The apartment was washed in pale light when Ethan's phone buzzed.

  He sat at the kitchen table, jacket folded neatly over the chair beside him, the implant case resting on the counter like an accusation. The message was brief, no words, just an address and a single line beneath it, "Be there in one hour."

  He exhaled through his nose, the kind of breath meant to steady rather than calm.

  Behind him, the hiss of the coffee machine broke the quiet. Will leaned against the counter, arms folded, one hand wrapped around his favourite mug.

  "So that's it," Will said finally. "That's your ride."

  Ethan didn't look up. "Yeah."

  Will took a slow sip, eyes not leaving him. "You know this is sketchy as hell, right?"

  Ethan tapped the corner of his phone against the kitchen table. "Yeah."

  "Not even denying it," Will muttered, setting his mug down. "You're about to climb into a stranger's car at sunrise with seven grand cash in your pocket and one of Owen's implants in your jacket." He shook his head. "You hear how that sounds?"

  Ethan didn't answer. He'd already checked the clock twice in the last minute.

  "I'm tailing you," Will said.

  "No," Ethan said immediately. "If they see I've got a tail, they bail. You know that."

  Will straightened, jaw tightening. "Then they won't see me."

  Ethan shot him a look. "Will-"

  "I mean it." Will crossed his arms again, mug dangling from one hand. "I can mask my field, full drop. Optical, thermal, pulse. I won't ping anything. They won't know I'm there unless I want them to."

  "That's not the point," Ethan said. "If something goes wrong-"

  "Then you'll be glad I ignored you."

  The silence stretched. The gentle rumble of the dishwasher filled the room. Will's tone softened, but the tension didn't.

  "I'm not letting you walk into this alone. Not when we both know what happens when you do."

  Ethan met his eyes then, tired, resigned. "You can't interfere. Not unless I give the signal."

  "Fine," Will said, setting his mug down with a quiet clink. "But if it goes south, I'm not waiting for a signal."

  Ethan pushed his chair back, the legs scraping softly against the tiles. He grabbed his jacket, sliding the implant case into the inside pocket. "You won't have to."

  Will finished what was left of his coffee in one gulp, set the mug down, and grabbed his worn brown leather jacket from the hook by the door.

  "Yeah," he muttered. "We'll see about that."

  Ethan's lips twitched, half-smirk, half-resignation, as he turned for the door.

  The clock on the wall ticked over to 6:04. Outside, the first light of morning painted the city in pale silver and blue.

  Will fell into step behind him without another word.

  They didn't look back.

  ***

  The street was almost empty.

  Early morning light washed the asphalt in silver, the air sharp with the smell of rain and exhaust. Ethan stood alone beneath a flickering streetlamp, hands in his jacket pockets, watching the quiet rows of shuttered storefronts. A single café across the road was just opening, the clatter of cutlery and mugs occasionally drifting through the stillness.

  He'd been waiting ten minutes.

  No cars. No voices. Just the sounds of the city waking.

  Farther up the street, a dark SUV sat parked at the curb, engine idling. Inside, Will watched through the windshield, one hand curled around a takeaway cup gone cold. From this distance, Ethan was just a silhouette under the lamp, still, calm, too calm.

  Will's jaw worked as he watched a van turn the corner and slow. It was sleek, black, no markings, corporate more than criminal. Two people sat inside, the driver in a collared jacket, the passenger checking a tablet. No masks. No rough edges. Everything about it was clean, precise.

  Professional.

  The van pulled up beside Ethan. The passenger's window rolled down halfway. "Are you our 8am?"

  Ethan nodded once. "Yeah."

  "Step inside. Keep your hands visible."

  He hesitated just long enough to scan their faces. Both unreadable. The kind of people who didn't need to look threatening to be dangerous. He opened the door and climbed in.

  Will's grip on the cup tightened. He forced himself to stay still. If he followed too closely, it was over before it began. So he stayed put, headlights off, engine low, eyes fixed on Inside looked more lab than van, smooth panels, a single bench, air cycling quiet and clean. The woman in the passenger seat didn't look up from her tablet. She just reached for the handheld scanner resting beside her and stood.

  "Arms out."

  Ethan obeyed. The device whirred softly, emitting a thin blue beam that swept from his shoulders to his boots. When it passed over his jacket, the screen pulsed yellow.

  "Metallic interference," she murmured, tapping the readout. "What is that?"

  Ethan kept his tone even. "Private implant casing. Got it off a friend."

  She eyed him for a long moment, then ran the scanner again, slower this time. The light flickered green.

  "Untethered. No signal. Keep it sealed," she said, handing it back.

  He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

  "Phone."

  Ethan pulled it free and held it out. The woman dropped it into a padded case and sealed it. "Returned on exit," she said.

  "Keys, wallet."

  He handed those over too. They joined the phone in the case.

  "Turn around."

  Her pat-down was quick, impersonal, precise. Once satisfied, she gestured to the bench. "Sit."

  He did.

  The driver glanced back once through the rear-view mirror. "Payment?"

  Ethan produced an envelope and passed it forward. The woman flipped through the bills, counted them silently, and gave a small nod.

  "Clear."

  The van started to move. Smooth. Silent. No jolt, no sound of tires against gravel. The windows tinted automatically as they merged onto the freeway, shutting out the dawn light entirely.

