For a few scant seconds, the neon hexagonal red square of a stop sign held my full attention. There was nothing significant about the sign itself. What was curious was my reaction to it. I’d squeezed my brakes tightly to avoid going over the white line, despite the many blown lights, ignored signs and signal-less lane changes I’d made on my way here.

But for some reason, just on the cusp of reaching downtown proper, my muscle memory had kicked in. Maybe it was subconscious experience. I knew this particular intersection was busy. What was flabbergasting was how that instinct had overridden everything I’d just seen.

Moments ago, I’d passed a cluster of winged monkeys straight out of The Wizard of Oz, shrieking and battering their chests as they attempted to break into a children’s clothing boutique.

In the far background, beyond a veil of buildings, was a giant lizard. It was shielding its face with dark clawed hands, sparks streaming off its skin, taking the full rata-tat-tat brunt of a deployed .50 caliber machine gun that someone apparently had the foresight to not only own, but haul and set-up on the roof of a nearby apartment.

And just beyond the stop sign, an honest-to-god griffin was in the process of eating a User. The only way I knew he was a User was the gear and a heavy crossbow abandoned at his bloodied feet. It wasn’t going particularly well for the griffin. For the User either, but he was already dead, which in this case seemed more blessing than curse. The griffin, having already consumed the User’s head and hands, seemed to be trying to stretch and rip the armor in something akin to a beef jerky approach, and was visibly frustrated at the lack of success.

In the most abstract way, it was almost relatable.

That was good news. Not great, on the off-chance the attention was stoking enmity between me and the team I’d taken, but good nonetheless.

Interesting. I wasn’t anywhere near close to advising Kinsley to distance herself after the alliance had just been formed, but our conversation lent itself to the theory that Miles didn’t just “happen” to live nearby, that he was placed there—likely with a support team in place—to investigate something or someone. Roderick being high on that list of possibilities.

I closed out the message, only belatedly realizing that I’d stopped paying attention to the griffin entirely. If it had charged me while I was talking to Miles, there was a good chance it might have caught me by surprise.

Stupid.

The griffin was still too invested in cracking open its meal to notice me. It had abandoned trying to slice the man’s armor off and resorted to other measures. It held his headless torso in its strangely human hands and repeatedly bashed the corpse against the ground, screeching out angry cawing noises.

I glanced once more at the stop sign looming above me, and headed deeper into downtown.

Cross-referencing the map notes I’d made at the beginning of the transposition event with a brief back-and-forth with Jacob—who was, apparently, doing a hell of a job managing the small communications network we’d established, I was able to safely limit my search to the northeast end of downtown.

Coincidentally, in the same direction as the giant lizard being peppered by heavy ordinance. It was hard to make out details. Not just because of the distance. Every time I squinted, my eyes threatened to shut entirely, and when they did, it was almost impossible to force them back open.

I popped two caffeine pills, wishing more than anything else that I’d snagged more than just klonopin from the medical cabinet. Considering everything that was happening at that moment, it was a minor miracle I’d even remembered. Once Mom finished tapering, the opioids were the best option to temper the cravings from withdrawal.

The lizard, from what I could tell, was covered in semi-transparent blue skin, and approximately the size of a large building. It seemed reluctant to move while it was being shot at, which was a small favor. There was a large landing area of lux scattered around a large, historical cathedral. I hoped proximity to the lizard would drive other Users away. I pulled up to the curb and my bike faded to nothing, transferring into my inventory.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one that had made the connection. Up ahead, a man in dark-blue leathers and an oddly eye-catching golden mantle made his way carefully up the stairs to the cathedral’s entrance. He watched me as I approached—there was nothing in his body-language that was overtly hostile, but there was a hollowness in his eyes and a firmness in his stance.

Unsure what to do, I went with a classic. “Truce?”

Mantle cocked his head at me. Strangely, I had no feedback from

“What?” The man asked. Again, there was no feedback from my title. Something was wrong. Either he had a feat that was blocking my insight, or the Title couldn’t read him at all.

“Split whatever we find in there, go our separate ways after.”

“Sure.” The man shrugged. “If there’s anything left.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Was scouting the place when a bunch of people came through. Rough-looking folk. After they went in, there was a lot of noise, a lot of screaming. They were fighting something, or each other. Planned to wait until they left, but they’re taking too long.”

Great. I scowled, rethinking my plan. Either we were competing against a group of Users for what remained, or we were up against monsters capable of slaughtering a group of Users, which was almost as bad.

“Thanks for the heads-up. Actually—“ I was seconds away from disengaging with the man when the cathedral doors swung open.

A thick black smoke emitted from the double doors, pouring down the stairway.

RUN

I would have, if my legs hadn’t locked up. I caught myself on the concrete barrier and drew my crossbow, aiming it up the stairs. Chills went up and down my spine as a figure emerged from the smoke. His armor was sleek, almost futuristic, an amalgam of dark and red that added very little bulk. It was like the light itself didn’t touch him, rather warped around him, leaving him cloaked in shadow. The face-mask of his helmet was darkened chrome, with two rectangular eye holes that were black and empty.

He held a cylindrical black duffel over his shoulder and was otherwise unarmed. When he saw the two of us, he stopped. The eye slits in his mask glowed red briefly.

Get the fuck out. Now.

had lost all of its usual bravado. It sounded panicked, terrified.

It was only then that I noticed that the duffel bag, despite being casually thrown over the User’s shoulder, was nearly touching the ground. He was short. A full foot shorter than me, if not more, a fact that did nothing to diminish the sheer dread his presence invoked.

Seemingly unimpressed, the User made a slow descent down the opposing side of the stairs, separated from us by a railing. My skin crawled as he passed, every instinct, every fiber of my being screaming for me to run, to get clear.

“Is… is there anything left in there?”

On the third step from the bottom, the User stopped.

I cringed the moment the voice cut through. It was Mantle who asked. He licked his lips nervously, and was clearly also regretting his question.

The replying voice was warped, modulated. “There’s probably more. Don’t mind the mess.”

He continued down the stairs, looking back and forth three times before he crossed the street. My heart climbed into my throat. I looked back at the cathedral door. The dark smoke had dissipated. Even in the poor lighting, there was a line of visible corpses that led into the cathedral proper.

It was such a small thing. My brother was careful in many ways, but he was always in a rush. Eventually, there was an accident. The hatchback’s driver saw him running across the street too late. If the driver hadn’t slammed on his brakes the way he had, Ellison probably wouldn’t have made it. Lost his life, instead getting off with the broken ribs and a shattered left arm.

But it was a bad break. Both in damage, and the amount of money we had to scrounge up to pay for the medical bills after. He’d internalized that experience.

And in something of an overcorrection, every time he crossed the street? He always checked three times.