The Crier Dispatch archives were buried beneath the main building like a forgotten catacomb—narrow aisles, shelves thick with dust, the faint smell of paper and ink that never quite went away. Krouri moved between them with practiced ease. After the lounge incident her parents had more or less grounded her—not out of anger, but relief—and she hadn’t argued. She was still sore from where the bullets had torn through her side. So instead of chasing leads, she buried herself in them.

  Gladiator. Aethercorp. Eidolons. She cross-checked everything… and found something in a collection of her grandfather’s old articles. During the Gladiator epidemic he’d written harshly about the drug’s "boons," but the liver failure and organ liquefaction that followed made the warnings sound like prophecy. Seek medical help immediately, he’d written, especially if the user begins to display erratic behavior or violent outbursts.

  Her phone buzzed.

  Unknown Number

  "Krouri? It’s Poppy. Hazelnut gave me your number. We, uh… we need help. It’s Iggy."

  Krouri was already standing. "What happened? Is he all right?"

  "It’s, um… Markey showed up again and started harassing tenants. Iggy panicked and locked himself in one of our kitchen cabinets. He won’t come out—keeps asking for you."

  Krouri exhaled. Not ideal. But not bleeding, either. "I’m on my way. Tell him I’m coming."

  She reached the rooftop and kicked off into the sky; the wind caught beneath her wings and the apartment complex came into view within minutes. Poppy and Widget were waiting in the hallway—two mismatched tabbis, same worried green eyes. "In here," Poppy gestured.

  Muffled sobbing came from a lower cabinet. Krouri knelt. "Iggy? It’s me, it's Krouri. You can come out now."

  Slowly, the door creaked open. A tear-streaked face stared up at her before melting into her chest. "They’re gonna find me," he sobbed into her feathers. "That weasel guy was here and he was there before and he knows and he’s gonna find me and—"

  "Hey… hey." Krouri took his face gently in her hands. "He’s gone. No one knows you’re here. You’re safe."

  A calm lavender scent drifted from her feathers. Iggy’s breathing settled.

  "I’m safe," he repeated more calmly. "They don’t know I’m here."

  "That’s right." She hesitated… then asked, very gently, "You said you saw that weasel—Markey—at the meeting too. With the Don?"

  Iggy nodded slowly. "Yeah. And a big black bird." (Tristopher, Krouri thought immediately). "And a funny raccoon with half-glasses."

  Krouri's eyes went wide. Raymond Jedrick. Mayor Bumble’s personal aide.

  "Good," Krouri said softly. "That’s very good. Do you remember anything else they talked about?"

  Iggy frowned, searching the memory. "They were talking about… land. Something about ex…ex-pid-diting licenses? The raccoon said it counted for above and below. And then the lizard got this really scary grin." He shivered. "But we’re already underground."

  Krouri forced herself to keep breathing. It sounded like Pazienza was making moves in the real estate market and was using City Hall to push the process. Huge, if true..

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  "That’s great work, Iggy. You’re being very brave. Poppy and Widget are taking good care of you, right?"

  "Oh yes!" Iggy perked up immediately. "They gave me these shoes!" He kicked his feet out—tiny sneakers that lit up with every flick.

  Krouri laughed. "Excellent footwear." She stood to go. "I have to get back to work, but if you need me—anytime—you tell them to call. Deal? Let's keep those eyes dry."

  Iggy perked up at the word. "Oh! One more thing. They said ‘the eyes were active,’ and that somebody was trying to get a piece of it." He squinted. "I don’t know what that means."

  Krouri froze. "I don't know either but that’s… helpful. Thank you."

  The pain hit without warning. Like a stake driven into her skull, she staggered, barely keeping from screaming. Poppy and Widget rushed in—she was on the floor, clutching at her head, beak pressed to the tiles.

  A vision tore through her:

  A luminous figure, bound in silver chains behind iron bars, shrieking for freedom. Then the image blew away like ash—

  Her grandfather, sitting calmly in a high-backed chair. "Krouri," he said, voice sharper than memory. "We need to talk."

  It vanished. So did the pain.

  Krouri pushed herself up, breathing hard. Three frightened faces stared up at her. "I need to go," she said, already moving. "I think the others are in trouble." She bolted for the rooftop, wings flaring as she caught the wind—

  —and froze as the city trembled beneath her.

  BOOOOOM.

  Sirens. Car alarms. A bloom of smoke rising in the distance—far too close to Aethercorp. Krouri dove off the roof and shot toward the smoke.

  *  *  *

  "What the hell…"

  Buck stared as the monitors lit up. Readouts that had been flat only moments ago started to climb—slowly at first, then sharp and sudden. Green bars flickered into yellow. Yellow spiked into orange. One after another snapped to red. And the Eidolon counter was still climbing.

  2_EIDOLONS_DETECTED_

  3_EIDOLONS_DETECTED_

  5_EIDOLONS_DETECTED_

  9_EIDOLONS_DETECTED_

  "Buck? --r you th--e? We nee- t— get o-- of th— NOW—"

  The voice in his ear crackled and vanished.

  "Hazelnut?" Buck barked into his cuff mic. "We’re on the lowest level and something’s happening. Hazelnut? Sparks, do you copy?" Nothing but static. Another alert flashed across the main display—this one in red:

  ACTIVATION_EVENT_DETECTED_

  Buck swore under his breath. "Dammit, I knew that matchstick was going to be trouble." He stormed out into the hallway. That furball would never see the outside of a cell after this. The door to the pool chamber was shut tight, multicolored light spilling out from the gaps. Heat pulsed through the seam like a heartbeat.

  "SPARKS!"

  His shout matched the snap of the monitors behind him blowing out with a sharp pop, smoke curling from cracked glass.

  He threw the door open—

  —and stopped dead.

  Sparks floated several inches off the floor, eyes wide, arms outstretched. Multicolored fire poured from his hands into the swirling pool. Beside him stood some kind of two-tailed cat made entirely of flame, watching with eerie calm.

  The liquid in the pool began to rise. A shape grew out of it—an enormous fire-wreathed being, a towering elemental dipping an incandescent finger into the liquid. Smoke burst upward from the contact…and took shape.

  A weary-looking fox. An old mole woman.

  Both stared directly into Buck.

  Emotion slammed into him—grief, rage, sorrow, regret—each wave heavier than the last. As the smoke figures dissolved, the emotions faded…like something letting go.

  The pool exploded.

  Buck flew backward into the hallway as alarms blared to life—sirens and klaxons screaming through the basement levels. Hands grabbed him.

  "Buck! We have to GO!" Hazelnut—soaked in sweat, breathing hard. "Someone big is coming and we do not want to be caught here. Where’s Sparks?!"

  Buck pointed with a numb hand. Sparks was still floating in the chamber, swallowed in a halo of molten light, fire pouring from him in heavy pulses. The two-tailed creature turned its head—golden eyes locking briefly with Buck’s.

  "We’ve got bigger problems," he growled, forcing himself up. "Grab an arm and pull!"

  They rushed in, each seizing an arm and wrenching back as the alarms howled around them.