  For a moment, Ethan sat there, his heartbeat finally slowing. Everything about this, how clean it was, how practiced, felt wrong in the best way. This wasn't some makeshift chop shop. It was controlled. Precise. Maybe Owen had been right. Maybe this would actually be okay.

  He leaned back against the cold metal wall, eyes on the faint glow strip running along the ceiling. He could almost believe it.

  Two blocks back, Will's car rolled into motion, slow, steady. He kept three vehicles between them, lights off, jaw set. The van glided through the streets with unsettling ease, not a single wasted movement.

  That, somehow, felt worse.

  He took a sip of his cold coffee, muttering under his breath, "Yeah. Sure. Just a friendly morning pickup."

  Then he kept driving.

  ***

  Rory's phone alarm buzzed against the nightstand, slicing through the half-dream he'd been tangled in. He rolled over, squinting at the screen, and silenced it with a groan. For a moment he stayed there, wishing he could just go back to sleep. Then he swung his legs out of bed and sat up.

  His school hoodie hung from the chair beside him, the faded emblem cracked and peeling from too many washes. Beneath it lay a white collared shirt and dark jeans, the closest thing his school had to a uniform. He tugged them on, tying his sneakers tight before sitting back on the bed.

  The small black drive still sat where he'd left it on his bedside table, right beside his phone. He stared at it for a long second, thumb tapping against his knee, before pocketing it. Then he reached for his backpack and unzipped it, checking the black sketchbook inside, the one that had belonged to his dad. He traced the edge of the cover with his thumb before sealing it back up.

  His gaze drifted to the strip of pills sitting beside the lamp, a half-empty blister sheet, foil torn unevenly across the last few doses. He tore one free and popped it into his mouth, dry-swallowing with a wince as it caught in his throat. It was routine more than thought, one of the few constants in his mornings. The bitter taste lingered as he shoved the strip back under the lamp where it had been, out of sight, before reaching for his bag.

  A door slammed somewhere down the hall. Liz's voice followed, hurried and sharp. "Pete, have you seen my keys? I'm running late...again."

  Rory stepped out into the hall just as she came rushing from her bedroom, coat half on, hair falling out of a messy bun. She caught sight of him and exhaled. "Oh, Rory! Could you take Abbey to school today? Please? I've got a meeting first thing."

  "Yeah, sure," he said quickly, forcing a small smile. The request was perfect cover.

  Liz sighed with relief, digging in her bag until she found her phone. "You're a lifesaver. I'll pick her up this afternoon, okay? Don't worry about that."

  "Got it."

  "Thank you," she said, as she rushed down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen to press a rushed kiss to Abbey's head. "Bye, sweetheart! Love you both!"

  The front door slammed behind her.

  Pete didn't look up from the table when Rory entered the kitchen. He sat hunched over his tablet, scrolling through the morning headlines, coffee steaming beside him. His silence wasn't new, it was its own kind of ritual. And it suited Rory just fine. Silence from Pete was as close to peace as the house ever got.

  Rory glanced toward him once, testing the air, but Pete didn't move, didn't even twitch. Good. He could walk Abbey to school without questions.

  Abbey sat beside Pete, still chewing the last of her toast, shoes untied, her backpack on the chair beside her, almost as big as she was. "Ready when you are!" she said brightly.

  Rory gave her a small smile and bent to tie her shoes.

  "Come on then, Abs," he said softly, grabbing her backpack off the chair.

  She grabbed his hand without hesitation, and together they stepped into the cool morning air.

  Pete didn't say goodbye. Rory didn't wait for one.

  Outside, the morning air bit clean against his skin. Abbey fell into step beside him, humming quietly under her breath. The walk to her school took fifteen minutes, long enough for Rory's thoughts to drift. Toward the day ahead. Toward what he was about to do. Every now and then Abbey pulled him back with a question or a story, something about a girl in her class who hoarded pastel pens, or a reminder that he'd promised to take her to dance tomorrow.

  He nodded where he was supposed to, smiled when she looked up at him. But his thoughts kept sliding back to Nick, to the weight of the drive in his pocket, and the uneasy sense that whatever happened next, he wouldn't be able to take it back.

  When they reached her school, Abbey slowed at the gate. The crowd of parents and kids clustered around, bright uniforms and clean shoes, nothing like the cracked asphalt and graffiti-tagged fences of his own. He crouched slightly and pulled her into a half-hug. She wrapped her arms around him tight, then pulled away just as quick.

  "See you later," he said.

  "Bye, Rory!" she called, already running to join her friends. She didn't look back.

  He watched her go, standing just beyond the gates. The school loomed behind her, clean brick, bright banners, fresh paint. The kind of place that smelled like new books and second chances. His own uniform suddenly felt duller, cheaper, like it belonged to a different world.

  But what had he expected? After you get expelled from one place, they don't send you somewhere nicer. Pete had made that clear when he'd shoved the transfer papers across the table, along with a lecture about "consequences."

  He exhaled through his nose, hands in his pockets, resentment simmering low and familiar. Then he turned left, away from his bus stop, away from his school, toward the direction Nick had told him to meet.

  ***

  He cut through side streets toward the main road, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets. The morning traffic was light; the air had that sharp, early chill before the city fully woke. Rory's stomach twisted somewhere between nerves and hunger.

