The safehouse was a different kind of prison. This one, provided through a tenuous chain of favors called in by Reyes, was a disused artist's loft in a building scheduled for demolition.
It smelled of turpentine, dust, and the slow decay of forgotten dreams. Canvases shrouded in white sheets stood like silent ghosts in the vast, open space.
The single, massive window looked out over a bleak landscape of industrial rooftops and rusted water towers, a far cry from the gleaming spires of the financial district.
The temporary relief of having a plan had worn off, leaving behind the grim, granular reality of what they were about to attempt. The burner phone lay on an upturned crate between them, an inert piece of plastic that held the key to their next, potentially final, move.
Jax had used the loft's precarious, stolen Wi-Fi to set up a makeshift command center, his screens casting a sickly blue glow on the haunted faces of his friends. Alastor stood apart, as he often did, a statue of obsidian and bronze before the large window. He wasn't looking at the urban decay, but through it, his gaze turned inward, towards the battle to come.
"Reyes came through," Jax announced, his voice tight. He'd decrypted the data packet she'd sent. Schematics, timetables, and vehicle specs filled his screens. "The convoy leaves the city at 0200 hours. Two armored SUVs, one transport vehicle-that's the Professor. Four agents per SUV, two in the transport. They're taking the less-traveled state routes to avoid attention. Their final destination is a place called 'The Athenaeum.' No official records. It's a ghost."
Leo studied the route map, his finger tracing the winding roads that led out of the city and into the dark, wooded hills. "It's a good route for an ambush. Isolated. But that also means no witnesses. No backup."
"We're the backup," Maya said, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked from the screens to Alastor's broad back. "This is it. Our one chance to get the Professor back and maybe, just maybe, get some answers he might have."
"Or it's our one chance to get ourselves killed or captured," Jax countered, his usual bravado replaced by a raw, trembling fear. He pointed a shaking finger at the screen displaying the specs of the Pandora SUVs. "These aren't rent-a-cops, Maya! They're armed with classified tech. Their vehicles have reinforced plating, run-flat tires, the works. And we have... what? A guy who's good with computers, a historian, a human mood ring, and a... a..." He gestured helplessly at Alastor. "What is he, really? We saw the hellhound, yeah. But can he control it? Or will he just... lose it again and get us all shot?"
The question, the one they had all been silently asking, now hung in the dusty air, toxic and unavoidable.
Alastor turned from the window. He had been listening to the tone of their voices, understanding the fear, the conflict. He walked over to the crate and looked down at the schematics Jax had pulled up. He pointed to the image of the transport vehicle, then to the picture of Professor Evans that Leo had on his tablet. He looked at Maya, his expression grimly determined. He was ready.
"See?" Jax said, a hint of desperation in his voice. "He just sees a target. A mission. He doesn't understand the risk. He doesn't get that these people have families, that they're just following orders!"
"They took our Professor, Jax!" Chloe's voice was sharp, cutting through his panic. She was sitting on the floor, her back against a sheet-covered canvas. "They tortured him. They're going to disappear him. Are their orders more important than his life?"
"That's not what I'm saying!" Jax shot back, running his hands through his hair. "I'm saying there has to be another way! A smarter way! Maybe... maybe we negotiate. We have something Thorne wants." His eyes flicked to Alastor. "We could... offer a trade."
The suggestion landed in the room like a lead balloon.
Leo stared at Jax, aghast. "You can't be serious. After everything? You'd hand him over?"
"I'm not saying hand him over! I'm saying use him as leverage! Make a deal! Thorne is a scientist, not a soldier. He wants to study him, not necessarily kill him. Maybe we can broker some kind of... of arrangement."
"An arrangement?" Maya's voice was dangerously quiet. She took a step towards Jax. "You heard what Thorne said to Chloe. 'Invasive.' You saw what they did to the slab. They're not anthropologists, Jax. They're collectors. They'll put him in a box and take him apart piece by piece to see how he works. Is that the 'arrangement' you want?"
"It's better than being dead!" Jax yelled, his face flushing. "And it's sure as hell better than getting the rest of us killed for a man we barely know from a civilization that doesn't exist anymore! What do we owe him, Maya? What do we really owe him?"
The loft fell silent. It was the schism Thorne had tried to create, now ripping open from within. Logic and survival instinct pitted against empathy and a burgeoning sense of loyalty.
Alastor watched the argument, his eyes moving from Jax's frantic face to Maya's stony one. He didn't need to understand the words to feel the division. The pack was fracturing. He could feel the fear coming off Jax in waves, a scent as sharp as ozone. He saw the conflict in Leo's eyes, the terror in Chloe's. And he saw the unwavering, fierce protection in Maya's.
He made a choice.
He walked away from the schematics, away from the group, and knelt in a clear space on the dusty floor. He ignored them all, his focus turning inward. He closed his eyes, his breathing slowing, deepening. The air around him began to hum, the same low frequency they had felt from the slab.
"What's he doing?" Leo whispered, his argument with Jax forgotten.
Alastor raised his hands, palms up. And then, he began to show them.
It wasn't a violent transformation. It was a demonstration. A controlled, painstaking display of power. Shadows bled from the corners of the room, flowing towards him like iron filings to a magnet. They coalesced around his hands, not forming the monstrous hound, but shaping themselves into intricate, moving models.
With breathtaking precision, he sculpted the air. A miniature, shadowy version of the Pandora convoy appeared on the floor before him-the two SUVs, the transport truck. He then created tiny figures-stickmen of shadow representing the agents. He showed them surrounding the transport. He showed the Professor inside.
Then, he created four new figures. Smaller. More detailed. One with spiky hair 'Jax', one with a tablet 'Leo', one with long hair 'Chloe', and one that stood slightly forward, a leader 'Maya'. He placed them at the side of the road.
The shadow-play began. He showed Jax's figure deploying a device-a jammer-that made the agent figures clutch their heads in confusion. He showed Leo's figure pointing, directing the assault. He showed Chloe's figure finding a hidden path, a weak spot. He showed Maya's figure creating a diversion.
And he showed his own shadow-figure. It didn't rampage. It moved with the silent, lethal efficiency of a predator. It disabled the agents with precise, non-lethal strikes-a blow to a knee, a disarming strike, a focused pulse of shadow that rendered them unconscious.
He showed his figure tearing the door from the transport vehicle, not with mindless fury, but with controlled, immense strength.
He showed them a victory. A clean, surgical, controlled victory.
The shadow models dissolved, the darkness flowing back to the corners of the room. Alastor opened his eyes, his chest rising and falling with the effort. He looked at Jax, his amber eyes holding not anger, but a profound, earnest intensity.
He pointed to the spot where the shadow-play had been, then to his own chest, and finally, he placed his fist over his heart, his gaze sweeping over all of them.
The message was unmistakable. I am not a mindless beast. I am a weapon, yes, but I am a weapon you can aim. Trust me.
The display left them breathless. It was an answer to Jax's fear, a validation of Maya's faith, and a strategic blueprint that left Leo looking both stunned and deeply impressed.
Jax stared at the empty space on the floor, his mouth agape. The raw, terrifying power had been undeniable, but so was the absolute control. Alastor wasn't offering chaos. He was offering them a scalpel.
He sank back into his chair, all the fight gone out of him. "Okay," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Okay."
The choice was made. The schism, for now, was healed. They had a plan, and they had a weapon who had just promised them he would be a shield.
Maya walked over to Alastor and placed a hand on his armoured shoulder. It was warm, humming with residual energy. "Thank you," she said softly.
He covered her hand with his own for a brief, solid moment. The pact was sealed. They were going to war.