Reyes didn't bother with a phone call this time. He showed up at the diner forty minutes before closing, uninvited, his expression carrying a sharp, controlled urgency that made Sophia flip the front door sign to CLOSED without asking.
"Director Voss set a date," Reyes said, dropping into the back booth. "Fourteen days. Full containment and study operation on Anomaly Zero. Direct sensor probing, possible sample extraction."
Adrian's stomach dropped. "Fourteen days? That's nowhere near enough time. I told you what happened when I just looked at it too closely. A full probe with extraction gear—"
"I told Voss the same thing," Reyes interrupted, exhaustion carved into every line of his face. "She doesn't have the context to get it. All she sees is an anomaly that's been quiet for two months, flickered once, and represents a massive intelligence gap for her agency."
She's treating a sleeping Special Grade like a science project. They're about to poke a predator with a very expensive stick.
"Can you stall her?"
"I bought two weeks out of an original four-day timeline. That's my absolute ceiling before I burn all my credibility," Reyes rubbed his temples. "Fourteen days, Hayes. That's all we've got before a federal tactical team pokes something neither of us can control."
Sophia leaned over the counter, her face pale. "So what happens in fourteen days? Best case and worst case?"
"Best case," Adrian said slowly, "the probe doesn't trigger an aggressive response, and Voss gets readings that convince her to back off."
"And worst case?"
Worst case, a federal squad wakes up a monster in the middle of a populated city, and I'm nowhere near strong enough to stop it.
"Worst case," Adrian said quietly, "we find out exactly why I avoided that place for two straight months."
The next few days became a blur of focused desperation.
Adrian pushed his training past his limits, grinding Cursed Energy Manipulation and reinforcement techniques day and night. Fourteen days wasn't enough to close the gap between Grade 2 and a Special Grade threat sleeping under the city, but doing nothing was worse.
On the third night, Sophia caught him favoring his right shoulder—overworked past the point of Todo's passive recovery—and set the first aid kit down with a loud thud.
"We need to talk," she said, folding her arms. "Not about the fourteen days. About the pain-as-a-tool thing. This bad habit you picked up during that spirit fight."
Adrian winced as he iced the joint. "I've been thinking about it. I don't have a great answer yet."
"Then find one, because grinding yourself into structural failure two weeks before a crisis isn't a plan, Adrian. It just means you won't be standing when it actually matters."
He went quiet. The truth of her words hit harder than the ache in his arm.
"I kept telling myself the Straw Doll technique needs an anchor, and my own blood was the fastest option," he admitted. "But that's a lie. I could have made real effigies. I just defaulted to the painful shortcut because it was fast."
Sophia's shoulders relaxed slightly. "So what's the actual fix?"
"Prepared anchors. Real ones—hair, pre-drawn blood samples. It takes longer to set up, but it doesn't wreck my own body every time I use it." He offered a dry smile. "I should've built this from the start."
"Progress," Sophia said softly, stepping in to give him a brief, firm hug. "That's all I want."
On day nine, the Collector made a move.
It didn't come as a package this time, but as a relayed message through one of Reyes's black-market informants. A single line paid for in cold cash:
"TELL THE BLUE-EYED VIGILANTE THAT THE THING SLEEPING UNDER THE STREET ISN'T THE FIRST OF ITS KIND I'VE WATCHED WAKE UP. I'D BE HAPPY TO SHARE WHAT I KNOW. FOR A PRICE."
Adrian stared at the paper. "They know about Anomaly Zero. That's classified. Even the average DODC agents don't know what it is."
"Which means the Collector either has better intelligence than my department," Reyes said grimly, "or they've encountered something like it before and recognize the energy signature."
Meaning this isn't the only dormant threat out there. Meaning the Collector actually knows how these things wake up—or how to stop them.
"What's the price?" Sophia asked, eyes narrowing.
"Unspecified," Adrian said. "Which is a warning by itself. I don't like it, but we don't have the luxury of turning down intel."
"Adrian, this is the same person who sent you a cursed grief-trap," Sophia warned. "Whatever they want, it's going to cost you more than you think."
"I know," Adrian met her gaze. "But if they know how Anomaly Zero wakes up, that's information I can't get anywhere else in thirteen days."
Reyes stepped in. "I can set up a controlled contact. A neutral ground with my agents covering the perimeter on strict boundaries. It's risky, but better than meeting them on their turf."
Adrian nodded. "Set it up. With every safeguard you've got."
Sophia didn't push further, though the worry remained etched on her face. She finished wrapping his shoulder in silence, then sat beside him on the couch, leaning her shoulder against his.
"Thirteen days," she said quietly. "A federal operation, a black-market broker, evolved spirits, and you're still rewriting your combat style. That's a lot to stack on two weeks, Hayes."
"Yeah," Adrian rested his head back against the cushion, bone-tired. "But I'm not doing it alone. That's the only reason this doesn't feel impossible."
Sophia reached over, taking his hand.
Far below the city streets, beneath shattered concrete and forgotten pipes, the furnace-hot presence remained motionless in the deep dark, completely unaware that its countdown had already begun.