  Nick's car waited near the curb, an older sedan, cleaned up but still showing its age, the kind of vehicle that looked respectable from a distance. Nick sat behind the wheel, sunglasses perched on his head, two takeaway coffees in the cup holders.

  Rory slowed as he approached, frowning. "You're not even getting out?"

  Nick flashed a grin. "What, you want a red carpet?" He reached over and popped the passenger lock. "Just get in, Ror," he said, voice light but impatient. "I've got work to do."

  Rory frowned, glancing at the takeout cups in the console. "Work?"

  Nick took a sip from his own coffee. "Mm. I booked the day off, technically. But my... secretary took a booking this morning." His tone was half amusement, half irritation. "It's fine. Doesn't sound like a big job. Won't take long."

  Rory hesitated at the open door, trying to make sense of that. "You have a secretary?"

  Nick just shot him a grin over the rim of his cup.

  Rory rolled his eyes and climbed in, the seatbelt biting cold against his neck. "You still haven't said what it is you actually do."

  Nick set his coffee back in the holder as he pulled away from the curb. "This and that." He shrugged, eyes fixed on the road.

  Rory studied him for a moment, the easy confidence, the practiced grin. "So you work in tech, then? Or science? Or something? Like dad?"

  "Something like that," Nick said smoothly. "It's mostly boring really. You'd fall asleep if I explained it."

  "Try me."

  Nick's mouth twitched into a smirk. "Fine. Think of it as...hands-on work. Bit of logistics, bit of maintenance, bit of... client services."

  Rory frowned. "That sounds like three different jobs."

  Nick laughed, tapping the steering wheel. "Yeah, well, depends on the day. Some days I'm building things, other days I'm fixing things, mostly I'm making sure people get what they paid for."

  It didn't really answer anything. But the confidence in Nick's tone, the ease, made it sound just believable enough.

  "Right," Rory muttered, still not sure if he was joking. "So that's what Dad did then?"

  Nick's smile faltered for half a second before he recovered. "Not exactly," he said. "Dad was too idealistic. Me, I just do what works."

  He reached over and handed Rory the second coffee. "Here. You look like you could use this."

  Rory took it, the heat biting pleasantly through the cup. "Thanks."

  "So," Nick said casually, keeping one hand on the wheel. "You find anything?"

  Rory hesitated, thumb brushing the seam of the cup. "Yeah, actually. Not sure if it's what you're after, but there was something labeled Parity."

  Nick's head jerked toward him before flicking back to the road. "You're kidding."

  Rory shook his head. "It was in one of Dad's boxes. Notes, diagrams. I brought one of the sketchbooks." He unzipped his bag and handed it over.

  Nick took the book one-handed, flipping through the pages like a man starved. His eyes scanned line after line, darting back to the road inbetween, the grin spreading slow and wide.

  "You actually found it." he murmured, half to himself.

  Rory watched him through a mouthful of coffee, confusion pulling at his features. "So what's the big deal? What even is Parity?"

  Nick's grip on the steering wheel tightened just slightly. "Nothing you need to worry about," he said smoothly.

  Rory frowned. "What does that mean? You only made me tear the entire house apart looking for it after you broke in to try yourself. Seriously, what is it? Why are you so desperate for it?"

  Nick's jaw twitched. "I'm not desperate for anything."

  Rory shot him a look, one brow raised.

  For a second, Nick didn't answer. The car vibrated quietly, tyres whispering against the road. Then he let out a low breath, eyes fixed straight ahead.

  Nick's fingers tightened on the steering wheel before he sighed. "It's just something Dad was working on. Something big. Got backing." His jaw worked slightly as he spoke, like he was editing his own words in real time. "Now they want deliverables. That's where this comes in," he lifted the sketchbook briefly, "Couldn't have come at a better time. They've been getting...impatient."

  Rory studied him, confused. "So you're using Dad's work for some company now?"

  Nick smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Think of it as finishing what he started. Someone should, right?"

  Rory didn't answer. Nick glanced at the cup still in his hand. "Go on, drink your coffee before it goes cold. You'll need the energy."

  Rory hesitated, then took another mouthful. The warmth spread quick and heavy. His eyes followed the blur of trees and building outside as the edges began to dull, the road smearing into light. Somewhere between one blink and the next, the world began to tilt. His head felt too heavy for his neck. The cup slipped in his grip, hot liquid sloshing against his fingers.

  "Hey," he muttered, trying to straighten up, but the word came out slower than he meant.

  Nick's grin didn't waver. "You good?"

  Rory blinked hard, fighting to focus. His pulse drummed unevenly in his ears. "'M fine," he murmured, even though he wasn't. His body wouldn't listen. His eyelids dragged, breath hitching as the air thickened around him.

  Nick reached over and took the cup from his hands before it could spill. "Yeah," he said softly, almost kind. "You're fine."

  Rory tried to stay awake, but his eyes grew heavier. The last thing he saw was the road ahead stretching out into pale light, Nick's fingers tapping absently against the wheel.

  Then everything went dark.

  ***

  Two figures in pale scrubs carried Rory down a corridor lined with frosted glass and polished steel. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the sterile floor, quick and efficient. Rory's head lolled against one man's arm,

  They turned through an open doorway into a small procedure room, its edges glowing white under recessed light.

  "Set him down there," Nick's voice ordered, steady, all trace of warmth gone.

