Hazelnut moved like smoke across the rafters, cloaked in dark and silence. The sewers had provided an easy entrance but now every footstep had to be earned, carefully balanced across rusted steel beams. Her phone buzzed once in her pocket — delivered — but no reply. The knot in her stomach tightened. She slid the Aethercorp crossbow from beneath her cloak. A flick of her wrist unfolded the limbs with a soft click…one after another. The polished pneumatic chamber hissed softly as it primed itself. Feather-light. Razor-sharp. Not a toy. She raised the scope to her eye and honed in on her target.

  Pazienza sat at a long dining table like a man waiting for a room service bill, casually slicing into a cut of steak and savoring each bite. Across from him, Akri Kukri sat bound and gagged. Krouri’s face flashed in Hazelnut’s mind and something cold and furious lit behind her eyes.

  Where are you guys…?

  Suddenly—fwoom—a blue flash lit the warehouse floor. Zywrath appeared at the end of the table in a swirl of fire. The guards moved instantly, forcing him down at gunpoint. He complied, placing his shotgun at his feet.

  "Lieutenant Zywrath…" Pazienza drawled, rising from his chair. "I had hoped you knew your pla—"

  Hazelnut fired.

  Thunk.

  The bolt pinned Pazienza’s left hand directly into the table. There was no scream. He simply stopped mid-sentence, eyes flicking upward. The bolt vibrated from impact. Hazelnut shifted along the rafter, snapped the next bolt into place, and fired again.

  THUNK.

  The second bolt punched through his shoulder and slammed him back into the chair. For one perfect moment, Pazienza looked almost stunned.

  Then he laughed.

  Low at first—then louder. A rolling, practiced laugh that didn’t belong to a wounded man. Hazelnut’s breath caught as gold light shimmered around him, pulsing beneath his scales like something ancient waking up.

  He wrenched the bolt from his hand. No blood. Not even a flinch. His golden eyes lifted—and locked directly with hers.

  Oh hell—he sees me.

  Pazienza drew a pistol and leveled it at the rafters, aiming straight down her sightline.

  Hazelnut jumped—

  BOOM.

  The shot whipped past her head as she hit the neighboring catwalk in a roll, metal groaning beneath the impact.

  "NO!" Zywrath roared. His hand snapped up, flinging a glittering spread of silver barbs that ripped into Pazienza’s gun arm, forcing the pistol wide just before he could fire again.

  She scrambled behind a rusted panel and sucked in a breath. They were here—finally. A storm of movement erupted below: Krouri burst out of the security room and took to the air, wings beating fast. Sparks broke away beside her, hands already burning with Kindling’s flame.

  Hazelnut leaned out from cover and just in time to catch Pazienza watching Krouri’s approach…and smiling. He spoke a single sentence—too quiet to hear from this height. But Hazelnut read his lips.

  "Right on time."

  *  *  *

  A burst of blue fire flashed around them, and Sparks and Krouri staggered into the cramped security room from Hazelnut’s image. Kindling was still coiled around the tabbi’s wrist. The air was filled with the soft hum of monitors. Row after row of screens showed every angle of the warehouse.

  Krouri blinked, disoriented. "Wha—where’s Buck? Where’s Zywrath?"

  "I’m afraid," chirped a shrill, unfamiliar voice, "they ain’t gonna be joinin’ you today. Nope nope!"

  The chair at the center of the room slowly spun around.

  Tristopher.

  Red-eyed. Grinning. And scattering a handful of tiny parchment shards to the floor like confetti.

  Sparks’ heart sank. He recognized the runes instantly—teleport disruptor sigils. "He scattered my coordinates," Sparks murmured through clenched teeth. "He pulled them out of the spell. Buck and Zywrath could be anywhere by now."

  "Yup yup!" Tristopher squealed, fingers drumming happily across the chair’s arms. "You ain’t goin’ nowhere, kitty cat. Night-night time for you, yup yup!"

  A cloud of oily black smoke billowed from his palm, racing across the room toward them.

  Sparks tore open a silver packet and threw it into the air. The smoke curled in place and —shhhk!—was sucked into the packet like a reverse tornado.

  "Counterspell," Sparks said flatly.

  Tristopher’s grin faltered. "Ohhh," he whined. "You done messed up real—"

  "SILENCE."

  The word wasn’t loud—it was absolute. Krouri’s command hit like a thunderclap. Tristopher’s beak slammed shut with an audible crack. His eyes bulged as he clawed at his muzzle, trying to pry it open. Not a single sound escaped this throat.

  Krouri turned to Sparks, wings flaring. "I’m getting my mother. Find the others." And vaulted out through the window toward the warehouse floor.

  For the briefest moment, the room was still. Then Sparks exhaled through his teeth, rolled his shoulders, and refocused on the monitors.

  Zywrath, already in combat with Pazienza.

  Krouri, soaring over the chaos.

  Hazelnut, somewhere in the rafters.

  Buck, lost in the maze but moving fast.

  "Hmm, there's a joke here somewhere about rats and mazes, no?" Sparks muttered to Kindling. "Oh well. Let’s even the odds."

