Magi arrived at the Guild Hall early the next morning. The main floor bustled with Raiders checking contracts, submitting reports, and collecting payments. No one spoke to him as he made his way to the digital job board mounted on the eastern wall.

  He tapped his Guild ID against the reader. The screen flickered, loading his clearance level and contract eligibility.

  "Good morning, Raider Necros," the system chimed. "You have 37 available contracts within your ranking."

  Magi navigated through the options, filtering for C-rank jobs with moderate difficulty and reasonable compensation. His apartment deposit wouldn't cover itself.

  He selected the Northern District, where most of his previous contracts had been located. The system displayed a message he'd never seen before:

  Northern District: No Available Contracts.

  Strange. He adjusted the filter, expanding to include B-rank jobs requiring a C-rank minimum.

  Northern District: No Available Contracts.

  He switched to Eastern District.

  Eastern District: No Available Contracts.

  Western District.

  Western District: No Available Contracts.

  Central Business District.

  Central Business District: No Available Contracts.

  Magi stepped back from the board, recalibrating his approach. He expanded his search to include all districts in the metropolitan area. The system displayed dozens of contracts, but every job within five districts of his regular operational area was marked with a red tag: Unavailable to Selected Raider.

  "Problem with the system?"

  Magi turned to find Marc standing beside him, coffee in hand. He hadn't heard his team leader approach.

  "I can't access any jobs in my usual areas," Magi said, keeping his voice neutral. "Technical glitch, maybe."

  Marc took a sip of his coffee, then glanced around to ensure no one was within earshot. "It's not a glitch. They're spacing you out."

  "Spacing me out?"

  Marc nodded toward the exit. "Walk with me."

  They moved through the Guild Hall and out into the courtyard. The morning air carried a slight chill, keeping most Raiders indoors.

  "The Science Division tracked your movements for the past three months," Marc explained, voice low despite their isolation. "They've mapped what they're calling your 'stability radius.'"

  "My what?"

  "The area around you that experiences dimensional stabilization. Based on their models, any location where you spend more than four hours shows a significant decrease in rift activity for approximately nine days afterward."

  Magi processed this information. "They're restricting my contracts based on where I've already been."

  "Correct. The Guild's official stance is that it's for 'risk distribution.' They want to avoid having you stabilize too many areas at once."

  "That sounds inefficient," Magi said.

  "It is." Marc finished his coffee. "But it's also about economics. The entire Raider Guild system is built around constant dimensional instability. If too many areas stabilize simultaneously..."

  "Fewer jobs. Less funding. Lower revenue."

  "Exactly." Marc crushed his empty cup. "There's more. Administrator Whitehall mentioned your stability radius seems to be expanding."

  "Expanding?"

  "Your earlier work affected a radius of approximately 400 meters. Your most recent jobs extended to nearly 650 meters. They're concerned about exponential growth."

  Magi considered the implications. His mere presence was changing the dimensional fabric of the city. Not intentionally, not through any conscious effort—simply by existing in a space.

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  "What does Echo Squad do now?" he asked.

  Marc's expression tightened. "Officially, we're still a team. But with your restricted operational areas, we can't all work together consistently. Layla and Jax took a two-week contract in the Southern Industrial Zone. Eli's helping with Guild training."

  "And you?"

  "Coordinating with Science Division. Answering the same questions about you every day." Marc's tone carried uncharacteristic frustration. "They want to understand how you do it."

  "I don't do anything," Magi said.

  "That's what I keep telling them."

  They stood in silence for a moment, watching Raiders enter and exit the Guild Hall.

  "So what now?" Magi finally asked.

  "Now you take whatever jobs you can get. If you want to keep your Guild status, you need a minimum of three completed contracts per month."

  Magi returned to the job board, Marc following behind. He expanded his search to include the furthest districts—areas he'd never worked before. Several contracts appeared, most requiring significant travel time.

  A B-rank infestation in the Westbrook Industrial Complex. Two districts away, nearly an hour by public transport.

  "This one," Magi said, selecting the contract.

  The system processed his selection. Contract B-329 assigned to Raider Necros. Report to Westbrook Industrial Complex, Building 7, by 13:00 hours.

  "Solo job?" Marc asked.

  "Yes."

  Marc nodded, understanding the implications. "Be careful. Observer drones will be extra attentive to solo operations, especially yours."

