The condemned storage room had been condemned in a way that felt personal, like the building itself had filed a complaint against it and won. It sat behind the hall’s basement stairwell with a warped door and a sign that said No Entry in faded red paint, and the paint had run in streaks like it was trying to crawl away. The air inside smelled like wet cardboard, old dust, and something vaguely chemical that could’ve been cleaning product or a rat’s last bad decision. A single dangling bulb buzzed with the same tired rage as the chandelier upstairs, and the floor was a mosaic of broken shelving, crushed boxes, cracked concrete, and a suspicious glitter trail that suggested Otto had been here previously and lied about it. Regis Vale stood in the doorway with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes moving over the disaster like he was reading an incident report written by chaos itself. “This,” he said, voice short and surgical, “will become a training bay.”

  Seraphine Park didn’t blink. She simply stared at him with calm, firm disbelief. “It’s a health hazard,” she said. “It’s also a tetanus festival.”

  Juno Alvarez leaned around Regis and squinted at a collapsed shelf. “I’m pretty sure that shelf is haunted,” she said brightly. “If it whispers to me, I’m leaving.”

  Caleb Ward stepped forward and immediately stopped when his sneaker stuck to something that made a sound like wet tape. He pulled his foot free with a soft ripping noise and looked down at the sole like it had betrayed him. “What is that?” he asked, sincere and horrified.

  Nia Kade peered past him, eyes sharp. “History,” she said. “Mostly bad.”

  Mara Quell walked in without hesitation, moved one broken chair with one hand, and set it aside like she was tidying a living room. She didn’t comment. She didn’t need to. The way she moved implied the room’s problems were solvable by force and patience, and Regis found himself respecting that again in a way he refused to unpack.

  Otto Pritchard arrived last, tool belt jangling softly, carrying a roll of hazard tape like it was a prize. He took one breath of the room and visibly thrilled. “Oh wow,” he whispered, then caught Seraphine’s eyes and quickly added, “Not wow as in I like this, wow as in I can fix this. Mostly. With science. And maybe a small controlled fire.”

  Seraphine’s gaze sharpened. “No fire.”

  Otto swallowed. “No fire. No fire at all. I will think about fire privately.”

  Regis stepped into the room, and for a second his mind tried to solve it the villain way, which was to remove the entire concept of rubble from existence. The building had enough weak points that he could have made the concrete ripple like cloth. He could have folded the room into a clean rectangle. He could have made the debris become neatly stacked piles with a thought. Instead, he inhaled, let the irritation settle into focus, and chose the path that would not trigger a hundred unseen systems and cameras and cosmic flags. “We will triage,” he said. “Clear the floor. Mark lanes. Reinforce the load-bearing corner. That beam is a liability. Otto, you will not touch the wiring.”

  Otto lifted a hand automatically. “I can stabilize the power supply.”

  “No,” everyone said at the same time, and it echoed in the condemned room like a prayer.

  Otto exhaled. “Okay,” he said, then tried to save his pride with humor. “But I can emotionally support the wiring with positive affirmations.”

  Regis’s eyes narrowed. “If you compliment a wire, I will personally unplug you.”

  The next hour was less like heroic training and more like moving day in a cursed apartment. Mara carried heavy things without grunting, Caleb hauled lighter things while apologizing to them, Juno made a game out of throwing broken planks into a pile with dramatic commentary about “defeating the plank menace,” and Nia kept finding items that didn’t belong in a storage room and placing them on a growing table of evidence. She held up a cracked mannequin hand at one point and stared at Regis. “Why do we own this?” she asked.

  Regis didn’t look away from the wall he was assessing. “We don’t,” he said. “We inherited it.”

  Juno waved the mannequin hand like a puppet. “Hello, I am the previous acting guild master, I did not file taxes, and my hobbies include suffering.”

  Seraphine ignored Juno and taped a list to the door with three bold headings: Safety, Ethics, Practicality. Under Safety she wrote Ventilation, Trip Hazards, Structural, Fire. Under Ethics she wrote No unnecessary harm. No property destruction unless it saves lives. Under Practicality she wrote No explosions. The last line was underlined twice. When she finished, she turned and looked directly at Otto.

  Otto stared back, tried to smile, and failed. “I feel targeted,” he said weakly.

  Seraphine’s voice stayed calm. “Good,” she replied. “That means you’re paying attention.”

  Regis moved rubble with hands, not power, though he did allow himself one tiny cheat when nobody was looking. A beam that should have been too heavy shifted just enough to slide into place, as if the laws of physics had decided to cooperate out of politeness. Regis coughed immediately afterward like he’d sneezed, because that was his current cover story for bending reality. Caleb glanced over, concerned. “Are you okay?” Caleb asked.

  Regis waved him off. “Dust,” he said, flat. “It offends me.”

  The condemned room slowly became something else. The floor cleared enough to see chalk lines Seraphine drew with the same fierce precision she used on budgets. Otto set up two battered gym mats he’d found upstairs, one of which smelled like old sweat and questionable ambition. Juno discovered a pair of traffic cones in a closet and announced, “We have training pylons,” as if she’d acquired holy artifacts. Mara found a thick rope and tested it with one hand, then nodded once like she approved of its honesty. Nia stuck a little sign on the wall that read If you trip, you lose dignity and stared at Regis with a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Motivation,” she said.