  The men eased Rory onto a padded stretcher, adjusting his limbs with practiced detachment. His head lolled to one side, mouth parted slightly, the slow rhythm of his breathing the only sign of life. One of them checked his pulse, nodded once, and stepped back.

  Nick hovered nearby, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he studied Rory. The sterile light caught in the silver thread of his watch, reflected faintly in his eyes. He looked less like a brother now and more like what he really was, someone running out of time.

  For a long moment, Nick just stared, at the slack face, the dark fringe falling across the bruised skin near his cheekbone, the faint rise and fall of his chest. His pulse tapped quick and nervous beneath the stillness. Then he stepped closer and pressed his fingers to the back of Rory's neck, just under the hairline. His touch was clinical, probing, the movements of someone who knew exactly what he was feeling for.

  Nothing.

  He shifted his hand lower, fingertips brushing along the base of the skull. And then his fingers slid across a faint ridge, solid and out of place.

  Nick froze, breath catching. He pressed again, slower this time, his pulse beginning to pound in his throat. There it was, a subtle hardness under the skin, too deliberate to be natural.

  He reached for the tray beside him, grabbed a handheld scanner and turned it on. The light blinked to life, casting a soft blue glow across Rory's skin. Nick brought it to Rory's neck, right behind the left ear, where he'd felt the edge of the ridge.

  A faint beep.

  Then the light turned green.

  Nick froze. The colour reflected in his wide eyes. For a second, he didn't move, didn't breathe. Then his mouth parted, a whisper slipping out, almost reverent.

  "Son of a bitch."

  He lowered the scanner slowly, a grin creeping into the corner of his mouth, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. His pulse hammered against his ribs, adrenaline flooding sharp and fast.

  The sound of heels broke the quiet.

  Nick straightened as the secretary appeared in the doorway, tablet in hand, hair pinned back so tightly it didn't dare move. Her tone was flat, professional.

  "Your morning integration's waiting."

  Nick turned sharply. "I told you I booked the day off."

  She didn't even blink. "How was I supposed to know? All I saw was an empty schedule, and you know we need the money." Her gaze flicked past him to the boy on the gurney, uniform shirt creased, shoes scuffed, hair a mess. Her expression barely shifted. "He going to make us any?"

  Nick's eyes narrowed. "Don't worry about him."

  "Wasn't planning to." She tapped her tablet once, sharp. "It's an integration. Paid upfront, full amount. Won't take you more than an hour."

  He hesitated, the muscle in his cheek twitching. His gaze flicked once to Rory, still out cold, chest rising slow and even, then back to her. "Fine. set them up next door. I'll be there in five."

  She nodded and disappeared down the hall, heels fading against the sterile floor.

  Nick turned back to Rory. For a moment, his face softened, something almost human flickering behind his eyes. The he exhaled through his nose, muttering a curse under his breath. He reached for a nearby tray and pulled the clear tubing from an IV pack, clicking it into place A vial of clear sedative followed, measured and precise.

  "Sorry, little brother," he murmured as he slipped the needle into Rory's arm. "Can't have you waking up just yet."

  The sedative threaded into the line, a slow bloom through the clear tube. Rory's body gave a faint shiver before settling deeper into stillness.

  He checked the monitor, heart rate steady, breathing slow, then tossed his gloves into the bin. The green light from the scanner still echoed faintly in his head.

  He looked down at Rory one last time, eyes narrowing, voice low.

  "You have no idea what you're carrying, do you?"

  Then he turned, smoothing his hair, straightening his jacket. When he stepped into the hall, his mask was back in place, calm, confident, professional, as if the boy on the gurney behind him didn't exist at all.

  ***

  Ethan sat on the edge of a padded recliner while two nurses moved briskly around him, their shoes whispering against the polished floor. A tray of instruments gleamed under the overhead strip-light, each tool perfectly aligned, the kind of order that made him uneasy.

  "Doctor will be with you shortly," one of them said without looking up.

  Ethan nodded once.

  Ethan gave a small nod, his eyes tracing the faint reflection of himself in the stainless panel opposite.

  A pressure cuff wrapped around his arm, squeezing. A monitor blinked to life somewhere near his shoulder. The second nurse adjusted the IV line, her gloved fingers impersonal and precise.

  "You've been under before?" she asked, glancing at him.

  "Once or twice," Ethan said.

  "Good. You know the routine. Just breathe normally."

  He watched her connect the tubing to the cannula on his wrist, the clear solution already sliding through. A faint chill crept into his arm.

  The door opened behind him.

  A man stepped in, masked, gloved. Not tall, but sure of himself. He didn't introduce himself; he didn't have to. Everyone in the room seemed to shift around his presence. His voice was smooth, low. "Morning."

  He studied Ethan's chart for a beat, then set it aside. "Just an integration?"

  "Yeah."

  He picked up the implant, looking at it closely.

  "Good hardware," the man said approvingly as he placed it back down. "Should integrate cleanly."

  A spreading calm began to pull him under.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  "Breathe," the doctor said. "You'll be out before ten."

  The edges of the room began to slide. Then his vision slipped. The sound dimmed.

  A final murmur reached him before everything went black:

  "See you on the other side."

  ***

  Nick stripped off his gloves and tossed them into the bin with a sharp flick of his wrist. The other procedure finished, successful, uneventful. He wiped his palms down the front of his coat as he moved back into the smaller lab, the one where his real interest lay.

