The horizon bled from orange to a bruised purple as the sun dipped, and then Leilani appeared—a cluster of artificial lights cutting through the desert dark like a jagged neon scar.

  "Fucking finally!" Red suddenly jumped, his eyes still closed as his mind remained tethered to the ship's anchor. "Get ready to land, lads and lasses! We're coming in hot!"

  "We're actually there?" Neiva leapt from her seat.

  Sienna peered out, watching the town expand. Houses in jarringly different styles—Luminian spires beside blocky Maridiani estates—clashed in a display of architectural dissonance. "But how did he know we were here without looking?" Sienna muttered to herself, glancing at Red's motionless, concentrating form.

  The CampShip didn't roar; it hummed with a haunting, low-frequency vibration as it descended into a small, manicured park. It hovered inches above the grass for a heartbeat before the REM thrum cut out, dropping the vessel with a heavy thud.

  The hatch hissed open. The group stepped out into the night air, which tasted of imported pine and recycled water. Leilani was unlike anything they'd seen—a "perfect" town built on top of nothing, illuminated by enough artificial light to drown out the stars.

  "What do you say we find a motel?" Sol asked, stretching his arms until his joints popped. "I think we've earned a night off the floorboards."

  "Oh GOD, yes!" Neiva practically lunged at the idea. The prospect of an actual bed seemed to trigger a predatory instinct in her; she looked ready to hunt down the nearest mattress.

  "Do you even have a budget for this, Detective?" Angelo asked, his voice flat. "I doubt we're going to find a tyrant to topple for free lodging this time."

  "Ten to one says he wants us to cover him, just like that stunt in Thunderclap," Red added, pouring salt on the wound as he and Blue dematerialized back into Angelo.

  "N-no, that wasn't... I can afford a night or two," Sol replied, though the defensive quiver in his voice was a dead giveaway. He quickly pivoted, catching Kirren and Sienna whispering near the ship's ramp. "What about you two? Looking for a place to crash?"

  Kirren flashed his most charismatic, street-smart smile. "Nah. We're 'surviving the elements,' remember? Renting a room feels like cheating. We're gonna scout around and see where the wind takes us from here."

  "Then what was the point of the hitchhiking?!" Red snapped.

  "Haha, right?" Kirren said casually, already backing away. "We go where the journey demands. See ya around, kids."

  "Right..." Angelo deadpanned.

  Sienna looked momentarily unsure, her gaze lingering on Neiva, but she didn't protest. She stepped forward with a warm, measured smile. "It's been... interesting meeting you all. To say the least."

  "Bye-bye now!" Kirren's pink aura ignited as he turned his back, offering a lazy, backhanded wave. "Until the next coincidence!"

  "See you... Kids," Sienna added, her yellow aura flaring as she and Kirren launched themselves into the air. They moved with impressive, kinetic leaps, disappearing over the rooftops in seconds.

  Sienna and Kirren kept leaping from rooftop to rooftop, the rhythmic thump of their boots echoing off the tiles. Below, a few locals shouted protests at the intrusion, but the pair ignored them, their focus on the sprawling skyline of Leilani. Once they had put enough distance between themselves and the park, Sienna landed gracefully on a wide stone ledge and called out, "Kirren, stop!"

  Both touched down, their auras winking out. "What's the play?" Sienna asked, crossing her arms. "I thought Maxwell wanted us to stay close to them. We’re supposed to be helping him keep an eye on things, aren't we?"

  Kirren shrugged, leaning back against a chimney stack. "We’ve got plenty to share already. We need to touch base with Maxwell. He's been waiting for an update, and staying too close right now is just going to make them twitchy."

  "So we're just leaving them to wander around Leilani alone? They were suspicious of us, Kirren. I could feel it. If they decide to pack up and skip town while we're gone, how are we supposed to help Maxwell find them again?"

  "Same way we're tracking the Flying Scorpion," Kirren replied with a grin. "I didn't lift that ship with my sand just for the sports, remember? I left a little bit of it on the hull the day we met them."

  Images of Kirren lifting the CampShip, his sand swirling around the frame, flashed in their minds.

  "I can home in on that signature whenever I want," Kirren continued, making a quote gesture with his fingers. "Even if they change locations, we’ll just 'happen' to cross paths again. It’s a safety net."

  "Your safety net hinges on them never cleaning up their ship," Sienna pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "That's a pretty big 'if'."

  Kirren dismissed the concern with a wave. "Come on, babe. They're guys. Guys don't scrub the outside of their ships; it's not like it's a vintage car. They're more worried about the inside."

  Sienna placed a hand on her hip, counting off on her fingers. "First off, that's incredibly sexist. Second, they have a girl with them."

  Kirren blinked, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Wait, isn't assuming she'll clean it also sexist?"