  Regis surveyed the space with the expression of a man preparing to invade a small country. “Good,” he said. “Now we turn pain into skill.”

  Caleb swallowed. “That’s… inspiring?” he offered.

  Regis’s eyes flicked to him. “That is not inspiration,” Regis said. “It is instruction.”

  Seraphine stepped into the center of the chalk lanes. “Before anyone starts hitting anyone,” she said, voice firm, calm, “we set rules. Nonlethal, controlled, evidence-friendly. We train restraint as much as we train force. No unnecessary harm. No property destruction unless it saves lives.”

  Otto raised his hand halfway. “What about minor property destruction?”

  Seraphine’s gaze stayed steady. “No.”

  Otto lowered his hand slowly. “Understood.”

  Mara’s voice was blunt. “Start.”

  Regis began with the obvious target, because leadership was often just choosing which weakness to fix first. “Caleb,” he said. “Burst-leaps.”

  Caleb’s shoulders tightened. “I can do them,” he said quickly, sincere and humble. “It’s just… sometimes I land hard. Sometimes I overshoot. Sometimes I apologize while I’m airborne.”

  Juno pointed at him. “You do. It’s adorable. You’ll be like, ‘Sorry,’ and then you’ll crush a bench.”

  Caleb winced. “I don’t mean to.”

  Regis stepped closer, eyes coldly focused. “Stop apologizing to gravity,” Regis said. “Gravity is not a person. Gravity is a constant. It does not forgive you. It does not care.”

  Caleb blinked. “That’s… oddly helpful?”

  Regis gestured to the far end of the bay where Seraphine had chalked a landing square. “You jump from line to square,” Regis said. “You do not drift. You do not panic midair. You do not shout sorry. You breathe. You land soft. Again.”

  Caleb nodded, took position, bent his knees, and then hesitated. His eyes flicked to Seraphine like he wanted permission to be strong. Seraphine nodded once, calm. “Do it,” she said.

  Caleb exhaled, pushed, and his body surged forward in a clean burst. The leap was quick, almost a flicker, like his muscles had discovered a second gear. He landed in the square, feet hitting the mat with a thump, knees bending to absorb it. For a heartbeat it looked perfect, and then his reflex kicked in and he blurted, “Sorry,” to the room itself.

  Regis’s eyes narrowed. “Again,” he said.

  Caleb flushed. “I didn’t mean to,” he said.

  Regis’s voice stayed surgical. “You did it anyway,” he replied. “Again.”

  Juno leaned toward Nia and whispered, “He’s training him like a printer that keeps jamming.”

  Nia’s soft sarcasm barely moved her lips. “Caleb’s nicer than the printer.”

  Otto hovered near the wall with a notepad like he was recording science. “The biomechanics of burst-leaps,” he murmured, then caught Regis looking at him and immediately switched gears. “I mean, wow, Caleb, you’re so heroic, keep doing that, please don’t break the building.”

  Caleb tried again. Jump, land, bend, breathe. “Sorry,” he started, then clamped his mouth shut so hard his jaw popped.

  Regis nodded once. “Better,” he said, which from Regis was basically a standing ovation.

  Mara stepped forward next without being asked. She stood beside Caleb and pointed at his shoulders. “Relax,” she said, minimal words, blunt truth. She shifted her own weight, feet planted, and demonstrated a landing that looked gentle and casual until you noticed the muscles in her legs flex like steel cables. “Down,” she said, and then she dropped her center of gravity with such control that even the mat didn’t complain. “Not stomp.”

  Caleb watched her like she was teaching a secret. “Okay,” he said softly. He tried again, adjusting the angle of his hips. Jump, land, down. The mat barely thumped. He didn’t apologize. His eyes widened in surprise, and then he smiled in that earnest way that made it hard to stay cynical around him. “I did it,” he said.

  Regis’s voice stayed cool. “Again.”

  Caleb’s smile faded into determination. “Again,” he agreed.

  The training bay filled with the rhythm of repetition. Caleb jumped until sweat darkened the collar of his shirt and his breath came in short bursts, but each landing got quieter, more controlled, and the “sorry” died on his tongue like a bad habit finally shamed out of existence. Seraphine made notes and corrected his posture in small, precise ways without ever raising her voice. Juno cheered him on with jokes that somehow kept him focused instead of distracted. “If you apologize again,” she called, “you owe me five NEX and a snack.”

  Caleb huffed. “I don’t even have five NEX.”

  Juno grinned. “Then don’t apologize.”

  Regis shifted his attention next, because a team wasn’t just a collection of powers, it was a collection of failure modes. “Mara,” he said.

  Mara looked at him. “Yes.”

  Regis nodded toward Juno. “Restraint holds,” he said. “Teach.”

  Juno’s grin widened. “Oh no,” she said happily. “Mara is about to make my skeleton regret existing.”

  Mara stepped toward Juno with calm, empty hands. “No jokes,” Mara said.

  Juno blinked. “I don’t know how.”

  Mara didn’t smile. “Learn.”

  The first hold Mara demonstrated looked almost gentle. She took Juno’s wrist, turned it slightly, stepped to the side, and pressed Juno’s arm down with a smooth motion that used leverage and timing rather than brute force. Juno’s knees bent involuntarily, her face scrunched, and she made a sound that was half laugh, half complaint. “Ow,” she said. “That’s not fair.”