  Rory lay exactly where he'd left him, flat on his back, face slack in the half-light, his IV line still pulsing slow and steady. Nick checked his pulse, then leaned in to shine a penlight across his eyes. Still under. Still perfect.

  The faint rise and fall of his chest the only proof of life.

  Nick moved to his side, checking the monitors, steady.

  He adjusted the IV line with the same care he gave any patient, but his gaze never left his brother's face.

  He rolled the instrument tray closer, metal gleaming under the low light. Forceps. Scalpel. Scanner. All lined in perfect, surgical order. His breath slowed as he traced the plan in his head, step by step, cut, isolate, extract, seal.

  He was reaching for the scalpel when the first explosion hit.

  A sharp, concussive crack ripped through the building, the metal trays on the counter jumping with the shockwave. The overhead lights flickered, then the alarm system came to life, red strobes flashing in jagged rhythm.

  Nick froze, hand suspended over the tray.

  A recorded voice broke through the chaos:

  "Code Black. Evacuate immediately. Code Black."

  He stared at the door. The walls seemed to vibrate under another distant impact. Shouts echoed in the corridor, heavy boots pounding against tile.

  Nick's pulse spiked. He turned toward the door, jaw tight.

  Another impact shook the hallway, a door being forced.

  He looked back at Rory.

  The boy was out cold, head tilted toward the light, IV line still feeding steady drips through the tube. There was no time for surgery now, not even a quick extraction. Carrying him would slow him down, make him a target.

  And if they caught him trying to smuggle him out?

  They'd put two and two together fast.

  Nick's breath caught. He ran a hand across his head, pacing once, mind racing through contingencies, torn between greed and survival.

  Then the intercom cracked again, this time a different voice. Male. Smooth. Controlled.

  "Atwood. We're done waiting. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

  The tone made his skin crawl. He swore under his breath. "Shit."

  He looked back at Rory. The monitors still blinked in rhythm, quiet, oblivious.

  His gaze flicked across the room, IVs, cabinets, the medical fridge against the far wall. The blue light of the refrigeration strip glinted faintly across the label on one of the vials inside, SV-11.

  Nick hesitated for a fraction of a second, then crossed the room fast, grabbing a fresh line and a sterile connector from the drawer. He returned to Rory's bedside, unclipping the mainline from the existing drip and replacing it with the new one. His hands moved fast, automatic, almost trembling as he slid the SV-11 vial into the pump and primed the flow.

  "If I can't take it out," he muttered, adjusting the dosage, "then let's see what it's worth."

  The serum began to move through the tube, a slow ribbon of faint blue light disappearing into Rory's vein.

  Nick stepped back, watching. The boy didn't stir. Only the monitor changed, a subtle shift in rhythm, a blip climbing a fraction too high.

  He lingered there longer than he meant to, eyes tracing the features he recognised but couldn't quite reconcile.

  Then a second explosion hit closer this time, shaking the ceiling tiles loose. Shouts, closer now, distorted by proximity.

  Nick flinched, breath catching, and spun for the counter. He snatched a handful of vials, his datapad, a portable drive, shoving them into his bag. The sirens pulsed brighter, red light cutting across his face.

  He cast one last look at Rory, still breathing, still under, the serum flowing.

  "Don't die on me," he muttered, and it wasn't kindness. It was investment.

  Then he bolted, the sound of his footsteps vanishing into the rising chaos as the door slammed shut behind him.

  ***

  The streets were dead quiet. A few warehouses stretched along the block, sheet metal siding, cracked windows, faded signage that hadn't meant anything in years. Even the pigeons had stopped circling overhead.

  Will sat slouched in the driver's seat, one hand curled around a half-empty coffee cup, the other tapping restless rhythms on the steering wheel. His eyes hadn't left the building since Ethan went inside.

  It didn't feel like an underground clinic. It didn't feel like anything at all.

  Just a dead block in a dying district.

  He frowned, drumming his fingers against the wheel. If he hadn't watched Ethan step out of that van himself, he would've sworn they'd ditched him somewhere else entirely.

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw, frowning. The longer he sat here, the less sense it made. There was nothing to indicate life inside, no engines humming, no movement, no chatter. Nothing but stillness.

  And somehow, that was worse.

  The warehouse itself was boxed in by two taller structures, rusted silos on one side and a low, windowless storage unit on the other. From his position, he could see only a sliver of the main entrance and one cracked window. Everything else was blind angles and concrete. Perfect for hiding things.

  Or people.

  He shifted, leaning forward, eyes narrowed. The longer he stared, the more wrong it felt. The quiet wasn't calm anymore; it was charged.

  He could feel it in his gut.

  Still, he stayed put. Ethan had made him promise.

  No interference.

  No tails.

  "This is bullshit," he murmured, taking a sip of his cold coffee. "Five more minutes, Berfield."

  The sound hit before he finished the sentence, a deep, dull boom from somewhere behind and to his left. The car rattled, steering wheel vibrating under his hand.

  Will's head snapped toward the noise. That direction didn't make sense, it wasn't the main entrance.

  Another explosion followed, closer. Then a third, sharper, glass shattering somewhere out of sight.

  "Shit."

  He grabbed his phone and hit Ethan's number. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing.