  "Hey, I'm just fighting fire with fire," she countered, gesturing wildly.

  "Look," Kirren said, shifting back to a more serious tone. "Nobody is going to be scrubbing the undercarriage tonight. They're tired and they're looking for a bed. Let's head back to Maxi and 'Detective Depression,' report what we've seen, and figure out our next move. Giving them a little space actually makes us look less like a tail and more like fellow travelers. It's a good move, trust me."

  Sienna closed her eyes for a moment, weighing the logic. "Alright. Alright, fine. Let's get to it."

  With a mutual nod, the couple resumed their journey, leaping across the rooftops of Leilani toward the Flying Scorpion to deliver their report to Maxwell.

  Back in the heart of Leilani, the group was struggling.

  "Please, just one more block!" Neiva begged, trailing behind Angelo as he marched toward a particularly rundown, grey building. Sol walked beside them, hands in his pockets, offering a tired, apologetic smile to no one in particular.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "No," Angelo said, his tone flat and final.

  "But look at this place!" Neiva gestured at the peeling paint and the grime-encrusted windows. "I bet the cockroaches have their own government in there. There are probably bugs under every mattress!"

  "I don't care."

  "Come on! Please! I am begging you!"

  Angelo stopped and spun around, his patience evaporated. "We have been walking for an hour. I’m tired, we are all nursing injuries, and my patience is thinner than the walls of this dump. This is the only place with vacancies. We are staying here. End of discussion."

  "Sol!" Neiva pivoted to their silver-haired companion. "Back me up here!"

  Sol raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, keep me out of this married squabble. I’ll sleep in a bathtub at this point."

  Neiva puffed out her cheeks, mumbling something vicious under her breath about men and their lack of standards. "Fine! But when I wake up screaming because a centipede is braiding my hair, it’s on your head!"

  "Just don't get us kicked out," Angelo muttered, ignoring the internal cackling of Red echoing in his skull.

  They pushed through the glass doors into the lobby. The air inside smelled of stale lemon polish and old carpet. But the silence they expected was broken by a sharp commotion near the reception desk.

  Two women stood at the counter. One was older, elegant, with striking white hair showing deliberate black roots, dressed in designer clothes that cost more than the motel itself. She stood perfectly still, like a statue of ice. Beside her was a younger woman—volatile, with long black hair and dark eyes, wearing a denim jacket and an earpiece.

  The younger woman was screaming at the staff member behind the desk.

  "I am not waiting for your shift to be over! I need to speak to you NOW!" she shrieked, slamming a hand on the counter.

  The bellboy—if he could be called that—was an oddity. He wore a uniform that looked two sizes too big, his hands completely hidden within long, drooping sleeves. His hair was pulled back in a long, spiky ponytail, and his two front teeth protruded slightly over his lip. But the most unsettling thing was his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, and a serene, unwavering smile was plastered across his features.

  "I am terribly sorry, madam," the bellboy said, his voice smooth and terrifyingly polite. "But I must insist. Whatever inquiry you seek will have to wait until my shift concludes in two hours."

  The young woman’s dark eyes suddenly flared, glowing a vibrant, aggressive amber. "Madam? Madam?! I am in my twenties! And you are really starting to get on my nerves—"

  "Stacy," the elegant woman said softly. It wasn't a shout, but the command cut through the air like a whip. "There are other customers. Behave yourself. Patience."

  Angelo and his group stood frozen in the entryway. Inside the mindscape, Red whistled low. "Ha! Would you look at that, Blueberry? We found female Angelo! Look at that scowl. It's like looking in a mirror."

  "Remarkable," Blue replied dryly.

  Stacy’s eyes faded back to normal as she huffed, turning on her heel and storming out of the establishment, brushing past Angelo with enough force to generate a breeze. The older woman sighed, offering a slight bow to the bellboy. "Forgive her rudeness."

  "No offense taken, My Lady," the bellboy replied, bowing back. As he straightened, one of his closed eyes cracked open just a fraction. A sharp, predatory glint shone from within.

  As the women left, Sol watched them go, shaking his head. "God, service industry jobs. Dealing with that kind of entitlement all day... I’d snap in a week."

  "I know, right?" Neiva nodded, her previous anger forgotten in the face of the drama.

  "Mm," was all Angelo contributed.

  Blue materialized swirling out of azure smoke to adjust his phantom glasses. "I, on the other hand, can appreciate the discipline required. The posture, the unwavering manners... there is a certain nobility in such service."

  "Yeah, it fits you like a glove, Blue," Neiva giggled.

  They secured their rooms—surprisingly affordable, likely due to the lack of economic depression caused by the Cliffhangers gang—and retreated. The beds were lumpy, but to exhausted bodies, they felt like clouds.