  Mara’s voice stayed blunt. “Bones have opinions,” she said.

  Juno’s eyes widened. “You’re terrifying.”

  Mara nodded once. “Good.”

  Caleb watched with a mix of fascination and sympathy. “Is she okay?” he asked.

  Juno wiggled her fingers carefully. “I’m fine,” she said. “My pride hurts more than my wrist. Also my wrist hurts.”

  Mara shifted her grip, adjusted her stance, and released Juno smoothly. “No break,” Mara said. “Just stop.”

  Seraphine stepped closer, eyes sharp. “That’s what we need,” she said. “Control. End the conflict without escalation.”

  Regis’s gaze stayed on Mara’s technique, and for a moment he looked genuinely impressed. “Efficient,” he said.

  Mara looked at him. “Always,” she replied.

  Juno shook her hand out, then lifted her chin like she was ready for round two. “Okay,” she said. “Teach me to do that to someone else. Preferably a jerk.”

  Mara nodded and guided her through it again, step by step, adjusting wrist angle, shoulder position, foot placement. The holds were simple, clean, and evidence-friendly, exactly what the branch needed if they wanted to stop getting baited into humiliation clips where someone yelled “excessive force” while filming in vertical. Juno struggled at first because her natural instinct was to turn everything into chaos, but Mara’s discipline was contagious in the way gravity was contagious. After ten minutes, Juno managed a hold that actually worked, and she squealed, delighted. “I did it,” she said. “I am now the gentle nightmare.”

  Regis’s voice cut in. “Again,” he said automatically.

  Juno stared at him. “Do you ever stop saying again?”

  Regis’s expression stayed flat. “No.”

  Juno sighed dramatically. “Fine. Again.”

  Then her luck power spiked, because of course it did. It wasn’t a visible aura, not a glow or a lightning crackle. It was just reality getting a little too cooperative. Juno went to practice a dodge against Mara’s controlled reach, misjudged her own foot placement, and should have tripped over a broken tile edge. Instead, her boot slid perfectly over it, her ankle rolled exactly the right way to avoid injury, and Mara’s hand missed her by an inch as if the universe had nudged it away. Juno blinked, startled, then grinned like she’d stolen something. “Oh,” she said. “That was clean.”

  Mara’s eyes narrowed slightly, not angry, just assessing. “Luck,” she said.

  Juno shrugged. “It’s my whole thing.”

  Regis watched the dodge and felt irritation flare in the most specific way. It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t fear. It was the feeling of a math problem refusing to balance. “Do it again,” Regis said, short.

  Juno’s grin widened. “Gladly.”

  She tried to dodge again, deliberately this time, and somehow it got even better. Her body moved like she’d rehearsed it for years, slipping through Mara’s reach with perfect timing. Mara adjusted, faster, and Juno adjusted faster too, and for a few seconds the drill looked like choreography designed by a prankster god. Juno laughed mid-movement, thrilled. “I’m unstoppable,” she said.

  Regis’s eyes narrowed. “You are statistically improbable,” he snapped.

  Nia’s soft sarcasm drifted from the wall. “He hates your vibe.”

  Juno cackled. “He hates my probability.”

  Regis stepped closer, gaze sharp. “Your luck is spiking,” Regis said. “You are using it as a crutch.”

  Juno blinked. “That’s literally what it’s for.”

  Regis’s voice stayed surgical. “Then you will become incompetent the moment it fails,” he said. “Do it again, but assume luck is gone.”

  Juno stared at him, then shrugged. “Okay,” she said, and immediately stepped wrong, because of course she did. Her foot hit the same tile edge that should have tripped her earlier, and reality tried to betray her. Somehow, the tile edge crumbled instead of catching her boot, and she glided through the dodge anyway, laughing. “Oops,” she said. “Tile died for my sins.”

  Regis’s jaw tightened. “That is exactly the problem,” he said.

  Otto watched with wide eyes. “This is incredible,” he whispered. “She’s like a walking lab anomaly.”

  Regis pointed at Otto without looking at him. “Do not say anomaly,” he said.

  Otto immediately changed words. “She’s like a walking… miracle?”

  Regis’s eyes narrowed further. “Also no.”

  Seraphine stepped between Regis and Juno before Regis tried to audit probability with his bare hands. “We incorporate her luck into controlled drills,” Seraphine said, calm, firm. “We train her to recognize when it spikes and when it doesn’t. We don’t punish her for her gift.”

  Regis’s gaze stayed cold. “I am not punishing,” he said. “I am correcting.”

  Juno leaned around Seraphine and grinned at Regis. “He’s mad because I’m better at dodging than his ego is at dodging accountability,” she said.

  Regis’s voice went flat. “Say another sentence like that and I will assign you paperwork.”

  Juno’s grin faltered. “Okay, that’s too far.”

