The city changed overnight.
Jack felt it the moment they stepped out of the transit hub and into the rain-slicked streets. Not in the lights or the traffic or the people rushing past—but in the air. It was heavier. Tighter. Like the city itself had drawn a breath and was holding it.
Crowe noticed too.
"Keep your head down," he muttered.
They moved through a narrow side street toward an underground data kiosk, one of the last places you could access unfiltered network feeds without tripping a dozen system alarms.
The kiosk flickered to life as Crowe slid a chipped data-card into its slot.
And Jack saw his own face on the screen.
A still image. Grainy. Taken from a surveillance camera at The Vellum.
ANOMALOUS ENTITY — CLASS BLACK
PRIORITY: ELIMINATION
Jack's stomach dropped.
Below his picture, his name.
JACK RYDER.
Reward figures scrolled beneath it—numbers so large they barely made sense.
Crowe swore under his breath.
"They didn't even try to hide it," Crowe said. "They want every mercenary, every bounty hunter, every desperate A-Rank on the continent coming for you."
Jack stared at his face on the screen.
It didn't look like him.
It looked like a stranger.
The voice inside him whispered quietly.
"They are afraid."
Jack swallowed. "They think I'm a monster."
Crowe glanced at him. "They think you're something worse."
Crowe tapped through the feed. Reports poured in.
— Harrow's accounts frozen
— Council assets mobilizing
— High-rank strike teams deployed
The underground was already buzzing.
Jack could see it in the shadow-chats flashing on the kiosk's side panel.
Did you hear what happened at The Vellum?
They erased Harrow. Not killed. Erased.
Who did it?
Some kid. D-Rank, they say.
Bullshit.
SS-Rank task force en route.
Jack's chest tightened.
Crowe clenched his jaw. "They're painting you as a walking apocalypse."
Jack looked at him. "Am I?"
Crowe hesitated.
"No," he said. "But they don't care about truth. They care about control."
A man nearby glanced at Jack a little too long.
Crowe shifted subtly, blocking Jack from view.
"Eyes up," Crowe murmured.
Jack felt it now—the way people's gazes lingered, the way conversations stopped when they passed. Fear traveled faster than any broadcast.
They were being hunted.
The voice inside Jack was calm.
"This is how legends are born."
Jack ignored it.
Crowe pulled him away from the kiosk and deeper into the alleyways. "We can't stay in one place. The underground will sell you out for that bounty."
Jack's heart sank. "Even them?"
Crowe nodded grimly. "Especially them."
They slipped into a derelict parking structure, rain echoing off concrete above. Crowe led Jack to the back stairwell.
"Sooner or later," Crowe said, "someone strong is going to find you."
Jack looked up. "How strong?"
Crowe's expression darkened.
"Strong enough that I won't be able to save you."
Jack's chest tightened.
The voice whispered softly.
"Then you must save yourself."
Jack clenched his fists.
Above them, somewhere in the city, something was already moving.
And it was coming for him.
They didn't hear him arrive.
That was the first sign.
Crowe and Jack were halfway up the stairwell when the pressure in the air changed — subtle, almost gentle, like the moment before a storm breaks. Jack's skin prickled. The seam inside him stirred, restless.
Crowe stopped mid-step.
"Someone's here," he whispered.
Jack's heart thudded. "Council?"
"No," Crowe said slowly. "Independent."
A laugh echoed through the stairwell.
Light footsteps descended from above, unhurried, confident.
"Well, well," a man's voice said. "The bounty really was worth it."
He emerged from the shadows — tall, lean, dressed in a long grey coat lined with sigils. His hair was silver, his eyes sharp and amused.
An S-Rank.
No.
Something else.
"Who are you?" Crowe demanded, aura flaring.
The man smiled. "Name's Lysander. And you're standing between me and the biggest payday of my career."
Jack's stomach dropped.
Lysander's gaze slid to Jack, eyes gleaming. "You don't look like much."
The voice inside Jack whispered.
"He is dangerous."
Crowe stepped forward. "Back off."
Lysander laughed. "You think you can stop me?"
The air bent.
Crowe was thrown backward like he'd been hit by a truck, slamming into the wall hard enough to crack concrete.
"Crowe!" Jack shouted.
Lysander hadn't even moved.
Jack's pulse roared in his ears.
"Stay down," Lysander said lazily. "I don't need two corpses."
Crowe struggled to rise, blood on his lips.
Jack took a step forward.
The seam inside him pulsed.
The voice whispered.
"Open."
Jack clenched his jaw. "No."
Lysander tilted his head. "Interesting. You're resisting it."
Jack raised his hand anyway.
"I won't let you hurt him," Jack said.
Lysander's smile widened. "Good. That makes this fun."
Crowe shouted, "Jack, don't—"
Too late.
Jack opened the door.
The stairwell screamed as space itself tore open.
A black cut surged toward Lysander.
Lysander's eyes widened — not in fear, but in excitement.
"There it is," he breathed.
He raised his hand.
And caught the cut.
Reality twisted around his fingers.
Jack's heart dropped.
"That's impossible," Jack whispered.
Lysander laughed. "Welcome to the upper world, kid."
The cut shattered like glass, sending shards of warped space flying harmlessly away.
Crowe stared, horrified.
Jack felt cold terror spread through him.
The voice inside him went silent.
Lysander stepped closer.
"Now," he said softly, "let's see what you're really made of."