The dining hall stretched vast and echoing, chandeliers swaying overhead in the storm's breath. Tables stood like fallen barricades, chairs askew, silverware scattered. The storm hit against the glass walls, but the true pressure pressing down was something deeper, heavier, the invisible weight that had dragged them both here.
Corbin's chest rose and fell as he scanned the room. His thoughts were quick, jagged. A phantasm. Outside. That thing probably switched us around the building. Then it's most likely stuck to it like a leech. And it's dragging space. His jaw clenched.
Then he heard his voice.
"This is worse than I thought."
Tibo stood near the far end, head bowed, words almost muttered into his palm. His voice was low, flat but filled with annoyance at the current situation.
"Didn't even want to stay this long. Can't even finish the kid… he's out of sight now. Out of reach."
His fingers pressed against his temple, rubbing slowly as though he were dealing with a migraine. Another sigh escaped.
Then his chin lifted. His eyes cut toward Corbin, hollow yet burning with intent. "Doesn't matter. I'll just keep moving forward. Until I'm out of the building. And everyone in my way dies."
Corbin's teeth bared in a grin that held no humour. His fists curled as he remembered the klutz this man showed himself off to be when he and Ruben had first stepped into the building.
The shift came without warning.
Tibo bent forward and surged across the space, his body blurring in a forward sprint. Corbin caught the faint shimmer, a flash of metal in hand. He dropped low. Steel sang above his head, a blade stretching mid-swing, impossibly elongating as it hissed through the air.
Corbin flipped backward, boots kicking up splinters from the floor. But even midair the room warped. A dining table behind him lengthened like a drawn bowstring, snapping toward his back.
He twisted, clearing it by inches, only to see Tibo pluck a fork from the floor. The small prong gleamed, stretched into a spear in his grip, and shot forward.
It missed Corbin, but struck the chandelier overhead. Glass cascaded in a glittering rain. Before they reached the ground, Tibo's foot flicked, once, twice, again. Each shard ballooned into jagged javelin of glass, hurled forward by surgical and brutal kicks.
The air turned into shrapnel.
Corbin spun through the storm, weaving between them, fists cracking some out of his path, his movements quickening with every heartbeat. Sparks of fury lit his veins.
He hit the carpet rolling, then launched upward in a fluid motion, boots slamming onto the table's surface.
He sprinted its length, storming toward Tibo. "I'll tear you apart!"
But the table shrank beneath his feet, collapsing into nothing. Corbin's stride carried him forward into empty air. Tibo was already there, the distance folded into nothing, a butter knife in his hand stabbing forward, its edge swelling into a meter-long thrust.
Corbin twisted, palm catching the blade's flat, shoving it wide as he rolled his hand down the steel and swung a fist. His knuckles cut the air where Tibo's skull had been, but the man flickered, like he had vanished like smoke.
And then there he was. At Corbin's side. A kick slammed into his ribs like a falling wall. Bone and muscle screamed. Corbin's body skidded across the carpet until his spine smacked against the far wall.
Tibo didn't hesitate. He moved with the detachment and steadiness of a surgeon finishing a cut, body lowering for the final drive. The blade stretched again, poised at Corbin's throat.
But before the steel landed, the world cracked white. Again.
A brutal flash swallowed them both, burning sight from their eyes. Corbin felt the floor fold away, the walls unravel, the fight itself ripped from his grip.
And they were gone.
***
The cafeteria. That is where Ruben and Fionn were.
Fionn was clutching at Ruben's side as he stood rigid. The boy's knuckles were white as they tangled with the fabrics of his sleeves.
Fionn's small voice broke through first, trembling but persistent. "Why are we back here?"
Ruben didn't answer. His eyes moved over the room, searching corners, searching shadows. His thoughts churned with the white light. It was displacement. A Phantasm appeared, but it's still outside surrounding itself around the building.
Fionn tugged at Ruben's sleeve once. "Where's that man? The one who killed my father?"
Ruben looked down at him. The boy's face was pale, and damp with fear, but it was steady enough to meet Ruben's eyes. "I don't know."
But his mind was elsewhere. The shamrock. Tibo's words replayed in his head. The explanation of the Promise he had with his Ego.
Ruben bent down on one knee, meeting Fionn's gaze directly. "Listen to me. I'm going to get that necklace out of you."
Fionn flinched. His lip quivered. "How? He said… he said it could happen anytime." Fionn looked nauseous as he spat that out. "What if he… just makes it grow now and I…" His small hand went to his chest, pressing like he could already feel it there.
Ruben shook his head sharply, voice cutting firm. "He can't. Not unless he sees you. He said it himself. He has to keep you in his vision. So you are safe now."