  While the physical drills continued, Otto set up his own station against the far wall with a folding table, a pile of scrap parts, and a small sign Seraphine forced him to write that read Nonlethal Only in big letters. He laid out gadgets like a proud disaster presenting a science fair project. A foam launcher designed to glue weapons to hands without breaking fingers. A compact net projector that fired a weighted mesh meant to wrap legs and slow runners. A small puck device that emitted an ear-splitting squeal meant to disorient without lasting damage. A glitter canister that was, according to Otto, “psychologically devastating,” which Seraphine had immediately tried to ban until Nia pointed out glitter was evidence-friendly because it stuck to everything and told on people for days. Otto also had a tiny drone that he swore would not play motivational music, and he’d taped over its speaker with three layers of duct tape like he was sealing a demon.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Clarissa Wye arrived halfway through Otto’s setup, because the universe loved timing. The front door upstairs banged once, the way it did when the wind caught it, and then the basement stairwell filled with the sound of wheels and calm, inevitable footsteps. Clarissa appeared at the bottom of the stairs with her rolling suitcase of binders, coat immaculate, expression crisp and legal, and her eyes flicked across the training bay with the displeasure of someone walking into progress without consent. Her gaze landed on the chalk lanes, the mats, the hazard tape, the organized piles of debris, and the fact that the storage room no longer looked like it was actively trying to kill them. Her mouth tightened. “You cleaned,” she said, and somehow it sounded accusatory.

  Seraphine stepped forward, formal. “Auditor Wye,” she said. “We are establishing training protocols and nonlethal compliance drills.”

  Clarissa’s eyes moved to Otto’s table. “And that,” Clarissa said, tone flat, “is a pile of devices that will be used in public.”

  Otto swallowed so hard it looked painful. “Nonlethal,” he said quickly, excited voice strangled by fear. “All nonlethal. Evidence-friendly. Safety-first. I labeled them.”

  Clarissa’s gaze stayed on him like a scalpel. “You are Otto Pritchard,” she said. “The inventor.”

  Otto nodded rapidly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Clarissa’s expression didn’t warm. “I have heard your name in relation to the phrase ‘learning opportunity.’”

  Otto’s eyes widened. “StarBuddy says that,” he blurted, then immediately regretted the words like they had teeth.

  Clarissa’s gaze shifted to Regis. “Is he supervised?” she asked.

  Regis’s voice was short. “Always,” he said.

  Otto whispered, “I am right here.”

  Seraphine’s tone stayed calm. “He is supervised,” she repeated. “We are implementing ethics rules.”

  Clarissa’s eyes narrowed. “List them.”

  Seraphine pointed to the sign on the wall. “No unnecessary harm,” she said. “No property destruction unless it saves lives. Restraint techniques prioritized. De-escalation prioritized. Documentation prioritized. Nonlethal tools tested under controlled conditions.”

  Clarissa’s gaze flicked to the last line. “Nonlethal tools tested,” she repeated. “Under control.”

  Otto nodded so hard his neck looked like it might sprain. “Yes. Controlled. Like… very controlled. Like a spreadsheet.”

  Clarissa’s eyes narrowed. “Demonstrate.”

  Otto’s face went pale. “Now?”

  Clarissa’s tone did not change. “Now.”

  Regis watched Otto with the faintest hint of amusement, because nothing made Otto behave like fear with a clipboard. “Do it,” Regis said.

  Otto took a shaky breath and picked up the foam launcher. “Okay,” he said, trying to sound confident and failing into anxious humor. “This is the AdhesiFoam 2.0. It is designed to immobilize a weapon or tool in someone’s hand without harming the person. It is not permanent. It dissolves with solvent, which we have, and also with time, which is free.”

  Clarissa stared. “Fire risk?” she asked.

  Otto blinked. “No,” he said quickly. “It is water-based. It is… it is basically angry shaving cream.”

  Clarissa’s gaze narrowed. “Demonstrate.”

  Mara stepped forward without being asked and held up a metal pipe she’d found in the rubble pile. She held it like a weapon, stance neutral, eyes calm. Otto swallowed, aimed carefully, and fired. A thick spray of foam shot out, wrapped around the pipe and Mara’s hand, then hardened into a tacky, rubbery mass that glued the pipe in place. Mara tried to release it. The pipe didn’t move. She tried again, harder. Still stuck. She looked at Otto and nodded once.

  Otto exhaled in relief like he’d survived a trial. “See?” he said. “Immobilized. Nonlethal. Also kind of funny.”

  Juno leaned in. “Mara, you look like you punched a marshmallow.”

  Mara’s voice was blunt. “It works.”

  Clarissa’s gaze stayed on the foam. “Solvent?” she asked.

  Otto grabbed a small spray bottle labeled Defoam in his handwriting and spritzed the foam. The mass softened quickly and slid off Mara’s hand with a wet plop. Mara wiped her palm on a rag, then looked at Otto again and nodded once more.

  Clarissa’s expression stayed mostly flat, but the smallest hint of approval crept in around the edges. “Acceptable,” she said.

  Otto’s eyes got shiny. “Thank you,” he whispered, like he’d just been told he was allowed to live.

  Clarissa turned her gaze to the net projector. “Next.”

  Otto flinched, then picked it up. “Okay,” he said. “This fires a weighted mesh designed to wrap legs and slow pursuit. It does not tighten around the neck. It has safety seams. It’s… it’s like throwing a blanket at crime.”

  Clarissa stared. “Demonstrate.”

  Caleb volunteered immediately, because Caleb volunteered for pain like it was his job. “I’ll do it,” Caleb said, sincere.

  Seraphine’s eyes widened. “Caleb, you don’t have to.”

  Caleb shook his head, earnest. “It’s fine,” he said. “If it’s for safety, it’s worth it.”

