if we go down there?"
Frankie met his eyes. "Then we stop guessing."
Silence stretched.
Marco stepped forward first and lowered himself carefully into the channel without waiting for permission. His landing was controlled, quieter than stone should allow.
He looked up. "Clear."
Luca followed, spear held close to avoid striking the sides. Rafe muttered something under his breath and climbed down after them.
Frankie paused before entering and looked at Callista.
"You don't have to—"
Callista was already stepping forward. "If they are creating them, I need to see how."
Frankie held her gaze a moment longer, then nodded.
They descended.
The tunnel sloped gently downward, brickwork older than the warehouse above. Water once flowed here, but now only dampness remained, leaving the passage dry enough to travel. Their footsteps echoed in softened rhythm, swallowed quickly by the enclosed space.
After thirty paces, the first sound reached them.
Breathing.
Not one.
Many.
Everyone stopped.
Sofia instinctively grabbed Luca's sleeve. He didn't shake her off.
Frankie raised her hand slowly, signaling silence.
The breathing came from ahead around a bend, irregular and uneven, punctuated by faint scraping.
Marco shifted his weight forward, ready.
Frankie moved beside him and carefully leaned enough to see around the corner.
She froze.
Cages.
Improvised from bent iron racks and chain, arranged along the widened chamber beyond the bend. Inside them, shapes moved weakly — human forms at different stages of change. Some barely altered, others already hunched and thin, eyes glowing faintly in dimness.
None fully gone yet.
Frankie's mark burned hot enough to steal a breath from her lungs.
Callista stepped beside her and inhaled sharply.
"They're incubating them," she whispered.
Rafe stared, voice gone thin. "Gods…"
One of the captives lifted its head and noticed them.
Its mouth opened.
Frankie moved instantly, covering the sound before it became a scream — but the movement stirred others. Chains rattled softly as several shifted toward them, drawn by instinct they didn't yet understand.
Marco tightened his grip on the cane.
Luca raised Red Oath but did not strike.
Frankie forced her voice low. "They're not finished. If we kill them now—"
"They never come back," Tomas said quietly.
Callista shook her head slowly. "No… this stage… some might."
Frankie looked at her sharply. "Might?"
Callista didn't look away from the cages. "If the angel hasn't sealed them yet."
The word hung heavy.
Sofia pressed against Luca's arm. "They're still people."
Frankie's jaw tightened.
Because now the problem wasn't monsters.
It was time.
And time meant whoever made this place would return.
Marco spoke softly, already understanding. "We're not alone here."
Frankie felt the pressure beneath her ribs pulse once more.
Closer.
Not distant residue anymore.
Approaching.
She straightened slowly.
"Then we don't leave," she said.
Luca's grip tightened on the spear. "We fight it?"
Frankie's eyes hardened toward the tunnel beyond the cages where darkness deepened further.
"No," she said.
"We learn what hunts in our city."
And somewhere deeper in the underground passage, something moved in answer.