The entire event—what the media would later name The New York Explosion—lasted five and a half minutes.

  In five and a half minutes, nearly 44% of the city had been leveled, disfigured, or permanently altered. Landmarks were reduced to ash. Power grids melted. Transit systems collapsed. And over 2.62 million killed and over 4 million injured.

  And the world felt it.

  Just one month after California went up in flames, now New York was the new cautionary tale.

  Something was coming. And the world was finally aware of it.

  —

  Savannah got up with a quiet groan, stretching until her shoulders popped. She hadn’t even bothered returning her room to its normal setup. The living room was still the living room, and the couch her mattress. She had passed out on it fully dressed, exhaustion winning over comfort.

  She shuffled to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and splashed cold water over her face. The shock helped, but not enough.

  She unraveled her ponytail, letting her long red hair spill around her shoulders, wild and tangled. Her eyes were dull in the mirror. Focused—but heavy.

  Walking back through the apartment, she stopped in front of the cracked sliding glass door.

  The fractured pane caught the rising light oddly, casting prisms over the twisted cityscape beyond. Skyscrapers in the distance were half-broken, smoke trails still curling like thin fingers into the clouds. The skyline was jagged now—a scar instead of a symbol.

  Funny thing was… the fractured glass almost improved the view. It made it look like a portrait. Something curated. Framed.

  That thought made her stomach twist.

  Pictures.

  Mason Marwell.

  Even just thinking his name sparked irritation. She wasn’t sure why he had shown up. Why he’d let her and Lucenzo live. Why he’d played along.

  All she knew was: his presence added one more piece to a puzzle she didn’t remember choosing to solve.

  And she was tired of that. Tired of being a reaction. Tired of being someone else’s audience. Tired of riding shotgun in her own life. Savannah stared out at the ruined horizon, jaw tight.

  Sandra walked in, her hair in a messy bun and the dark circles under her eyes giving her a gaunt, distant look. She looked like she hadn’t slept—not that Savannah expected her to. A Veythari war just tore through part of the city, and while the fighting had ended, the echoes were still in the walls.

  The Devils Den had attacked the E.R.O., though no one could explain why. Once Anaya woke up, they might finally get some answers.

  Sandra looked at her daughter—just looked.

  They didn’t speak.

  This was the first time her mother had actually seen her in action—or at least been aware of it. Savannah usually made sure things didn’t touch home.

  Luckily, the pendant of Oblivion had come in handy. Just a few drops in Tony and his friends’ drinks, and they forgot everything. They now believed they’d hidden in the basement like scared civilians while the attack raged overhead.

  She hadn’t erased Sandra’s memory.

  Maybe this time, she should have.

  There was something… off about her mom. Not in a way Savannah could put a name to. Just distant. Disconnected. As if she was watching a movie she didn’t like but couldn’t turn off.

  Still, Sandra went about her morning like normal. Walked into the kitchen. Opened the fridge. Lit a cigarette. Then turned and said, “Thanks for not turning the living room back into your room. And I hope you know I’m charging for that door.”

  Savannah chuckled. “Of course.”

  A pause.

  “Oi? You’re not curious?” Savannah asked.

  Sandra waved her off. “The news filled me in.”

  “Yeah, ’cause the news really knows what’s going on,” Savannah said with a hint of sarcasm.

  Sandra looked over at her, unblinking. “Do you?”

  That shut her up.

  No answer. No comeback.

  With nothing more to say, Savannah walked over to the hamper in the corner, pulled out a few clothes, and headed into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, changed into a green hoodie and black jeans, tied her hair back into a low bun.

  She came back out, and moved toward the front door.

  “Well, see ya, Sandra,” she said, half-heartedly.

  She turned the knob, ready to leave, but her mom called out behind her.

  “Hey, Savannah.”

  She stopped. Just for a second.

  “You okay?” Sandra asked.

  Savannah didn’t turn around right away. She glanced back just enough to show her face—just enough for a smirk.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  Savannah’s smirk twisted slightly. “What could you do about it?”

  The silence that followed said everything.

  She nodded once. “I’ll see you around, Sandra.”

  Sandra didn’t fight it. She just sighed, lowered her eyes, and gave a tired nod.

  Savannah opened the door, stepped out, and shut it behind her.

  The city still smelled like smoke and nerves.

  Savannah sat on the cracked bench outside her apartment, sucking quietly on a cherry lollipop. Her hood was up despite the heat, the wind brushing strands of red hair across her face. The car that was supposed to pick her up wasn’t due for another twenty minutes—but she didn’t care. She’d rather wait here than spend another second inside.

  She stared at nothing.

  At everything.

  The skyline was jagged and uneven. The wind was heavy with ash. She could still hear the distant buzz of news drones in the air and the static pop of far-off sirens. Helicopters littered the sky as well looking like huge birds over a desert.

  She felt lost.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  She felt tired.

  But more than anything—she felt defeated.

  No matter how hard she pushed, no matter how many times she threw herself into the fire, it never let up. She wasn’t the type to complain. But, hell—even she had her limits.