  Juno whispered, “Golden boy behavior.”

  Caleb stood in the chalk lane and gave Otto a thumbs up, then immediately looked nervous. Otto aimed, fired, and the net shot out with a soft thump, wrapping around Caleb’s legs and sticking to itself. Caleb stumbled, tried to step, and went down to one knee with a surprised grunt. “Okay,” he said, breathless. “That works.”

  Regis’s voice cut in. “Get up,” he said.

  Caleb blinked. “I can’t,” he admitted.

  Regis nodded once. “Good,” he said. “Now practice.”

  Caleb groaned. “This is training montage pain.”

  Juno grinned. “It hurts because it’s character development.”

  Clarissa watched Caleb struggle, eyes cold and assessing. “Release mechanism?” she asked.

  Otto stepped forward quickly and pulled a bright red tab on the net, and the mesh split along a seam and fell away in pieces. Caleb exhaled in relief. Otto looked at Clarissa with wide eyes, begging approval. Clarissa stared at the net pieces, then nodded once. “Acceptable,” she repeated.

  Otto’s face crumpled with pure joy. He blinked hard like he was trying not to cry. It didn’t work. A single tear slid down his cheek, and he wiped it away quickly, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  Regis’s eyes narrowed instantly. “Do not apologize,” Regis snapped.

  Otto froze. “I’m sorry,” Otto said reflexively, then immediately panicked. “I mean, I’m not sorry, I’m grateful, I’m just emotionally leaking.”

  Juno leaned toward Nia and whispered, “Clarissa is the closest thing we have to a fear god.”

  Nia’s soft sarcasm barely shifted her lips. “She’s a paperwork deity.”

  Seraphine stepped in before Otto fully short-circuited. “Thank you for evaluating,” she said to Clarissa, formal and firm. “We will document these tools and their usage parameters.”

  Clarissa’s gaze slid to Seraphine. “You will,” she said. Then she turned her attention to Regis. “And you will ensure your team uses them responsibly.”

  Regis’s voice stayed short. “Yes,” he said.

  Clarissa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You answered too quickly.”

  Regis’s smile was thin. “I enjoy enforceable systems,” he said.

  Clarissa’s mouth tightened. “That’s concerning.”

  Regis’s expression didn’t change. “It’s honest.”

  The training continued with Clarissa watching like a hawk that had learned to file reports. Caleb practiced burst-leaps while keeping his mouth shut during landings, which made him clench his jaw so hard his face looked like it hurt, but his control improved. Mara drilled restraint holds with Nia next, because Nia moved like someone who didn’t like being touched and therefore needed to learn how to control touch. Nia’s first attempt at a hold looked clean, subtle, and quietly vicious. Mara nodded once. “Good,” Mara said.

  Nia’s mouth twitched. “Don’t compliment me,” she muttered.

  Mara’s voice stayed blunt. “I did.”

  Juno kept dodging like reality was her dance partner, and Regis kept glaring like she was a rounding error he wanted to correct. “Again,” Regis said so many times it started to sound like a curse. Juno started replying “Again,” in the same flat tone just to irritate him, and it worked, which made her grin wider. Seraphine enforced ethics mid-drill by calling out, “No unnecessary harm,” whenever anyone got too excited, and everyone’s eyes kept drifting to Otto every time, which made Otto hunch his shoulders defensively like he was being haunted by blame.

  Then the “welcome gift” arrived, because Baron Silt did not waste time, and he had a cruel sense of humor. A loud knock hit the front door upstairs, followed by a shout from the hallway, and then footsteps echoed down the basement stairs. A courier, young and nervous, appeared at the bottom holding a large wooden crate with both hands like it weighed more than it should. He wore a cheap jacket with no logo, but his posture screamed he had been paid to be here and terrified to mess up. “Delivery,” he said, voice shaky.

  Regis stepped forward, short and surgical. “For whom?” he asked.

  The courier swallowed. “Branch Zero,” he said. “For your… brand.”

  Seraphine’s jaw tightened. “From who?” she asked, calm but sharp.

  The courier’s eyes flicked around the training bay, landed on Mara, and his courage visibly evaporated. “It’s just… a gift,” he stammered. “No return address.”

  Nia moved closer, eyes sharp, and smiled faintly like she smelled a hobby. “It’s from Baron Silt,” she said softly, more statement than question.

  The courier flinched. “I don’t know anything,” he blurted.

  Regis’s voice went flat. “You know enough,” he said. “Set it down. Leave.”

  The courier hurried to comply, set the crate on the cleared floor near Otto’s table, then backed up like the crate might explode. “Have a good day,” he said in a rush.

  Juno waved brightly. “You too,” she called. “Tell your boss his taste is tacky.”

  The courier didn’t respond. He fled upstairs like he’d just escaped a predator.

  Seraphine stared at the crate. “Do not open it without precautions,” she said, firm.

  Otto leaned in, eyes bright despite fear. “It could be a bomb,” he whispered, thrilled and horrified at the same time.

  Mara’s voice was blunt. “Back.”

  Caleb stepped in front of Seraphine instinctively, protective. “I can open it,” he said, sincere.

  Regis’s gaze narrowed. “With what,” he asked, “your optimism?”

  Caleb blinked. “A crowbar,” he offered.