  Kindling began to preen itself. After several licks, it shed four little phantom-embers that took shape as tiny twin-tailed kittens made of fire and hunger. Sparks extended his palm and two of the wisps perched obediently. "Help them." He pointed to Buck and Zywrath’s screens.

  The kittens blinked — then vanished.

  He turned the third toward the still-squirming Tristopher. "You," he said, "have fun."

  The wisp squealed with joy and dove into the bird’s coat. Immediately Tristopher lurched across the room, hopping and flapping at his suit as tiny flames scurried beneath the layers. The monitor bank rattled with the impacts as he slammed into it, silently screaming.

  Kindling—the real one—was still perched on Sparks’ shoulder. Its tail lashed toward one of the monitors, lips peeling back in a hiss. Victor sat motionless on the catwalk.

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  Sparks’ expression hardened. One hand found Kindling. A pulse of flame—and they reappeared on the catwalk just meters away. Victor was waiting. He barely looked at Sparks as he raised the runed revolver.

  The last wisp slammed into the gun and the metal glowed white hot. Victor calmly let it fall to the metal grating. It hissed against the steel.

  "What’s the matter, old friend?" Sparks asked carefully. "No grand speech this time?"

  Victor didn’t look at him. His voice was flat and hollow. "Last time was the last time. Everything I built…wasted. I feel nothing. Nothing at all." The bolt of purple light shot from his hand so fast Sparks never even saw the gesture. It struck against his chest and he felt his body seize mid-breath, muscles locking rigid. Paralysis.

  Victor stepped forward, sinking down beside him. He drew a jagged, frost-rimmed dagger and pressed the point of the blade directly against Sparks’ heart. "Make me feel something," he whispered.

  The knife slid inward—slow and deliberate. Every nerve was screaming in pain but the tabbi's voice was caught in his throat. The cold blade pierced deep, spreading white agony through his chest as blood poured over Victor’s hand.

  Victor stared at the wound. At Sparks’ face. "After all this time," he murmured bitterly, twisting the blade deeper, "and still…nothing." He let go and simply walked away, leaving the dagger planted in Sparks’ heart.

  The paralysis spell faded. Sparks collapsed to the metal walkway, gasping, blood streaming down his chest — watching as Victor simply walked away.

  Everything blurred.

  The world tilted.

  The catwalk shook with approaching footsteps.

  *  *  *

  Teleportation was nothing like Buck expected. It wasn’t magic—it was violence. The blue fire swallowed him up. Wind screamed past his ears. His stomach flipped as an invisible force tore him away from Sparks and hurled him backwards into empty, spinning dark.

  Then—impact.

  Concrete.

  He opened his eyes to flickering light, rusted chain link and narrow corridors.

  The maze.

  He patted his side for his firearm and felt the familiar, bulky shape. Good. Crime scene or not, he was still a detective, and he wasn't about to die in one of Pazienza’s rat traps. He moved thought the maze. Careful. Quiet. Left. Right. Another turn, then another. It had been built quick and dirty, but was more than enough to disorient anyone without a plan.

  Light spilled in from ahead.

  An exit.

  He stepped into the open—and caught a fist across the face so hard his skull rang.

  "Well well," said a too-familiar, smug voice. "The maze caught us a rat after all." Grant Borden loomed over him with cracked knuckle dusters, runes glowing across his fists. His grin was worse than the punch. "I’ve been waiting so long for this, you rat-fink flatfoot."

  Buck raised his guard just in time for the next barrage. Left, right—hammer blows smashing into his forearms. He staggered. Another hit caught his ribs, sending him skidding across the cement.

  Vision swimming, he spotted an open hatch in the floor, rainbow-colored light flickering from below. He dove for it and dropped out of sight just as Grant lunged.

  Cold stone. Flickering mushrooms. A familiar pull in the air.

  Buck turned and found himself staring at a massive ether well. Raw. Unharnessed. Alive. Mystery stirred, almost purring in his head. Warmth wrapped around him. The scent of his mother’s roast. The crackling of the fireplace as the holiday logs split and smoked. Comfort. Home.

  Come back, it whispered.

  "Just like a rat to scurry into the first hole it can find. Is that why your partner died? You ran away?"

  Grant's voice shattered the feelings, returning him to harsh reality. Buck’s hand clenched.

  "I had to clean up that mess, you know. Tossed his body out with the rest of the trash from that fire."

  Something inside snapped. His phantom lip curled.

  "Was hardly anything left of him. Made it real easy. Dunno why that cowardly lion wanted to set fire to the place or why the boss even let him, but I ain't one to ask questions. Now get out here and let's finish thi—"

  Buck erupted up through the hatch like a bullet. His head caught Grant square in the jaw.

  The gnoll spun, howling. "How are you even here? You're supposed to be dead!"

  Buck squared his shoulders. Raised his fists. "You’ll find I’m a lot harder to kill than my partner."

  Grant roared and charged.

  They collided in a flurry of swings and elbows. Buck ducked under a wild hook and slammed two blows into the gnoll’s ribs. Grant yelped—and then froze.