  "Pick up, Berfield."

  He strained his ears, between the echoing alarms that had started blaring. He caught the sound of boots on asphalt, fast and coordinated.

  His stomach turned cold.

  From where he was parked, half the building was invisible behind the silos and metal fencing. He couldn't see how many were moving in or from where. Just shapes flickering between shadows, the glint of rifles, precision in every step.

  Not local law enforcement.

  Not amateurs.

  Will's breath steadied automatically. Training took over. He slid out of the car and kept low, moving along the wall of an abandoned depot. The air was cold, sharp with the tang of metal and smoke.

  He pressed one hand against the space in front of him, closing his eyes for half a second, focusing on the rhythm of his pulse.

  The forcefield shimmered to life.

  It wasn't visible so much as felt, the space around him bending subtly, light distorting at the edges, sound dulling to a low hum. To anyone looking straight at him, the air would waver like heat above asphalt, then flatten again, empty.

  Will adjiusted the field's reach. The pressure against his skin settled. His outline blurred into the background.

  He crouched behind a stack of pallets, eyes tracking movement across the lot. More shadows, figures, moving with purpose and precision. Whoever they were, they weren't here for a routine check.

  The alarms screamed louder. Red light began to flashing against the steel walls, painting the smoke curling out of the vents.

  "Yeah," Will whispered, voice muffled under the field's hum. "This is fine."

  He glanced once toward the skyline, still blocked by silos, still blind, then back toward the chaos building inside.

  "Okay, Berfield," he breathed, pulse steadying. "Hang on."

  And with that, he pushed forward, field rippling faintly around him, light sliding off his shape, and disappeared into the smoke and sirens.

  ***

  A blaring alarm pierced through the haze, dragging Ethan back to consciousness.

  He groaned, one hand pressing to his temple as a low pulse of pain radiated through his skull. His body felt heavy, uncoordinated, like gravity had turned up a notch. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. Then he caught sight of the surgical lamp above him, and it came rushing back, the implant, the clinic, the integration.

  He sat up too fast. The world tilted sideways. A bandage pulled tight across the back of his head, the ache beneath it hot and deep.

  He reached up, fingers brushing the edge, the implant site. It was done.

  The alarms howled louder now, joined by the thud of boots somewhere down the corridor. The sound was wrong, not emergency staff, not panic. Controlled. Tactical.

  Ethan tore the IV from his arm, hissing as blood beaded where the needle had been.

  "Son of a-" His voice came out raw, too quiet. His throat burned like he'd swallowed smoke. Monitors ripped free from his chest with a flurry of static. The red light flared, flickering off white walls and scattered surgical tools.

  Besides him the room was empty, no surgeon. no nurses.

  He swung his legs off the table. His jacket and shirt hung on a nearby hook. Beneath them sat a tray, phone, wallet, keys, watch. His things. He grabbed his phone but it stayed dark in his hand, unresponsive. Not dead, just powered down.

  He held the button as he shrugged into his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons while his head throbbed. The phone buzzed weakly, screen flickering with the manufacturer logo. He slung his jacket over his shoulders and moved for the door, the alarm's rhythm like a pulse in his skull.

  The hallway outside pulsed red, empty but echoing with distant chaos. He moved carefully with caution, scanning every corner. The phone buzzed again, finally awake, and lit up in his palm.

  Six missed calls. All from Will.

  "Shit," he muttered, swiping to call back.

  The line clicked once, then filled with static. "Ethan?" Will's voice broke through, thin and distorted.

  "Yeah, I'm here," Ethan said, breath short. "Something's happening-"

  "Get out," Will cut in, urgency crackling through the interference. "They're storming the building, armed, coordinated. Not Hector, something else. I'm trying to get closer-"

  Before Will could finish, movement flashed ahead through the haze. Figures. Armed.

  Without hesitating he ducked into the nearest door, as boots pounded closer through the fog of dust.

  "-shit," he hissed under his breath. "They're already here."

  "What?" Will's voice warped with static.

  "I've got company," Ethan whispered. "I'm going to have to use the Dark Realm to get out."

  "Then do it," Will snapped. "Just, get out, you hear me?"

  The line cracked once more and went dead.

  No signal.

  Ethan swore under his breath and shoved the phone into his pocket. He stepped back from the door, pulse hammering, the sound of boots closing in from the hall. He reached for the familiar pull in his chest, that point just behind the ribs where the Dark Realm always answered, and felt it respond, the edges of the world beginning to distort.

  Then something caught his eye.

  A movement, faint and slow, the rise and fall of a chest on a gurney sitting to the right of the room.

  He froze.

  There, half-shadowed beneath the flicker of the alarm lights, lay a boy. Fifteen, maybe sixteen, in a cheap white-collared school shirt and a dark grey hoodie embroidered with an emblem. His jeans were torn at the knee, his sneakers still on. A schoolbag sat slumped against the base of the bed.

  For a moment, Ethan thought his brain was misfiring from the sedation. But the boy was real.

  He moved closer, careful, keeping one ear on the muffled shouting outside. The kid's face came into view, bruised along the cheekbone, a faint split on his lip. His hair was mussed, his skin pale under the crimson wash of the alarms.

  Ethan's stomach twisted. He looked barely older than Owen.

  "What the hell are you doing here..." he murmured.

