The echoing CLANG! CLANG! of the heavy iron gate dropping shut in the vault chamber was the final, brutal punctuation on Elias's initial success. They were sealed in, the air already thick with the metallic scent of the activated Stasis Wards they had disabled to get in, now reactivated to keep them trapped.
"Containment protocol executed. Thorne & Associates thanks you for the timely deposit." The synthesized voice, cold and utterly devoid of human emotion, resonated from hidden speakers, a chilling, corporate finality that confirmed their capture.
Elias's gaze snapped from the massive digital image of Cassian Thorne—the Broker—back to the sealed vault gate. He felt the familiar surge of primal terror, but this time it was tempered by the hard-won clarity from his battle with the Sentinel. Fear is a signal, not a command.
"He knew," Seraphina hissed, already jamming the tip of her knife into the locking mechanism of the gate. "This wasn't a general ward. This was a targeted ambush. He let us in, let us retrieve the Chronos Fragment, and sealed us with a passive trap, not a magical one. He wants to intercept the fragment on his terms."
Elias quickly placed the Veil-Shunt against the vault wall. The sudden fear, the thought of being dragged away by security guards and handed over to the police, was absorbed by the glass panel, giving a momentary, low-level buzz of calm.
"Arcane locks I can handle now," Elias said, his voice surprisingly steady. "But that gate is pure, twenty-first-century reinforced steel. Can we burn through it?"
Seraphina gave a frustrated shake of her head. "It would take my torch forty minutes and light up the entire block. We're on the ground floor. They'll breach the mundane entrance long before that. Thorne's security won't call the police; they'll use their own clean-up crew—and they don't use tranquilizer darts."
She pulled her knife free, turning to the heavy vault door they had just opened. The Stasis Spell was active again, its green light humming ominously. "This is our only way out. We have to breach the vault door's physical casing and use the Key fragment's energy to overload the ancient locking mechanism."
"But the Worm is right outside," Elias protested, remembering the horrific scraping sound. "We barely jammed the door."
"It's a Grave-Worm," Seraphina countered, already pulling a coil of thin, silvery wire from her utility belt. "It's built for burrowing, not problem-solving. It's trapped. Thorne's goons are only minutes away. The Worm is a distraction. A better one than the walls."
Seraphina shoved a small, magnetized mining laser into Elias's hand. "Cut four small circles in the steel, here, here, here, and here," she instructed, pointing to strategic points around the vault's central dial. "Go slow. Any extra heat or sound will get us killed."
The laser whined—a low, controlled, high-pitched noise. Elias knelt, his hands trembling slightly, and began tracing the first circle. The steel resisted, spitting tiny, white-hot sparks that sizzled on the floor. He focused entirely on the beam, blocking out the frantic, scraping sound of the Worm outside the door. He was no longer thinking about saving the world; he was thinking only about cutting a perfect circle in the steel.
Cut. Don't think.
The sound of the Worm's scraping stopped abruptly. Elias froze, the laser beam suspended inches from the steel.
A sudden, sharp CRACK echoed through the vault. The sound was not from the basement; it was from the main gallery. It was the sound of a magical ward being forcefully shattered.
"Too late," Seraphina muttered, her eyes narrowing as she pulled out two specialized smoke grenades. "They're here. Thorne doesn't use standard muscle."
Elias finished the fourth cut just as three figures—clad in matte black armor that seemed to absorb all light, armed with silent, exotic weaponry—sprinted into the vault chamber from the main gallery entrance. They moved with the terrifying coordination of highly trained operators, but there was an unnatural, almost puppet-like stiffness to their movements.
"Null-Suits," Seraphina gasped. "Thorne's clean-up crew. Highly trained mercenaries equipped with arcane suppression armor. Their sole purpose is capture or neutralization."
Before the Null-Suits could aim, Seraphina hurled the two smoke grenades. They didn't detonate with fire; they exploded in a burst of thick, iridescent white smoke that smelled sharply of mint and ozone—a magical blinding agent.
"Elias, now!" Seraphina screamed. "Put the Key fragment in the casing. Use the energy!"
Elias fumbled, placing the Chronos Fragment into its protective case and slamming it into the hole he'd just cut. The blue light of the fragment fought against the residual green Stasis energy.
"The case is reinforcing the fragment's energy!" Seraphina yelled, pressing her hand against the wall. "Anchor the discharge! Use your mind to push!"
He didn't know how to push with his mind. He just focused his will, his desperation, on the Key fragment, visualizing the energy flowing out, shattering the ancient locking mechanism.
With a blinding flash and a concussive BOOM that rattled every bone in his body, the vault door's entire internal mechanism vaporized. The great steel disc swung inward with a tortured shriek of metal, revealing the dark tunnel and the still-trapped, furiously thrashing Grave-Worm.
The Null-Suits, momentarily confused by the smoke, were now firing their weapons at the doorway. Not bullets, but thin, black needles that cracked the vault's hinges.
"Jump!" Seraphina grabbed Elias by the arm and hurled them both into the tunnel, barely a second ahead of the hail of black needles.
They landed on the hard, cold floor, the momentum carrying them several feet before Seraphina wrestled them to a stop. She immediately sealed the vault door manually, ramming a heavy, structural steel bar through the bent hinges. The Null-Suits were stopped, for now, by the Worm, which had taken their intrusion as an attack.
"Rule one of field work," Seraphina gasped, pulling Elias to his feet. "An Anchor is always a target. Thorne doesn't want you dead yet; he wants you and the fragments intact. We need to leave the city."