  Regis nodded once. “Acceptable,” he said.

  They approached the crate like it might be a trap, because in Graybridge everything nice was either bait or debt. Caleb pried the lid carefully while Mara stood close enough to stop him if the crate tried to bite. Nia watched the seams, eyes sharp. Otto held a small fire extinguisher like a comfort object. Seraphine stood with her binder open, ready to document. Clarissa watched silently, and somehow that made the moment more serious, because if it did explode, she would write the most devastating report about it.

  The lid came off with a creak. No bomb. No smoke. Just the smell of polyester so aggressive it felt like an insult. Inside the crate were cheap capes, neatly folded in stacks like someone had tried to package mockery as merchandise. They were bright, glossy fabric in a range of heroic colors that looked like they’d been purchased in bulk from a discount costume supplier. On top sat a printed card that read: For Your Brand. Underneath, in smaller print, Hope looks better with a cape.

  Juno made a sound like she was both delighted and offended. “That’s so rude,” she said. “Also, capes.”

  Seraphine stared at the card, calm voice tightening. “It’s a threat,” she said.

  Regis’s expression went flat, and his voice came out like a knife. “It’s a reminder,” he said, “that he thinks we are a joke.”

  Caleb picked up one cape tentatively and frowned. “They’re… really thin,” he said.

  Otto ran his fingers over the fabric and grimaced. “This cape would melt if you looked at it wrong,” he murmured. “It’s basically flammable sarcasm.”

  Clarissa’s gaze stayed on the card. “This is intimidation via optics,” she said, legal tone. “He is shaping narrative pressure.”

  Nia reached into the crate, pulled one cape free, and flipped it over, eyes moving quickly along seams and hems. She didn’t look annoyed. She looked pleased. “He’s not just shaping narrative,” she said softly. “He’s tracking it.”

  Seraphine’s eyes sharpened. “What?”

  Nia held the hem up to the light, found a tiny rigid bump stitched into the seam, and smiled like she’d just been handed a toy. “Tag,” she said. “Hidden tracker. Cheap. Lazy. Confident.”

  Juno leaned in. “Oh my god, he put an AirTag in a cape.”

  Otto whispered, reverent. “That’s petty genius.”

  Regis’s eyes narrowed. “Remove it,” he said.

  Nia’s smile didn’t fade. “Already,” she said, and with a small blade she’d produced from somewhere, she cut the stitching with careful precision and slid the tracker out into her palm. She rolled it between her fingers like a coin. “He wants to know where we go,” she said. “He wants to watch who we talk to. He wants to see which neighborhoods we show up in so he can adjust pressure.”

  Seraphine’s voice stayed calm but carried steel. “We do not let him.”

  Regis watched the tracker in Nia’s hand and felt something like satisfaction. “We won’t,” he said. He looked at the crate of capes again, then at his team, and his mind began assembling counterplay like a blueprint. “We will thank him,” Regis said.

  Juno stared. “No we won’t,” she said immediately.

  Regis’s eyes flicked to her. “We will thank him,” Regis repeated, short and surgical, “by using his gift as bait.”

  Nia’s smile deepened by half a degree. “Now you’re speaking my language,” she murmured.

  Seraphine’s eyes narrowed. “Explain,” she said, firm.

  Regis gestured toward the capes like they were chess pieces. “We announce a community engagement event,” he said, voice precise and transactional. “Cape giveaway. Public morale. ‘Hope distribution.’ We invite small businesses. We invite local families. We make it wholesome. We keep it controlled. We use the capes to draw his lookouts. We map them. We identify patterns. We document every face. We turn his optic threat into our optic win.”

  Caleb blinked, sincere and uncertain. “Is that… ethical?” he asked.

  Seraphine answered before Regis could. “It can be,” she said, calm. “If we don’t endanger civilians, and if we use it to reduce harm.”

  Regis nodded once. “Exactly,” he said.

  Clarissa’s gaze sharpened. “If you do this,” Clarissa said, legal calm, “you will document it. You will document the tag. You will document potential surveillance. You will document any harassment. You will file it.”

  Regis’s smile was thin. “I will file so hard it becomes a lifestyle,” he said.

  Otto raised his hand cautiously. “Can I make the capes safer?” he asked. “Like… add flame retardant? Add reflective strips? Add a little pocket for snacks?”

  Seraphine’s gaze snapped to him. “No modifications that could be construed as entrapment,” she said, firm.

  Otto lowered his hand slowly. “Okay,” he said, then whispered to Juno, “But snacks would be nice.”

  Juno whispered back, “Put snacks in your normal pockets, Otto.”

  Mara stepped forward, picked up a cape, and held it in one hand like it offended her. “Trash,” she said.

  Juno gasped. “Mara hates capes,” she said dramatically. “This is character development.”

  Mara’s voice stayed blunt. “They get grabbed,” she said, and it was the most practical argument in the world. “They choke.”

  Seraphine nodded sharply. “No capes for field work,” she said. “Not unless we control the environment.”

  Regis looked at Mara. “Agreed,” he said, and then he looked at the training bay again. “Back to drills,” Regis said. “Baron Silt does not interrupt our schedule. His gift is noted. His threat is logged. We train.”

  Juno saluted with the cape like a flag. “Yes, boss,” she said, then tossed it back into the crate like it had insulted her.

