The corridor outside the Obsidian's sanctum had shrunk, or maybe the team had grown, their collective tension swelling until it displaced the air. The club's noise—once a dull, comforting background hum—now felt sharp-edged, every burst of laughter or glass-on-glass a signal meant to test their nerves.
They walked together, as always, but each member of UMBRA kept a careful perimeter. Ellen, first out the door, swept the hall with predator's eyes, finding the nearest camera before letting herself breathe. Owen took the rear, hands in his jacket pockets, the rhythm of his steps matched perfectly to Jane's just ahead. Hazel stayed between them, head ducked low, her thoughts churning so loud it was a wonder nobody else could hear.
Waiting at the end of the hall, poised at the threshold between shadow and neon, was Aika.
Her posture was perfect, as if she had been carved from the wall itself. The living obsidian behind her set off the red of her hair and the cool, glassy focus of her eyes. She didn't smile or nod as they approached. She simply observed, letting the silence stretch.
Jane spoke first, tone dry. "You planning to shadow us all night, or did you want a debrief?"
Aika's gaze flickered, microseconds of appraisal. "Both, if you please." She let her eyes settle on Owen, as if he were the least likely to lie. "There was an incident at the port. I am told it was handled. Would you care to elaborate?"
Owen shrugged. "Handled is the word. The mouse boy, the one from Sombra, he delivered. Fifty thousand got us the artifact and the full packet."
Aika's expression didn't move, but her next words sliced through the air. "He is still alive?"
"He is," Owen said, a trace of disdain in his voice. "He knows how to disappear."
Hazel looked up at Aika, a question in her eyes that she didn't dare voice.
Jane steered the team toward a lounge alcove, where old-fashioned privacy screens cut off the worst of the club's surveillance. They collapsed onto the bench seats, Ellen immediately taking the farthest corner, arms folded and legs stretched as if she might sprint at any second. Owen sat beside Hazel, careful not to crowd her, while Jane chose the end with clear sightlines to the main exit.
Aika followed, standing rather than sitting, her back to the screens.
"Let's talk about the contract," Jane said, nodding to the blueprints tucked under Ellen's arm. "What's the real endgame here, Aika? You've seen Shiori. She's not acting alone."
Aika folded her hands, letting the silence do half the work. "Do you believe she represents her family, or just herself?"
The question landed with more weight than the club's bassline ever could. For a heartbeat, no one answered. Jane's gaze narrowed, Ellen's jaw clenched, and Hazel found herself staring at the flicker of mana in her palm as if the answer might materialize there.
Owen's voice was low, measured. "If she had her family's full backing, we wouldn't be meeting in the dark."
Aika allowed herself the faintest smile—something cold and almost proud. "Then perhaps you should ask why you're the ones holding the match."
Outside, a siren's wail split the air—first distant, then nearer, multiplying, merging with the city's heartbeat. The screens in the club's corners flickered to a breaking news alert: images of Sombra and Lockwood aflame, riot police clashing with masked crowds, magic and gunfire tracing neon arcs across the night.
Jane stood abruptly, every muscle tensed. "They're locking down the city."
Hazel's eyes widened as messages began to flood her terminal—warnings, blackouts, a cascade of blocked escape routes.
Aika's voice cut through the rising panic. "Whatever you were planning, postpone it. Tonight, you survive. Tomorrow, we see who's really pulling the strings."
The team rose in silence, the city burning on every screen around them, the blueprints of the Arcana Bridge suddenly feeling heavier than fate itself.
The job is on hold, the city in chaos, and someone—maybe everyone—is being played.