I placed my palm against the cool glass of the window. The [Weaponize] skill, raw and jagged like a piece of salvaged metal, bled from my skin and into the pane. The glass didn't just get stronger. It sharpened. I pressed the button to lower it just an inch, then pulled it back up with a sharp, mechanical whine.

The man who was reaching through the gap let out a strangled, high-pitched yelp. He pulled his hand back as if he’d touched a live wire, but it was too late. The edge of the window, now as lethal as a monomolecular blade, had neatly sliced through the skin of his forearm. Blood sprayed across the black door panel, a bright, hot crimson under the flickering shipyard lights.

"Should I end them—" Seraphina began.

Her hand was already raised, her fingers poised for a —SNAP that would have likely turned the entire pier into a frozen graveyard. I could feel the temperature in the backseat plummeting, the air turning into a fog of cold rage.

"Not here! We’re leaving!" I yelled.

Roonie didn't wait for a second invitation. He kicked the engine to life, the tires screaming as he threw the car into reverse. We lurched back, the force pinning me against the seat. Out on the dark water, the trawler was already heading for the shore, its silhouette a jagged shadow against the violet glow of the distant gate.

Roonie slammed the car into drive and hit the accelerator.

—BANG. —BANG.

The man with the bleeding arm was back on his feet, emptying his clip into our rear window. The bullets didn't shatter the glass. They hit a shimmering, translucent barrier that had wrapped around the car like a second skin. They bounced off with a dull metallic ring, falling into the dirt like harmless pebbles.

"Roonie, nice work with the shield," I muttered, my heart doing a frantic lap around my ribs.

"Don't thank me yet! We’ve got company!" Roonie shouted.

He swung the steering wheel, weaving the car through a grid of rust-red shipping containers. Two black SUVs had roared to life from the shadows of a warehouse, their headlights cutting through the dark as they dove into the pursuit.

I pulled out my phone, the screen flickering with the static-y feed from Hana's glasses. "Hana! The bay is too hot. Jump off the ship! We’re heading for the eastern exit of the yard. We’ll pick you up on the move!"

On the screen, I saw the world tilt as Hana moved. She didn't hesitate. She vaulted over the side of the trawler, her body a blur of shadow as she hit a container and started sprinting across the tops of the metal boxes.

One of the SUVs was gaining on us, the engine a predatory growl.

Seraphina let out a small, annoyed huff. She leaned out of her window, her white hair whipping in the wind.

—SNAP.

A sheet of pure, frictionless ice bloomed across the asphalt directly beneath the pursuing cars. The first SUV hit the patch and lost its balance instantly. It spun in a wild, frantic circle before slamming sideways into a stack of empty containers with a deafening —CRUNCH. The second car tried to swerve, but it caught the edge of the frost and flipped, sliding upside down across the concrete in a shower of sparks.

Roonie made a sharp, ninety-degree turn, the tires smoking. He kicked the passenger door open with his foot while keeping his hands locked on the wheel.

"Hana! Now!" I yelled.

Hana was there. She leaped from the top of a yellow container, her trench coat flapping like wings. She hit the ground in a roll and jumped into the moving car with the precision of a professional. Roonie slammed the door shut and hit the floor with the accelerator, the car roaring as we cleared the shipyard gates and hit the main road.

"Mission successful?" Hana asked.

She was panting slightly, her dark hair a mess around her face, but her eyes were bright with adrenaline. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the blue crystals, the faint pulsing light filling the back of the car.

Seraphina looked at the crystals, then at Hana. She gave a small, rare thumbs up.

"Successful," Seraphina whispered.

The room was draped in a heavy, artificial darkness. The only light came from the glowing tip of a wooden pipe, a small orange ember that pulsed with every breath.

A man stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the ink-black sky. He was smoking a pipe, his movements slow and deliberate as he gently hopped from one foot to the other. It was a rhythmic, nervous dance.

Every time he took a puff, the tobacco flared, illuminating a sharp jawline and a smile that looked a little too perfect to be entirely sane.

"So? What is the update?" the man asked.

His voice was a smooth, melodic baritone that seemed to glide through the silence.

"Nothing yet, unfortunately," a second voice replied. A man in a lab coat—the 'Doctor'—was standing in the shadows behind him. "The stability of the aether-link is fluctuating. We need more subjects."

The man with the pipe chuckled, a plume of smoke curling around his head. "Arslan is not enough?"

"Barely. He was a low-rank catalyst. The gate he produced was stable for the ritual, but it lacked the resonance we need for the next stage."

"I see..." the man said, tapping the stem of the pipe against his teeth. "We will have to do something else then. Change the bait. Oh, pipe?"

He held the wooden pipe out toward the Doctor.

"Um..." the Doctor hesitated, his eyes darting toward the glowing bowl.

"Don't worry, it's not tobacco," the man said, his smile widening in the dark. "I use a special herb mix with my weed, doctor. It helps with the clarity. Very therapeutic."

"I'll have to refuse," the Doctor said, his voice stiff.

"That's okay... you have a lot of work ahead of you, so I'll let you be, doctor. We wouldn't want those steady hands to start shaking."

The Doctor took it as a clear sign to leave. He gave a quick, shallow bow and retreated into the darkness, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hallway until a heavy door clicked shut.

The man with the pipe was alone again. He took another deep puff, the smoke dancing in the air before it was swallowed by the shadows.

Everything eventually disappears in the dark.