  And they were piling up fast.

  “Excuse me… is it okay if I sit here?”

  The voice was soft. Warm. Kind, almost.

  Savannah blinked, looking up slowly. The sunlight hit just right, making her squint. She could barely make out the features at first, but then the woman’s outline came into focus—with vibrant golden hair that shimmered in the light like strands of sun.

  Probably dyed, Savannah figured.

  Her eyes were a bright gold, too—striking enough that they almost didn’t feel real. But Savannah felt no pressure from her. No unusual mani. No powerful or concealed aura. Just… painfully normal.

  So, probably contacts.

  “Yeah,” Savannah muttered, dragging the lollipop to one side of her mouth. “You can sit there.”

  The woman nodded and eased onto the bench beside her. They didn’t look at each other. Just sat.

  For a moment, the city fell quiet around them.

  Two strangers.

  “Not to be nosey…” the woman began.

  Savannah side-eyed her. “Oi, most people that say that are nosey.”

  The woman chuckled, her voice light. “I do have a bad habit of overstepping.”

  “Maybe you should start showing restraint now.”

  “Hmmm?” she hummed playfully. “Yeah. No better time than the present.”

  That actually pulled a real laugh out of Savannah—short, unexpected. She shook her head and sucked on her lollipop.

  “You’re interesting,” the woman said.

  “I’m really not.”

  “Why do you feel that way?”

  Savannah leaned back against the bench, eyes narrowing at the sky. “I’d rather not give a random stranger an even more random trauma dump.”

  “After everything that happened I thought maybe you needed to vent,” the woman replied gently. “Apologies. I’ll leave you alone.”

  She turned her gaze away, settling into silence again. The city buzzed softly in the background, the sounds of distant rebuilding humming in the air.

  Savannah sat there. Still.

  Now it was awkward.

  But that wasn’t her fault.

  She sighed.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to say something.

  To someone who didn’t understand.

  Who wasn’t involved.

  Though… the last time she tried that, the person turned into a beast and nearly tore her and everyone else apart.

  She looked around. No demurges. No rifts.

  She made damn sure this time.

  Her eyes drifted over to the woman beside her.

  “Oi…”

  The woman turned to look at her with a soft smile. “You say ‘Oi’—where’d you learn that?”

  Savannah shrugged. “It’s a stupid trait.”

  The woman giggled.

  “Anyway… you still down to listen?”

  “Of course,” the woman said, folding her hands in her lap. “It’s why I asked.”

  Savannah tilted her head back, her eyes tracing the edge of the broken skyline. Her voice came soft at first, like a whisper being tested.

  “I just feel… lost.”

  The words hung there, raw and too honest.

  “So much is happening out of my control…” Her voice caught in her throat. She swallowed it down but couldn’t stop the quiver. “And it scares me.”

  She laughed bitterly through her nose. “I’m used to uncertainty. Been living with it since I was six. But this…” Her eyes drifted to the fractured horizon, where scorched buildings still coughed smoke into the sky. “I’m not okay with this kind of destruction. This scale.”

  The woman beside her didn’t interrupt, but Savannah could feel her attention shift—felt those strange golden eyes studying her.

  She stiffened a little. Realized she was saying too much.

  Quickly, she added, “I mean—not like I was involved. I wasn’t in the city during the actual blast. Just near it. Like… on the edge.”

  Technically true. Technically a lie.

  The woman nodded gently, letting the half-truths pass without challenge.

  “I think everyone feels a little lost at your age,” she offered in a soft, thoughtful tone. “The world spins fast. Sometimes faster than we can stand still in.”

  But Savannah’s expression said it all—blank but heavy. Her aura leaked just enough weight to shift the air around them. That look wasn’t one of a girl looking for reassurance.

  She didn’t want it.

  The woman smiled faintly, a small curve of her lips that Savannah didn’t see. Her gaze lifted toward the same sky Savannah was watching.

  “You know,” she said, voice still calm, “people chase all kinds of things to feel found. Stability. Purpose. Justice. Power. Love. Something to define them.”

  She let the wind catch her hair.

  “But the truth is… Desire defines you more than anything. The kind you don’t speak about out loud. The kind that pulls at you when no one else is looking. Even if you’re lost—especially when you’re lost—it’s that quiet want that can shape your next step.”

  Savannah glanced at her from the corner of her eye, not quite sold—but not turning away either.

  “If you can’t find your goal,” the woman continued, “then find your desire. Let it drag you. Even if it changes. Even if it evolves. Chase the thing that tugs hardest on your soul.”

  She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering into something almost conspiratorial.

  “Because if you keep chasing it—further and further—you’ll either be free… or you’ll become your own version of free. At least that’s my hypothesis.”

  Silence returned between them, but something lingered in it now. Not comfort. Not clarity.

  Just a spark.

  Before Savannah could fully respond—before she could decide whether that spark meant anything at all—the sound of tires against loose asphalt cut through the stillness.