They ran through the basalt tunnel—the Hidden Line—at a desperate pace. Elias could hear the frantic WHOOSH-WHOOSH of the Null-Suits trying to dislodge the Worm from the vault door, their arcane suppressors likely irritating the beast further.
"Where are we going?" Elias shouted over the wind rushing past them.
"The Guild can't protect you here anymore," Seraphina replied, never slowing her pace. "Thorne has too much mundane authority in Veridia. He can lock down every airport and train station. We need to use the Guild's external network."
They reached another transport node—a small, circular platform with a single Guild-Liner waiting. Seraphina slammed a specialized keycard into the console.
"Designated Destination: Central-North Relay. International Transit Protocol Engaged," the automated voice announced.
The doors hissed open. As they sprinted inside, Elias looked over his shoulder. He saw a brief, terrifying sight through the receding shadows: one of the Null-Suits had managed to partially incinerate the Grave-Worm's head with a focused energy blast. It was still alive, but disoriented, and the mercenaries were now climbing over its still-thrashing segments, advancing toward the vault.
They were fast.
The Guild-Liner launched with even more force than before, pinning Elias and Seraphina to their seats. The walls of the tunnel blurred into a single streak of dark stone.
"We're heading for the Central-North Relay," Seraphina said, taking deep, shaky breaths. "It's a secret train link built beneath the city's historical riverbed. It connects directly to a hidden Guild safe-house in... Rome."
Elias stared at her, the reality of it stunning him into silence. Rome? Half a world away? He'd never even been out of state.
"The third fragment is there, or at least, the clue to its location is," Seraphina continued, pulling out a thin, medical kit to clean her gash. "The Guild there is older, less bureaucratic, and more focused on the archaic aspects of the Veil. Thorne's influence is weakest overseas, for now."
For the next ten minutes, the Guild-Liner hurtled through the dark. Seraphina, using the relative safety of the transit, forced Elias into his first real lesson.
"Rule two: Arcane assets are often disguised as the opposite," she commanded, not asking, but instructing. "The Chronos Fragment you recovered controls localized time distortion. The Glass Shard you got first is a pure Aetheric Stabilizer. You carry them on your body at all times. They won't protect you from a bullet, but they can act as a rudimentary shield against weak psychic intrusions."
She pointed to his borrowed hoodie. "You're dressed like an idiot. If we're leaving the continent, you need to shed the Elias Vance, Barista look."
"Where do I get a tactical suit in a subterranean tunnel?" Elias asked, sarcasm a defense mechanism.
Seraphina ignored him. "You need to learn how to sense the disruption. Close your eyes."
Elias hesitated, then complied.
"Forget the noise of the train. Focus on the energy signature of the fragments in your pocket. Feel the difference between the steady, cold pulse of the Aether Stabilizer and the rapid, internal ticking of the Chronos Fragment."
Elias concentrated. Beneath the roar of the Liner, he could indeed feel a subtle difference in the heat and vibration emanating from his pocket—a deep, calming pressure from the glass, a restless, anxious energy from the clockwork.
"That sensation is your new baseline," Seraphina continued. "Any sudden change—a spike, a drop, a shift in scent—is a warning. That's how you knew the Echo was on the subway. That's your Anchor Sense. Use it."
The sudden deceleration of the Liner snapped Elias back to attention. The car stopped in a massive, open cavern. This was the Central-North Relay. It was a staggering sight: a three-mile-long tunnel lined with tracks, and docked at the platform was a sleek, black magnetic levitation train—the international transport link.
As they stepped onto the platform, Seraphina pulled out a small, encrypted tablet. Her expression turned grim.
"It looks like Thorne's initial sweep failed. We've been spotted, but they don't know where we're going yet." She pointed to a series of glowing blue markings on the platform floor—subtle arcane signatures Elias now recognized as tracking wards. "They're painting the city with these. If we wait, they'll triangulate our position."
"We need to get on that train," Elias said, looking at the distant, black locomotive.
"We can't just walk on," Seraphina explained. "The international lines are hyper-guarded. I need time to input the access codes and bypass the surveillance."
She pointed to the far end of the long platform, where the tunnel receded into blackness. "Thorne's operatives will be here in minutes. The fastest way is on a Guild motorcycle. They're heavily armored, but not against magic. You drive."
Elias stared at her, dumbfounded. "I haven't driven a motorcycle since I was fourteen, and it was a scooter!"
"Then this is your final lesson in Veridia City," Seraphina snapped, shoving a set of keys and a thick, tactical helmet into his hands. "Rule three: When the Veil breaks, you don't get to choose your skill set. You only get to choose whether you try. Now try!"
She led him to a heavy, custom-built motorcycle with a low profile and massive engine, concealed beneath a canvas tarp. Elias threw the Key fragments into the bike's storage compartment, swung his leg over the saddle, and put on the helmet.
Seraphina climbed on behind him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. "The tunnel is long. Go as fast as you can. Don't look back. I'll open the access door to the rail line from here."
Elias revved the engine. The sound was a deafening roar in the confined space. He took a deep breath, pushing down the tidal wave of I can't do this.
I'm the Anchor. I survived the Worm. I cut the steel.
He dropped the clutch. The powerful bike surged forward, accelerating instantly down the long, black tunnel toward the distant international rail line. Elias leaned into the curve, the sheer speed blurring the tunnel walls.
He was officially on the run, a normal man riding a magical ghost bike beneath a city that was quickly turning against him, his only ally a cynical agent, and his only goal a foreign country where the world might be marginally less broken. His old life was shattered. His new one was accelerating at $150 \text{ mph}$ into the darkness.
Next Stop: Rome.