  The IV line caught his attention next. The fluid bag hanging above the bed shimmered faintly under the flashing lights, a red label stencilled along its side.

  SV-11 NEUROSERUM.

  Ethan's heart dropped. A neuroserum line, on a kid. Underage. Alone. Unsupervised. His thoughts scrambled to make sense of it. What kind of people did this to a teenager?

  He stepped closer, frowning as he studied the setup. The serum bag above the bed shimmered faintly under the flashing red lights, the tubing snaking down to the crook of the boy's arm. He looked too young, too fragile to be anywhere near this.

  Then the thought hit him.

  If they were giving him SV-11, he'd need an implant to stabilise it. Without one...

  Ethan reached out, brushing the boy's hair aside and tilting his head to check behind his ear. No incision. No bandage. Not even swelling. His skin was untouched.

  "Christ," Ethan muttered. "You don't even have an implant."

  He stared for a moment longer, disbelief and anger tangling in his chest. "What the hell were they doing to you?"

  A burst of gunfire from the hall tore the question apart, snapping him back into motion.

  He looked from the door to the boy again, breath catching. He didn't know who these people were, or why a kid like this was here, but he couldn't leave him.

  "Alright," Ethan said under his breath, voice low and certain, more to himself than anyone else. "You're coming with me."

  He tore the IV free, grabbed the boy under the shoulders, and hoisted him up. The kid was lighter than he expected but dead weight all the same. Ethan winced as the motion pulled at the tender spot behind his own ear where the implant sat.

  The alarms outside were deafening now, voices shouting, boots pounding down the corridor.

  Ethan adjusted his grip on the kid and stepped forward, slipping fully into the Dark Realm. The transition came as smoothly as breathing, one world fading beneath the next.

  The world around him stretched and deepened, colour draining into desaturated shadow. The strobing red lights dulled to faint pulses, every sound reduced to a distant muffle. The chaos of the raid, the shouts, the alarms, was still there, now faint and far away, ghosts echoing through the walls.

  He started moving.

  The corridors were the same in shape but stripped bare, hollow and grey, lined in static light. He could sense the world running parallel, the glow of movement beyond the walls like silhouettes in fog. Armed men swept through the real hallway beside him, weapons raised, their outlines pulsing with pale, distorted light. He could hear their voices, warped and half-swallowed by distance, like conversations heard underwater.

  But none of them could see him. None of them ever could.

  The Dark Realm let him walk through the world unseen, a mirror space layered over reality, identical in structure but separate in time and touch.

  At first, everything felt normal. The shift had always come easy, like muscle memory. But a few steps in, he felt it, a strange drag in his arms. The kid suddenly seemed heavier, as though the air itself clung to him, thickening around his body.

  Ethan frowned, adjusting his stance and tightening his hold. The weight pulled differently here, slower, denser. He brushed it off at first, probably the sedation wearing thin, or maybe his own body still sluggish from the anaesthetic. Either way, it didn't matter. He just needed to get them out.

  He moved through the mirrored halls, the path empty and silent. The emergency lights of the real world flickered faintly, diffused like glows behind glass. Ahead, the stairs curved upward toward the main floor. Ethan climbed steadily, breath calm, the boy's head resting limply against his shoulder.

  By the time he reached the top, the air had shifted. Faint outlines of movement shimmered through the walls, white silhouettes flickering in and out like distant ghosts. He could hear them too, voices reduced to muffled vibrations, the sounds of shouting and panic as the raid unfolded in the world above.

  Ethan walked straight past them. They passed through him like smoke, unaware, untouched. He'd long stopped trying to describe the sensation, the way matter and presence slipped around him without collision.

  He crossed what had once been the lobby. Chairs, a desk, shattered glass, all there, but washed in shadow, texture muted to matte grey. A body dashed through the real-world reflection of the door ahead, gun in hand; Ethan saw only the afterglow of it, a streak of white trailing into the dark.

  Then he stepped outside.

  The sky was fractured in violet light and stillness. The industrial district stretched around him, empty and quiet in this realm, where even the wind refused to move. The shapes of storage tanks, cranes, and warehouse roofs hung sharp and unreal against a horizon smeared in static.

  That was when the weight in his arms changed again.

  The boy's body tensed, first a subtle twitch, then a hard jerk. Ethan stopped short, shifting to keep hold of him as the boy's muscles seized once, twice.

  "Hey," Ethan muttered, alarm cutting through his calm. "Easy, hey-"

  The convulsions grew worse. The drag intensified, like the Realm itself was gripping the kid, trying to smother him.

  Ethan shifted his grip and pushed forward, picking up speed. Just a little further. Get clear and then pull out. He could already see past the blockade of men and vehicles bleeding through as pale lights from the real world. He was almost out of sight, almost away from the chaos.

  The boy convulsed, one violent, full-body snap that nearly tore from Ethan's grip.

  The air around them shuddered. The Dark Realm, normally silent and obedient, rippled like water struck by a stone. The distortion spread fast, warping the space around his boots, light bending sideways, the edges of the world fracturing.

  Ethan tightened his hold, trying to push forward, but the ground beneath him wasn't ground anymore, it flexed, elastic and wrong. The weight in his arms multiplied, gravity lurching as if the Realm itself were rejecting the presence of what he carried.

  "Hey... hey, stay with me," he muttered through gritted teeth, taking another step. The pressure surged, a pulse through his ribs, sound collapsing into a high static hiss.