  Training hit harder after the crate, because now everyone had a new edge. Caleb’s burst-leaps became sharper, less hesitant. He stopped clenching his jaw on landings and started breathing through them, which made his movements smoother and his eyes steadier. When he landed clean and silent for the tenth time in a row, Regis nodded once. Caleb’s chest rose with pride, and he almost said sorry out of habit, then stopped himself and grinned instead. “I’m not sorry,” Caleb said, and Juno cackled like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all week.

  Mara drilled restraint with Seraphine next, because Seraphine wanted to be able to stop someone without breaking them, and because she refused to ask anyone else to do something she couldn’t at least attempt. Mara’s holds looked gentle, but Seraphine’s face tightened every time Mara shifted leverage, because “gentle” was an illusion bones believed until they didn’t. “You’re doing it wrong,” Mara said at one point, blunt.

  Seraphine’s voice stayed steady even while wincing. “How?” she asked.

  Mara adjusted Seraphine’s elbow slightly. “Here,” Mara said. “Less force. More angle.”

  Seraphine tried again, and it worked, and her eyes widened slightly in surprise. “That’s… effective,” Seraphine admitted.

  Mara nodded once. “Yes.”

  Regis watched with cool focus, then spoke. “That is what we sell,” Regis said. “Control.”

  Nia drifted near Otto’s table again and examined the tracking tag with the same calm attention she’d shown at the mall when she’d rewritten narratives with micro-illusions. “I can bounce this,” Nia murmured.

  Regis’s eyes flicked to her. “Explain,” he said.

  Nia’s soft sarcasm surfaced. “Make him chase ghosts,” she said. “Let him watch a cape ride around the city on a trash truck. Let him think we’re meeting someone at the pier. Let him waste time.”

  Seraphine’s gaze sharpened. “We do not waste public services,” she said.

  Nia blinked, then shrugged. “Fine,” she said. “A delivery drone.”

  Otto perked up. “I have a drone,” he whispered excitedly.

  Seraphine turned slowly. “No,” she said.

  Otto’s shoulders slumped. “Okay,” he said, then added, “But maybe.”

  Clarissa’s gaze snapped to Otto. Otto immediately shut his mouth.

  Juno’s luck spiked again during a dodge drill, and this time it didn’t just keep her safe, it made her obnoxiously perfect. Regis had set up a lane with cones and a swinging rope rig Mara controlled, designed to simulate strikes. Juno should have taken at least one tap. Instead, the rope knot slipped slightly at the exact right moment, the swing changed by inches, and Juno slipped past with a laugh, hair bouncing, eyes bright. She turned at the end of the lane and pointed at Regis. “I told you,” she said. “Math loves me.”

  Regis’s eyes narrowed like he wanted to argue with God. “Math is not supposed to love anyone,” Regis said. “Math is supposed to be indifferent.”

  Juno grinned. “Tell that to my knees.”

  Regis stepped into the lane suddenly, coat off now, sleeves rolled slightly, and for a second the whole room went quiet because the idea of Regis physically training instead of directing felt like watching a shark try yoga. “Again,” Regis said, and he moved through the lane himself, not as fast as Mara, not as loose as Juno, but with precise economy, each step placed like he was signing a contract with the floor. The rope swung toward him, and he should have been tapped. A tiny draft of air shifted the rope by a hair. Regis did not react to the draft. He stepped past the swing as if he’d predicted it. His gaze flicked to the rope knot for half a second, and Juno’s grin widened because she knew exactly what she’d seen.

  Nia’s mouth twitched. “Did you just cheat?”

  Regis’s voice stayed short. “No,” he said.

  Juno cackled. “He cheated.”

  Seraphine’s gaze snapped to Regis, firm and calm. “Do not,” she said, and it was both warning and plea.

  Regis stepped out of the lane and stared at Juno like she was a problem he couldn’t solve with logic. “Your luck is contagious,” Regis said, flat.

  Juno’s grin softened into something genuinely pleased. “Aww,” she said. “You think I’m contagious.”

  Regis’s eyes narrowed. “That is not a compliment,” he said.

  Juno nodded cheerfully. “Still taking it.”

  Hours passed in the bay, sweat and chalk dust mixing in the air, laughter cutting through the pain at the exact moments it needed to so nobody snapped. The room felt less condemned now. It still smelled bad, but it smelled like work instead of rot. The team moved with more rhythm, more trust. Seraphine’s ethics rules became reflex. Caleb’s landings got quiet. Mara’s holds got cleaner. Juno’s dodges got annoying. Nia watched everything with that quiet predator focus, but every now and then she’d soften when Caleb stumbled and caught himself without apology, like she was watching someone become braver and it irritated her in a way she didn’t want to name.

  Near the end, Otto packed his devices carefully, labeling each one again, because Clarissa’s presence had rewired his instincts into responsibility. Clarissa stood near the door with her suitcase, watching the last drill with the expression of someone who would never say “good job” out loud, but might write “acceptable” in a report and consider it affection. Regis called a stop with a raised hand. Everyone slowed, breathing hard. Sweat ran down foreheads. The basement bulb buzzed, tired.

  Regis stepped into the center of the chalk lines, gaze moving over them like a commander counting survivors. “This,” he said, short and surgical, “is progress.”

  Juno wiped sweat from her brow and grinned. “Is that you inspiring hope?” she asked.