  The car.

  Already?

  She blinked, pulling the lollipop from her mouth and glancing at the time on her watch. Had it already been twenty minutes?

  Didn’t feel like it.

  She turned to say something to the woman beside her, maybe just a quick thanks or a sarcastic “good talk”—but the bench was empty.

  Savannah blinked again, frowning as she stood. A quiet chill ran up her spine, not quite fear, not quite confusion. Just a disconnection, like the world had skipped a frame and hoped she wouldn’t notice.

  She shook it off. Chalked it up to the last few days catching up with her.

  The car door opened as she approached—sleek, armored, government-issued. A fellow Veythari sat behind the wheel, a calm-faced woman with a power mark branded faintly across her neck like an unfinished tattoo.

  “You saw me talking to someone, right?” Savannah asked as she slid into the back passenger seat, still unsettled.

  The driver glanced at her through the mirror and nodded. “Yeah. Pulled up and saw you two chatting. Looked like you said goodbye and she walked off.”

  Savannah’s brows drew together.

  That… wasn’t how she remembered it.

  There was no goodbye. No parting words. She just looked away for a second—a blink—and the woman was gone.

  But maybe she had zoned out. Maybe she was so caught in her own head that she imagined the moment lasted longer than it did.

  She rubbed her temple and slumped back in the seat.

  “Never mind,” she muttered. “Just tired.”

  The driver didn’t respond. Just tapped the steering wheel and pulled off into traffic as the city, broken but stubbornly alive, rolled past outside the window.

  The ride to Echo-7 wasn’t too bad. Bumpy roads but smooth once they left the city, a quiet ride, and most importantly—no Lucenzo. She was thankful for that. He was off doing who knows what, and honestly? That was fine with her.

  Hopefully Anaya was recovering. She owed her a hospital trip. Savannah had said she’d land her there—and she still planned to. Eventually. Deep down though she was glad she survived.

  As the scenery passed, she found herself drifting into thoughts of that strange conversation with the woman at the bench.

  She hadn’t said much back then. But now?

  It was hitting her.

  She was directionless. At first, that had been fine. Freedom. Fluidity. But lately? It felt like every stray responsibility in the world was falling into her lap. Unasked for. Undeserved. Unrelenting.

  She didn’t have a desire, not in the Manifestation sense.

  But she had a goal now.

  Red Hollow.

  Whatever happened that day—it tore her life apart. Her past already sucked, but after that? It wasn’t just hard. It was hell. And she wasn’t going to keep letting that event define her without knowing what really happened.

  She had to avenge everyone.

  She had to make sure Zoey was okay.

  And she had to face the thing she hadn’t been ready to look at since that nightmare began.

  This meeting? It made her stomach churn. But it had to be done.

  Red Hollow.

  Mason.

  Devils Den.

  She was coming for answers. And for anyone who stood in her way?

  Well, they’d regret standing at all.

  Savannah smirked, just slightly, as the car slowed and rolled into the checkpoint.

  —

  Echo-7 had a strict intake procedure.

  The moment she stepped out of the vehicle, two guards scanned her twice—once with mani filters, and once for weapons. Another escort took her into a side room and checked for any lingering aura remnants. After clearance, she walked with a silent Veythari through a long, sleek corridor of reinforced obsidian walls. The air was sterile and cold, pulsing faintly with embedded barrier seals.

  Her shoes echoed down the hallway.

  Her breathing picked up—not from fear, but tension. Pressure. She forced it to level out.

  At the end of the hall, standing tall in her worn duster and wide-brimmed hat, White Bullseye stepped forward.

  The woman smiled and wrapped Savannah in a tight hug.

  “If you need anything after dis, you holler, sugar. Ain’t no shame in backing out if it’s too much. You done nough.”

  Savannah returned the hug briefly, then pulled away.

  “I’m fine,” she said, firm.

  Bullseye studied her for a moment, then gave a nod and stepped aside.

  The armored door in front of them hissed, then clunked as multiple locks disengaged. Metal plates slid apart layer by layer. When it fully opened, a gust of cold air and a flickering fluorescent light greeted her.

  She took a breath, pushing everything down—and stepped inside.

  —

  Four Veytharis waited inside.

  Two B-ranks, but strong enough to pass for A. And two confirmed A-ranks. All stood like statues—alert, restrained. As if the room itself demanded discipline.

  Savannah scanned them.

  She didn’t care.

  “Out,” she said simply.

  They hesitated, unsure if she was serious.

  Her green eyes sharpened, and her aura flicked for just a moment.

  “Oi! Don't make me say it again.”

  They complied.

  Once they were gone, silence filled the room like fog.

  She looked forward.

  And locked eyes with a familiar blue.

  Their posture was slouched. Timid. Like a child waiting for punishment that hadn’t been promised but was always expected.

  “Savannah…” they said. Quiet. Unsure. Their voice cracked.

  She didn’t move closer, but her voice was low.

  “Howard,” she said. “Or are you that other dipshit?”