“Of course,” Gareth nods, a knowing look in his eyes. “Though in my experience, the best stories contain more truth than fiction.” He looks between us. “Ash Hollow has quite the reputation these days. I imagine you’ll find plenty of stories there worth telling.”
The moment we step outside, the air feels wrong. Too dense. Too still. Like something’s holding its breath.
“You felt it too,” Lyanna says.
I scan the empty street. No pedestrians. No traffic. Just vacant storefronts with their lights still on despite the midday sun. The shadows stretch longer than they should—wrong angles, wrong directions.
“It’s not the store,” I say, keeping my voice low. My skin prickles with awareness. “It’s everywhere.”
Kari circles back from her perimeter check, moving with practiced efficiency. “Street’s clear. Too clear.”
Harper clutches her new book to her chest, eyes darting between us. “What exactly are we looking for?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I drop into a crouch and press my palm against the pavement. The sensation hits me immediately—a vibration that doesn’t belong. A rhythm that shouldn’t exist.
“Nova?” Ben’s voice comes from behind me. He and Dane approach from the east end of the street. Callum’s silhouette remains at the corner, keeping watch.
“There’s something underneath,” I say, tracing invisible patterns on the asphalt. “Lyanna, confirm?”
She kneels beside me, placing both hands flat on the ground. Her eyes close, breath slowing as she extends her senses.
“Tether line,” she says finally, voice tight. “Running directly beneath the street. It’s ... substantial.”
“How substantial?” Dane asks, stepping closer.
Lyanna opens her eyes. “Ancient. Modified. And recently reinforced.”
I stand slowly, brushing dust from my hands. “This isn’t just a spike or an echo. This is the convergence point.” I try to keep my voice steady, but I can hear the edge in it. “The one Faelan’s been working toward.”
Ben’s eyes narrow. “You mean—“
“Yes,” I cut him off. “And it’s not temporary. This is permanent construction.”
Kari swears under her breath. “How did he build something like this without anyone noticing?”
“He didn’t build it,” I say, connecting fragments of information in my mind. “He repurposed something that was already here. Something old.”
Dane steps into the center of our circle, and the air changes. His presence shifts the dynamic instantly—from investigation to command. His jaw is set, eyes hard as granite.
“We’re done here,” he says, voice pitched low enough that only we can hear. “Everyone back to the vehicles. Now.”
“But we haven’t even—“ Harper begins.
“Now,” Dane repeats. Not a shout. Not even particularly loud. But absolutely final.
No one argues. Not even me.
As we move, I feel it again—that wrongness in the air. Like eyes tracking our retreat. The shadows on the buildings seem to lean toward us, stretching impossibly.
Dane falls in step beside me, his shoulder nearly brushing mine. He doesn’t look at me, but I feel the weight of his focus anyway.
“You understand what this means,” I say quietly.
“I understand that we’re pulling back to regroup,” he replies. His tone leaves no room for debate.
The others file into the SUVs. Dane pauses before getting into the driver’s seat, his gaze sweeping the too-quiet street one last time.
“Next time we come back,” he says, “we finish it.”