  The next morning brought a harsh reality.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Sol hammered on Neiva's door along the long, open-air balcony that served as the hotel's hallway. Beside him, a particularly tired-looking Angelo stood rubbing bleary, bloodshot eyes. "Neiv? You in there? Day's burning!"

  "Kehehe. Place your bets," Red snickered internally. "Who kills the pretty boy first? Angelo or Sugar-tits?"

  The door didn't just open; it was flung inward as Neiva's blue aura gripped the metal doorknob, wrenching it open from across the room. She was still in bed, her hand outstretched, her energy flickering like a dying candle before shifting into a venomous, murderous yellow as she sat up.

  "I WAS SLEEPING!" she screamed, snatching her pillow and hurls it. Fueled by her force-aura, the pillow became a high-velocity projectile.

  "Whoa!" Sol ducked just in time.

  Angelo sighed, watching the pillow sail over the balcony railing and down toward the street below. "That's hotel property, Neiva."

  "I don't care! He ruined the only six hours of peace I've had in a week!"

  Angelo rolled his eyes. "Fine. Stay there. We're leaving."

  "Wait!" Neiva scrambled out of bed. "I can't go back to sleep without my pillow!"

  "Should've thought of that before you weaponized it," Angelo called back.

  "Ugh! I'm coming! I'm coming, wait for me!" Neiva yelled, kicking her feet off the bed with a childish flair of frustration.

  Angelo and Sol paused at the end of the walkway, leaning over the rusted railing to allow the cool morning air to brush against their bandaged wounds. A nearby door clicked open, and a woman emerged. She looked utterly drained, dark circles weighing down her eyes as she leaned over the rail to light a cigarette, not even sparing them a glance.

  Angelo's nose wrinkled in immediate disgust as the scent of burning tobacco hit him. He straightened up, his posture stiffening. "I'll wait for you two in the lobby," he muttered to Sol.

  "Come on, Angie, it doesn't smell that bad," Red teased, his smoky form shifting inside Angelo's mind.

  "Then stay here and enjoy it. Smoke enjoying smoke," Angelo thought back, his inner voice biting as he brushed past the woman.

  She lazily glanced at him as he passed, but the moment her eyes locked onto his legendary scowl, her entire demeanor shattered. Her eyes went wide with a sudden, jagged panic. Her fingers went numb, and the lit cigarette slipped from her hand, falling toward the street below. "Shit!" she hissed, her voice trembling as a fresh wave of terror visibly washed over her.

  "Haha!" Red cackled, delighting in the chaos. "You should have felt that soul-shudder when you passed her! Your frown has officially reached a level where it's scaring women on sight!"

  "Says the guy with a smile that scares off children," Angelo muttered under his breath, not breaking his stride as he descended the stairs.

  "I believe both observations possess merit," Blue added, his voice the picture of dry detachment.

  Not long afterward, they regrouped in the lobby and set off into the heart of the town. They spent the morning canvassing the streets, showing photographs and asking the same question over and over: had anyone here moved from SolThanor, or did they know someone who had?

  "SolThanor people?" an old man said, shaking his head. "They blew through here ten years ago. Most of 'em didn't stay. Too quiet for 'em."

  "The only one I knew passed away two years back," a shopkeeper told them.

  By noon, Sol stopped in the middle of a deserted plaza. "This is a waste of time. We're chasing ghosts that have already left the building. We should just head to SolThanor and go in blind."

  "Are you sure?" Neiva asked. "Finding a witness could save us days of searching the ruins."

  Sol kicked a loose stone, his blue eyes flashing silver with frustration. "I'm itching for any progress, Neiva. We fought terrorists and freaking robots to get here, and for what? To find out we're a decade too late? It's depressing."

  Red manifested beside Sol, elbowing him. "Maybe Angie just scared the witnesses off. Like that lady at the hotel."

  Sol paused. "What lady?"

  "Red claims he felt a spike of pure, unadulterated anxiety when Angelo passed a smoking woman this morning," Blue explained, taking physical form.

  "Don't listen to him," Angelo hissed.

  Sol's mind began to race, the gears of a detective finally turning. "I thought she just had butterfingers... but you're saying she dropped that cigarette because she was terrified of Angelo?"

  "Now you too?"

  "Wait," Neiva said, her voice dropping. "What if she didn't just find him scary? What if she recognized him? What if she's one of the people who's been following us?"

  Sol's silver aura ignited instantly. "We have to go back. Now!"

  They raced back to the motel. Red didn't wait for the door; he dissolved into a smoky crimson mist, slipping through the gap under the woman's door.

  The room was pitch black. Red materialized and flipped the light switch.

  The room was empty. The bed was unmade, the window was cracked open... and in the center of the beige carpet, there was a fresh, unmistakable smear of deep red blood.