  Regis’s eyes narrowed. “Do not,” he warned.

  Seraphine’s voice stayed calm. “It is hope,” she said anyway. “It’s competence. It’s stability. It’s us not getting baited into humiliation.”

  Caleb nodded, sincere. “It feels good,” he admitted. “It hurts,” he added quickly, “but it feels good.”

  Mara’s voice was blunt. “Good hurt,” she said.

  Nia’s soft sarcasm surfaced. “Pain with a purpose,” she murmured.

  Otto sniffed once, eyes still shiny from earlier. “I didn’t explode today,” Otto said, voice wobbling between pride and disbelief.

  Clarissa’s gaze snapped to him. “Do not tempt fate,” she said.

  Otto froze. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered.

  The air shimmered with a familiar System presence building at the edge of their perception like a pop-up getting ready to be smug. Regis stiffened slightly, already irritated. Juno leaned forward like she wanted to catch it mid-flight. Seraphine’s eyes narrowed in resigned anticipation. Otto looked like he might faint.

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [SIDE QUEST COMPLETE! REWARD: MORALE BOOST!]

  A bright banner unfurled in Regis’s vision and, unfortunately, in Otto’s as well, glittering with the kind of cheerful cruelty only an achievement system could deliver. Consistency Streak: 3 Days Without Exploding. Under it, a smaller line pulsed: Keep going, Otto!

  Otto stared at the air like he’d just been blessed by a questionable angel. His eyes filled instantly. He made a strangled sound, then covered his face with both hands and sank onto a mat like his knees had lost all integrity. “It noticed,” Otto whispered, voice cracking. “It noticed I didn’t explode.”

  Juno crouched beside him, grinning softer now. “Buddy,” she said, “that’s growth.”

  Caleb leaned in, sincere. “I’m proud of you,” he said.

  Otto’s shoulders shook, and he laughed through tears like he hated himself for feeling anything. “Thank you,” Otto choked out. “I worked so hard to not catch things on fire.”

  Mara’s voice was blunt. “Good,” she said, and for Mara that was basically a hug.

  Seraphine’s expression softened by a fraction, calm and warm without losing steel. “Keep doing that,” she said. “No explosions.”

  Otto nodded furiously. “No explosions,” he promised.

  Clarissa watched Otto cry with the same legal calm she used on everything else. “Document this,” Clarissa said, and it sounded like a threat until she added, “Progress matters.”

  Regis stared at the banner, jaw tight. He hated the System’s cheer. He hated the way it graded them. He hated the way it framed survival like a game. And yet, watching Otto crumble into relieved tears because the universe had finally acknowledged his restraint, Regis felt something shift in his chest that he refused to name. It was inconvenient. It was protective. It was dangerously close to pride, and he didn’t have a clause for that.

  Regis cleared his throat, then spoke as if issuing an order, because that was the only way he knew how to say anything that might sound like care. “Good,” Regis said, short and surgical. “We continue tomorrow.”

  Juno looked up at him. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said all day,” she teased.

  Regis’s eyes narrowed. “Do not speak,” he warned.

  Nia’s soft sarcasm surfaced. “He’s inspiring hope,” she murmured.

  Regis’s gaze snapped to her. “No,” Regis said.

  Seraphine closed her binder with a crisp motion. “We’ll schedule the community engagement event,” she said, firm. “We’ll use the capes as bait, we’ll keep civilians safe, and we’ll document everything.”

  Regis nodded once. “Correct,” he said. “We turn polyester into intelligence.”

  Caleb blinked, sincere. “That’s a sentence,” he said.

  Juno grinned. “Graybridge is a sentence,” she replied.

  Mara picked up a cape from the crate, held it with two fingers like it was contaminated, and tossed it back in. “Trash,” she repeated, then looked at Regis. “Tomorrow,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

  Regis met her gaze. “Tomorrow,” he agreed.

  Upstairs, the guild hall creaked with its usual complaints, but the basement felt different now, less like a condemned room and more like a place where a team was being forged through sweat, chalk, and mild emotional damage. The crate of capes sat in the corner like a smug threat waiting to be turned into a mistake for someone else. The tracking tag lay on Nia’s table like a toy she planned to take apart for fun. Clarissa rolled her suitcase toward the stairs and paused just long enough to look back at the chalk lanes, the mats, the organized piles, and the tired, grinning, sweating heroes. Her expression stayed mostly flat, but her eyes held something like reluctant acknowledgment.

  “Do not waste this,” Clarissa said, legal calm.

  Regis’s voice was short. “I never waste leverage,” he replied.

  Clarissa nodded once and left, and the basement suddenly felt warmer without her compliance gravity pressing down on it. Otto wiped his face, sniffed, and stood up with shaky pride. “Three days,” he whispered, almost to himself. “No explosions.”

  Juno slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Four tomorrow,” she said. “Unless you explode emotionally again, which is allowed.”

  Otto laughed, watery. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

  Regis turned toward the door, already thinking about contractors, escrow tools, optics, Silt’s pressure, and how to make community engagement into a trap that looked like kindness. The System’s hope percentage hovered somewhere in the back of his mind like a smug little circle, and he still hated it. But as he climbed the stairs, hearing his team behind him, he realized something he would deny if asked.

  The hurt was starting to feel like momentum.