  A tiny ember floated in front of him and spat a blue fireball across his shirt. One of Kindling’s clones. It cackled as the fabric ignited.

  Grant panicked. Buck didn’t.

  He stepped forward and broke Grant’s nose with a clean left hook. Then he grabbed the gnoll by the collar and drove him back against the wall. Grant opened his mouth to bellow—and the little Kindling darted in like a spark into dry tinder.

  Buck wrapped both hands around Grant’s muzzle and clamped it shut.

  "I never thanked you for that package," he sneered, pushing harder as the gnoll’s eyes went wide, glowing red from the fire building in his throat. "Let me return the favor."

  He turned away.

  A muffled boom. A spray of heat and blood washed across the side of his face.

  Grant hit the floor behind him, silent. Buck wiped at his cheek, exhaled, and walked toward the lights of the main room.

  One down.

  *  *  *

  Krouri swept across the warehouse in a glide, taking in the chaos below. Zywrath was fighting bare-handed against two of Pazienza’s thugs. Her mother—bound and gagged—struggled desperately in the chair across from the Don, while the lizard calmly wiped grease from his knife after another bite of steak. He looked up and smiled.

  "Miss Kukri," Pazienza called, voice dripping with amusement, "I’m afraid our professional relationship must come to an end. Your editor-in-chief has been very cooperative."

  Golden light flickered across his eyes.

  Greed, Deception whispered in her head, voice wearing her grandfather’s tone. He’s bonded to Greed. The more he owns, the stronger he becomes.

  "Let my mother go!" Krouri shouted, wings flaring as she hovered. "She has nothing to do with this! You have everything we collected on you. Please!"

  "Polite to the end. My apologies but none of you are leaving here alive." Pazienza chuckled—and shot her.

  She juked left; the bullet traced a burning line across her thigh.

  Zywrath used the distraction. He crushed the first thug with a bare-knuckled strike and cracked the second’s jaw. Then he lunged for Pazienza with a telescoping baton. The steel crashed into the Don’s knee—

  —Pazienza didn’t even flinch.

  With a contemptuous swipe, he backhanded Zywrath across the room. The lieutenant hit a shutter gate hard enough to dent the metal.

  Another bolt—Hazelnut’s—pierced Pazienza’s back. Still no reaction. Only that same toothy grin.

  Krouri watched her mother take an opportunity and begin to work her bindings with the fallen bolt. She needs more time.

  "Zywrath! He’s bonded!"

  The lieutenant planted a boot and answered with a nod. Then, with brutal calm, he pulled something from his vest. A syringe full of sickly yellow liquid.

  Champion.

  He plunged it into his neck.

  Zywrath roared as spectral blue fire erupted behind him, coalescing into the shape of a hulking bear with the head of an owl. The Eidolon stood over him like armor, its massive claws guiding his hands.

  Pazienza’s grin faltered. "That damn badger and his concoctions," Pazienza swore.

  "It’s over!" Krouri shouted. "You’re finished!"

  The Don turned that golden gaze her way. His grin twisted into a snarl. "I’ve already burned your precious home," he hissed. "Next, I’ll flay your family in front of you. Then the rest of this rotten city."

  He fired again. This time Krouri couldn’t dodge.

  The bullet tore through her wing.

  She crashed onto the dining table with a cry.

  Pazienza lined up his gun for the killing shot—

  "NO!"

  A figure burst from the shadows—

  Tobias.

  The old groundhog slammed into Pazienza, knocking the gun aside. The bullet struck harmlessly into the table.

  "Leave her alone!" Tobias screamed.

  Pazienza looked almost annoyed. He seized Tobias by the face with one colossal clawed hand. "You’re no longer profitable."

  He slammed Tobias’ skull against the edge of the table.

  CRACK.

  Tobias collapsed in a heap.

  "No… T-Tobias—" Krouri choked. He'd taught her how to conduct interviews. Played hide-n-seek with her in the stacks. Snuck her extra ink cartridges when she first started at the paper. And now he was just—gone.

  "You monster!" Akri screamed, freed at last. She thrust a hand forward and her spell turned Pazienza’s gun white-hot. He snarled but held on to it, turning the weapon toward her.

  Zywrath struck from behind, smashing Pazienza’s skull with the baton and staggering him.

  Krouri blinked against the tears falling down her face—but her mother was suddenly at her side, dragging her beneath the table. "Krouri. Look at me. Are you hurt?"

  "Mom—" She saw the determination on her mother’s face. Alive. Fierce. "Mom, you need to run. Please. Get out while you can!"

  Akri shook her head. "I'm not leaving you here to fight this...this fiend alone. Don't tell me you came here without help?"

  Metal shrieked.

  They both turned as the shuttered loading gate exploded inward. A single figure stepped through the twisted opening, steam curling off his shoulders, one broken handcuff still dangling from a wrist.

  Leo.

  Eyes burning icy blue.

  Searching for someone.

  Krouri followed his gaze. Up to the catwalk—

  —and saw Sparks.

  Motionless. Bleeding.

  Her breath hitched.

  "...Sparks?"