The corridor outside Boo's den didn't just swallow them. It closed around them. Velvet warmth died within a dozen steps. Amber light thinned to sickly strips embedded in the stone, runes humming softly beneath the floor like a restrained pulse. Incense vanished, replaced by Serath'Kai's true breath: rust and old coolant, oil slick rainwater that never dried, metal that had been sweating secrets for centuries. Nyxia felt it settle into her lungs. Their footsteps echoed at first. Too loud. Too exposed. Then the sound softened, absorbed by layers of pipe and conduit pressing inward, as if the city itself leaned closer to listen. Perseus said nothing. The data shard was locked in his grip, its glow slow and patient. Not urgent. Not yet. It pulsed like a measured heartbeat, as if something had set a timer and walked away. He turned it once, jaw tight, eyes flicking down corridors that looked empty but never felt that way.
Nyxia shifted her shoulders. The armor answered immediately. Not passively. Attentively. Shadow thread lining flexed with her breath, plates sliding a fraction of an inch as if correcting her posture before she'd even noticed it slipping. No drag. No resistance. Every joint moved as though it anticipated her intent. Her steps felt cleaner. Quieter. Sharper. Pain existed, but distant now. Muted. Like it had been pushed behind thick glass where she could see it without having to feel it. Underneath that dulled ache ran something else. A low, constant readiness. Not hunger. Not rage. Focus. And yes, she liked it. Loque padded beside her, silent as a held breath. His spectral form flickered faintly in the runelight, edges blurring and reforming with each step. When Nyxia shifted, his tail curved protectively. When she slowed, he leaned subtly into her leg, grounding her without breaking stride. "You're quiet," she said eventually. Perseus's gaze flicked toward her. "Just thinking." She snorted. "That's how disasters start." "Yeah," he said. "So is mystery armor won in a goblin pit and hunting Hollow smugglers in the underlevels." Her mouth curved faintly. "You're thinking about how good I look in black." That earned him a sound, half laugh, half choke. "That is not helping." "But not wrong." He shook his head, exhaling. "You didn't look like you earlier. In the ring." Her steps didn't slow. "No." A beat. "You didn't freeze," he said carefully. "You didn't break." "No," she agreed. "I just stopped pretending it was anything else."
They passed beneath a narrow causeway strung with colorless lanterns. The light barely touched the walls. The path sloped downward into a spiral ramp, each step echoing hollow beneath their boots. Below, the Drainpipe District unfurled like a scar, part tunnel, part reclamation system, all rot and risk. Pipes twisted overhead like petrified serpents. Some hissed. Some dripped. Some breathed. Sounds carried strangely here, rebounding even when nothing moved. Loque prowled ahead, nose lifting. He slowed at a junction, hackles rising, tail flicking once in warning. Perseus lifted the shard. Its glow sharpened. "They passed through here less than an hour ago. Two wagons. Five total." His mouth tightened. "Fake textile manifests. Hollow bloom residue on one cart." "So not amateurs," Nyxia murmured. "No." He glanced at her armor. "And not stupid." They followed the indicated route deeper. The city changed as they went. Here, metal didn't just corrode. It remembered. Rust wept from seams like old blood. Glyphs shimmered just beneath the surface, half suppressed, like scars that never healed.
Then Nyxia heard it. Wheels scraping metal. Voices. Loose. Unconcerned. Perseus lifted a hand. Nyxia was already moving. She dropped behind a stack of collapsed conduit drums, breath slowing, pulse steady. Loque melted into shadow until only his eyes remained, two pale slivers watching from the dark. The caravan came into view. Two wagons, rust choked and reinforced with scavenged plating. Engine snails hauled them forward, shells clanking, steam venting in painful bursts. Three drivers rode high. Two guards walked ahead, rifles slung carelessly. And one figure trailed behind. Robes instead of armor. Goggles fogged at the edges. Ink stained gloves clenched around a small carved box held too tightly against his chest. It pulsed. Not light. Not sound. Something deeper. The same wrongness that had crawled under Nyxia's skin in Ves'Sariel's garden. Perseus breathed, "That's him." Nyxia's bow was already in her hands. The string felt warm. Familiar. "No killing the cargo," she murmured. Perseus nodded. They moved. Perseus stepped into the open like the road belonged to him. Nyxia slipped sideways into the gloom, footsteps vanishing. Loque ghosted to the opposite flank, shadow folding around him. "Halt," Perseus commanded.
The guards turned, irritation flickering into amusement. One sneered. "You lost, bright eyes?" "Actually," Perseus said evenly, "I'm here to make sure you don't get anyone else lost. Like your informant friend." The courier froze. Nyxia dropped. Her arrow struck the first rifle's muzzle, snapping it skyward with bone cracking force. The guard screamed. She rolled under the second shot, sparks biting stone inches from her shoulder, and came up hard with a knee to the man's throat. He collapsed, choking. An engine snail reared, screaming steam. Perseus surged forward, shield flaring as he slammed into the remaining guard, metal ringing like a bell struck too hard. The courier ran. Nyxia was already in motion. Loque hit him first, a blur of spectral force, slamming the man into the wall and pinning him there without biting. Not yet. Nyxia skidded to a stop, bow leveled. "Don't," she said softly. Loque chuffed in response.
"I'm just a courier," he babbled. "I didn't know, Skelva said it was salvage, I swear, I just carry what they hand me, I don't ask, I don't look, I don't…" Nyxia crouched slowly, close enough that he could smell blood and steam on her skin. "You looked," she murmured. His breath hitched. Her eyes flicked to the box. "Kneel," she said. The courier stared at her, trapped, shaking. Loque's growl deepened, vibrating through the stone. Nyxia didn't raise her voice. "Kneel." Loque loosened his hold. The courier slid down the wall like his bones had turned to water, knees hitting stone hard enough to sting. He didn't kneel with dignity. He collapsed into it. Hands still clutching the box like a prayer.