Ava’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade. The air in the warehouse was thick, charged like the moment before a storm breaks. The scent of old metal and damp concrete clung to the shadows, a reminder of all the secrets this city buried beneath its skin.

  Thorne stood before her, a living fracture in the dim light. Shadows slithered at his feet, coiling and unfurling as if drawn to him, their movements almost sentient. The air around him seemed to fold inward, swallowing sound, bending space, as though the darkness itself recognized him as its own. His gold eyes gleamed—not in warning, not in welcome, but something more insidious. Something like curiosity. It made her uneasy, like she was being measured, her worth calculated in ways she couldn’t yet decipher.

  “Impressive,” he murmured. “Most people don’t react that fast.”

  Ava didn’t lower her weapon. “Most people don’t step out of shadows like they own the place.”

  A slow smile curved his lips. “That depends on who you ask.”

  Soren shifted uneasily beside her, weight rolling from one foot to the other. “Ava, maybe we should—”

  “Stay out of this.” Her voice cut the air like steel, eyes never leaving Thorne. “I want answers.”

  Thorne tilted his head, unhurried. “And if I told you you’re not asking the right questions?”

  Ava stepped closer, the space between them charged. “Then ask them for me.”

  The shadows around him pulsed, responding to something unseen. “You’re looking for someone. So am I. The difference is, I already know where they are.”

  Her grip faltered—just slightly. “Who?”

  His gaze flicked to Soren, then back to her. “Not here.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “And I should just trust you?”

  “No.” A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “But you should listen.”

  Walking away would be easy. But something about Thorne—the way the very air seemed to bend around him—told her that if she left now, she’d regret it.

  Ava exhaled sharply, lowering the knife by a fraction. “Fine. Talk.”

  Thorne nodded. “Not here.” He turned, stepping into the shifting dark. “Follow me.”

  Soren grabbed her wrist before she could move. “Ava,” he hissed under his breath. “This is a bad idea.”

  She met his gaze, something unspoken passing between them. “Every idea in this city is a bad one.”

  And then she stepped forward, following Thorne into the night.

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  Veilport never slept. Even at this hour, the neon haze stained the streets, casting flickering reflections over rain-slick pavement. The air was thick with the mingling scents of rust, damp stone, and something acrid ozone, maybe, or the lingering touch of something unnatural. Ava followed Thorne; her steps measured despite the unease curling in her stomach. Soren’s soft curses trailed behind her.

  They wove through alleys and side streets, deeper into the city’s underbelly, where the Syndicate’s grip loosened and the Unbound’s influence seeped through. Thorne moved like a shadow given purpose; his stride unhurried yet deliberate.

  At last, he stopped before an unmarked door, pressing his palm against the metal. A faint ripple of energy passed over the surface before it unlocked with a muted click. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

  Ava hesitated, every instinct screaming caution.

  Thorne glanced back, unreadable. “You came this far.”

  She exhaled sharply and followed.

  Inside, dim sconces flickered, casting shadows along cracked concrete walls. A long table stretched across the centre, covered in maps, coded documents, and holo-screens filled with Syndicate schematics. Along the far wall, an arsenal gleamed—blades, modified pulse guns, compact explosives. This wasn’t just a hideout.

  It was a war room.

  Soren let out a low whistle. “Shit.”

  Ava’s pulse quickened. She had spent years navigating Veilport’s underworld, but this—this was something else. Not resistance. Not survival.

  Preparation.

  Thorne shut the door behind them. “You’re quick. You already know what this is.”

  Ava crossed her arms, keeping her voice steady. “You’re planning something.”

  He didn’t deny it. “The Syndicate has spent years tightening its grip on this city. We’re about to cut off its hand.”

  Ava kept her expression neutral, though her mind spun. She had no love for the Syndicate—the people who had pulled her strings, dictated her missions, ensured her survival came at a cost. But an all-out war? That was a different beast.

  Thorne studied her, his gaze unyielding. “You don’t look surprised.”

  “Because I’m not.” She met his stare. “I want to know why you wanted me here.”

  He leaned against the table, arms folding. “You’re good at what you do. Better than most of their lapdogs.”

  Ava’s fingers twitched, but she schooled her expression. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

  Thorne smiled faintly. “No, but honesty might.” He pushed off the table, closing the space between them. “The Syndicate’s looking for something. So are we. The difference is, we don’t plan on using it to keep Veilport in chains.”

  Something cold slid through her chest. “What is it?”

  A beat of silence. Then: “Nightfall.”

  The word sent a shiver down her spine. She had heard it whispered before, always in passing, always shrouded in secrecy. A myth. A ghost story. A warning.

  Soren stiffened. “That’s not real.”

  Thorne’s gold eyes flickered. “You think that because the Syndicate wants you to.”

  Ava inhaled slowly, keeping her voice steady. “You said you already know where it is.”

  “I do. But we’re not the only ones looking.” His gaze locked onto hers, unwavering. “And that’s where you come in.”

  Ava laughed, but there was no humour in it. “You think I’ll just hand it over to you?”

  “No,” he said simply. “I think you’re tired of being someone else’s weapon.”

  The words hit deeper than she wanted to admit. She glanced at Soren, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He already knew what she was thinking.

  Ava exhaled sharply. “You have one chance to convince me.”

  Thorne nodded. “Then listen closely.”

  He reached for a small device on the table. The moment he activated it, the lights flickered, and the holo-screen filled with distorted images. A map. A series of coordinates. And at the centre—a symbol she didn’t recognize.

  “This is where it begins,” Thorne said. “And where everything ends.”

  Ava stared at the screen, her pulse roaring in her ears. Whatever Nightfall was, it wasn’t just a myth. And whether she liked it or not, she was already caught in its wake.

  There was no turning back now.