  Magi checked the time. He'd need to leave soon to arrive by the reporting deadline. "I'll manage."

  "I know you will." Marc hesitated before adding, "Magi, the Science Division doesn't just want to understand your abilities—they want to replicate them. I've seen their research objectives."

  "They can't replicate what I don't understand myself."

  "That won't stop them from trying." Marc's expression grew serious. "Watch yourself. Especially on solo contracts."

  Magi nodded and headed for the exit. The morning sun had risen higher, warming the courtyard. He calculated the fastest route to Westbrook, deciding between the metro or a rideshare service.

  His communicator chimed with contract confirmation details. Projected completion time, expected hazards, payment structure. Standard information.

  Then a second notification appeared:

  Travel Expense Reimbursement Request: DENIED

  Reason: Non-standard operational area selected by Raider, not Guild assignment.

  Magi stared at the notification. He'd never needed to request travel reimbursement before—his previous contracts had all been within walking distance of the Guild Hall or his apartment. Now he faced not only restricted work areas but additional expenses to reach the few contracts available to him.

  The pattern was clear. The Guild wasn't just spacing him out—they were increasing his costs while limiting his income.

  He pocketed his communicator and continued walking. The metro station loomed ahead, its entrance crowded with morning commuters. None of them knew that the relative peace they'd been experiencing lately—fewer evacuations, reduced emergency responses, minimal dimensional disturbances—was partly because of him.

  Or that the Guild was actively working to limit that peace.

  As he descended into the station, he mentally adjusted his budget calculations. Round-trip metro fare, potential lodging if the job ran long, meals away from home. Each variable reduced his net income, extending the timeline for his apartment deposit.

  The train arrived, already crowded. Magi squeezed in, finding a small space to stand near the back. The doors closed, and the train lurched forward.

  Two stops later, his communicator chimed again. A message from an unknown sender:

  Your expanding radius has been noticed by multiple organizations. The Council recommends discretion.

  Magi deleted the message immediately. The Council again—whoever they were. He scanned the train car, studying faces, looking for anyone paying particular attention to him. Everyone seemed absorbed in their own worlds—reading, listening to music, staring blankly at nothing.

  The train continued its journey westward, passing through increasingly industrial areas. Factory complexes and warehouses replaced apartment buildings and shopping centers. The passenger count thinned with each stop.

  By the time the train reached Westbrook Station, only a handful of people remained. Magi exited onto a nearly empty platform. The industrial district loomed gray and utilitarian, dominated by concrete structures and metal frameworks.

  Building 7 stood half a kilometer from the station. Magi walked briskly, calculating his arrival time. He'd make it with twenty minutes to spare—enough time to assess the exterior before entering.

  The communicator chimed once more as he approached the complex.

  Raider Necros: Your assigned Observer drone appears to be experiencing technical difficulties. Backup Observer dispatched. Please wait at contract location until drone arrival before proceeding.

  Magi stopped walking. Observer drones never experienced "technical difficulties." They were designed with triple redundancy systems specifically to prevent operational failures.

  Marc's warning echoed in his mind: Watch yourself. Especially on solo contracts.

  He checked the message details. It had been sent through the official Guild channel, but the authorization code was unfamiliar.

  Three possibilities: The Guild was deliberately delaying his contract start to limit his time in the area. Someone was interfering with Guild systems to isolate him. Or this was a legitimate technical issue with timing that couldn't be worse.

  Magi continued toward Building 7, keeping to the shadows of adjacent structures. The industrial complex appeared deserted—no workers, no security personnel, no signs of active operations.

  He positioned himself with a clear view of the building entrance while remaining concealed from direct observation. His communicator showed 12:42. Eighteen minutes until his reporting deadline.

  If the backup Observer drone didn't arrive by then, he would need to make a decision: Proceed without Guild observation and risk contract violation, or wait and risk breaching his reporting time.

  Either choice could be used against him.

  The minutes ticked by. No drone appeared. At 12:55, Magi made his decision. He approached Building 7's entrance, mentally preparing for whatever waited inside—both the contracted infestation and potentially something else.

  As he reached for the door handle, his communicator chimed one final time:

  Backup Observer drone delayed. Proceed with contract. Recording credit will be reduced by 15% for unobserved portion.