  Then the world snapped.

  Reality folded hard, the shadow bleeding out of colour. A blinding flash swallowed everything, and they were thrown.

  Ethan hit first. Asphalt slammed into his shoulder, the impact knocking the breath out of him. He twisted mid-fall to shield the boy, his body absorbing the rest of the drop. The Dark Realm tore away completely, its silence replaced by the harsh, vivid noise of the real world, sirens, engines, morning air.

  For a few seconds, he just lay there, chest heaving, arm still locked protectively around the kid. His head pounded, vision flickering in and out of focus.

  The boy twitched once more, a faint, involuntary jerk. Then he went still.

  Ethan blinked hard, forcing his focus back. The air was sharp in his lungs. He looked down at the boy, still pale, still breathing.

  "What the hell..." he muttered, voice hoarse. The Dark Realm had never done that before. It wasn't made for everyone, he knew that much. Will hated it, said it made his stomach turn and his skin crawl. But this, being thrown out, was new.

  The kid twitched once more, breathing ragged but steady. Ethan brushed a hand against his forehead, uncertain what to do next, when motion flickered nearby.

  "Ethan!"

  Will's voice, low but sharp. A second later, he was there, jogging across the cracked pavement, coat catching the wind. He extended his hand instinctively, the air around them rippling as his forcefield unfolded, a soft shimmer that bent light and sound, cloaking the three of them from view.

  Will crouched, eyes darting between Ethan and the boy in his arms. "You okay?"

  Ethan nodded, still trying to steady his breathing. "Yeah," he managed. "Just...landed harder than I meant to."

  Will glanced at the unconscious kid, frowning. "Who the fuck is this?"

  Ethan looked down at the teen again, the kid's pale face half-shadowed, his school hoodie smeared with dust. "No idea," he said quietly. "But he wasn't supposed to be there."

  Will's eyes narrowed, scanning the unconscious kid again, as if trying to piece together what Ethan had dragged out of hell. "You went in for an implant, not a rescue mission," he muttered, keeping his voice low. "What the hell happened in there?"

  Ethan exhaled slowly, still holding Rory close enough to keep him steady. "The place was raided. Whoever was running that clinic, they bolted. I woke up mid-evacuation." His jaw flexed. "Found him in the next room. I couldn't just leave him."

  Will crouched beside him again, squinting at the boy's pale face. "You sure this is a good idea?" he asked quietly. "You don't even know who he is. For all we know, he got himself into this."

  Ethan shot him a look, voice low but firm. "He's a kid, Will."

  "Yeah, and kids do stupid shit," Will said sharply, gesturing toward Rory. "You found him in an dodgy underground clinic. Maybe he was there to get enhanced, maybe he wanted to. Maybe he paid for it." His tone softened, but the edge stayed. "I'm not saying leave him there, I'm saying...what if saving him screws you worse? You just got an illegal implant from the same goddamn butcher shop. You show up with a half-dead kid in a school uniform and people are gonna connect dots we can't afford them to."

  Ethan adjusted his grip on the boy, meeting Will's gaze evenly. "Even if he did get himself into it, does it matter?"

  Will hesitated, jaw tight. The answer hung unspoken between them.

  Ethan went on quietly, "He doesn't have an implant and he was hooked up to SV-11. You know without an implant it turns toxic fast. It'll eat him alive if we don't help him."

  Will looked down at the unconscious kid, pale, sweat-slick, the faint tremor in his hand. His expression flickered. Concern, then calculation, then resignation. "You're saying if we don't help him-"

  "He could die," Ethan finished flatly.

  Will sighed and glanced toward the smoke rising in the distance. "So we smuggle a poisoned kid out of a raided clinic while you're fresh out of surgery with contraband in your head." He gave a low, humourless laugh. "You ever think of doing something easy for once?"

  Ethan's mouth twitched, though his eyes stayed sharp. "That sounds a bit boring, don't you think?"

  Will shook his head, muttering under his breath, "One of these days you're going to kill me." Then, louder, "Alright. We'll take him to Eveleigh Medical. I'll call Alex, have her meet us there. It's off Karmal grounds, and she's the only one I trust to keep her mouth shut."

  Ethan gave a short nod and adjusted the boy's weight in his arms, steadying him. Together, they moved quickly through the fractured shadows of the industrial lot, keeping close to the walls. Will's field shimmered faintly around them, a soft distortion that blurred their edges, bending the light until they were little more than ghosts slipping between buildings.

  "Back seat," Will muttered, opening the door. Ethan eased the kid down carefully, checking his pulse again before stepping back to catch his breath. Rory was still out cold, head tilted against the seat, skin pale but warm, alive, for now.

  Will shut the door and rounded the front, pausing just long enough to give Ethan a look that was equal parts disbelief and resignation. "You've got to stop picking up charity cases," he said, sliding behind the wheel. "Haven't you got enough on your plate as it is?"

  Ethan smirked faintly, a weary ghost of a grin. "That's not a very nice way to describe you and Owen."

  Will's laugh was short but real as he started the engine. The SUV rolled forward, lights off, tires whispering over cracked asphalt.

  Behind them, the sirens and shouting dwindled into silence, swallowed by the sound of traffic and the pale wash of morning light stretching across the city.

  ***

  and Rory.