Fionn's breath hitched. Ruben pressed on. "So here's what I'm going to do. I'll use my Ego."
The air thickened as Ruben stretched out his hand. Power crackled faintly beneath his skin, heat rising, scales prickling against his palm. From the shimmer of air a shape coiled into being, small and delicate, it looked harmless at first glance.
A dragon, its fur was in the colour of a baby blue frost, its eyes were glowing faintly like starlight.
Fionn's mouth parted in awe. Ruben lowered his voice. "Tell me exactly what it looked like. How small?"
The boy hesitated, then whispered, "He didn't make me swallow the chain. He ripped it. Then threw the chain away. Then he made me swallow the shamrock." His voice faltered. "It was tiny. Like… like it was a paperclip."
Ruben nodded once, he turned to his dragon and internally he started with his command.
'Find the shamrock and remove it with no harm.'
The dragon's eyes flickered in recognition. Without hesitation, it slithered from his palm, shrinking further until its body slipped thinner than a thread of smoke. Fionn's breath caught as it coiled close, then slid with impossible delicacy toward him, vanishing against his skin without as much as a sting.
Ruben touched his shoulder. "You won't even notice. It'll be over before you feel a thing. Do you trust me?"
Fionn hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
Ruben exhaled, ready to reassure him further, and then the world split apart again.
The white light ripped through the cafeteria, brighter and harsher. Fionn cried out, clutching Ruben's arm. When the glare faded, the smell of burnt tile was gone. They were standing in the basement. Damp walls pressed close, pipe overhead rattling with the storm. And beside them, a figure blinked into being.
Willow McCarthy.
Her breath escaped in a sharp curse, voice edged with frustration. "What the hell is going on?"
Ruben straightened, "It's the Phantasm outside," he said. "I don't think it's attacking though, it's more like a leech, attaching itself to the building."
Willow's eyes narrowed. She glanced at Fionn, her brow furrowed. "And why is that boy with us?"
Ruben raised a brow. "He was with me last time too."
Willow shook her head, sharp. "No. When I first teleported, I was with Sera. We figured out fast that only people with Egos are moving, no one else."
Ruben's chest tightened. "So they're alright then?"
Willow nodded, "Last I saw they seemed okay."
Ruben's jaw clenched. Willow's gaze flicked back to Fionn. "So how is he also being moved around?"
Ruben glanced down at the boy still pressed against him. His hand was tight on Fionn's shoulder, even now. "Probably because I've kept a hold on him," he said, voice even.
Willow tilted her head. Then she laughed softly, almost to herself. "If I make it out alive, this could make for a good story."
Ruben found her odd. She seemed too calm, but also just very non threatening. That didn't mean he didn't keep his guard up though. He just found her… odd.
"What story?"
Her lips curved in a sly smile. "I'm a writer. Newswriter." She pressed her finger to her lips in a playful hush. Then she leaned close, too close, her voice became a whisper against his ear. "So… who's the killer?"
Ruben stiffened, pushing her back, irritation flashing into his eyes. She only smiled sharper, persistence glinted in her eyes. "Come on. Is it Tibo or Tomas?"
She was being incredibly insensitive to the child in the room. Or maybe she had already forgotten about his placement here. Either way Ruben thought on it.
Whenever the next jump happens she may be right in front of the killer. It would be more of a risk to not tell her. And he may be able to gain something from this as well.
He sighed, and shoved her a step back. "Tibo Costel."
Willow blinked, then gave a small pout of annoyance. "Really? That boring face? Never would have guessed he could have been that dangerous."
Ruben's eyes narrowed, now he wanted to see if this newswriter was well connected or not. "Tibo said it wasn't personal. He said that it was a job. For a guild." Ruben said as Willow was turning around again. "Do you know what that may mean?"
Both her brows lifted. Her lips curved into a grin. "Now that is information." Her eyes gleamed. "Jacob's Guild. They're an organization of assassins."
An organization of assassins. That was surprising. And they seemed to be well known. And have been around for a long time. Then who could Cormac Ó Briain have angered that much to the point that someone would have ordered a hit on him to have him put down.
Before Ruben could speak any further, the world split again. The white light tore through, ripping his vision to shreds, burning the ground from beneath his boots. Fionn clung tighter, his small body trembling.
The glare faded. Ruben blinked, and froze.
Corbin was at his side now, chest heaving. And across from them, Tibo Costel stood whole, his black hair still neat, glasses gleaming in the dim glow. His expression was calm, but his jaw was tight, his head tilted in irritation.
"Things," he muttered, his voice low and reeked with anger, "just aren't going my way today."