The Iron District never truly quieted down, even at three in the morning.
Streetlights buzzed like sleepy insects, casting long, jaundiced shadows across cracked sidewalks and boarded-up storefronts.
Christna moved through the maze of alleys with the careful swagger of someone who had just discovered she could bend the rules of reality without asking permission first.
Her dress, once soft lavender-gray, now carried the faint grit of rooftops and warehouse dust, but she wore it like battle armor anyway.
The Chaos Force walked with her, a warm invisible companion that brushed against her skin every time she turned a corner.
She had chosen a new hideout: an old brick tenement three blocks from the river, the kind of building the city had forgotten to demolish.
The landlord took cash, asked zero questions, and handed over a key that looked older than the building itself.
Christna climbed five flights of stairs that creaked like they were gossiping about her, then slipped inside apartment 5C.
One room.
One window.
One mattress that smelled faintly of mothballs and someone else's bad decisions.
Perfect.
She dropped the go-bag by the door and crossed to the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to peek at the street below.
Nothing unusual.
A drunk stumbling home.
A delivery drone whirring past with glowing packages.
The city breathing its usual tired rhythm.
Then she felt it.
A prickle at the base of her neck, sharp and cold, like someone had drawn a finger down her spine made of ice.
The Chaos Force snapped alert, no longer playful—now coiled, watchful, ready to strike.
Christna's violet eyes narrowed.
She scanned the rooftops across the street.
There.
Three figures in dark tactical gear, moving with the precise, silent grace of people who had trained to be invisible.
They weren't MEO's heavy hitters—the ones who came in vans and battering rams.
These were scouts.
Quiet.
Patient.
The kind that watched for days before the real team moved in.
One crouched on the opposite roof, binoculars raised.
Another leaned against a fire escape, scanning the street with a handheld device that blinked faint red.
The third paced slowly, earpiece glowing, murmuring into it like he was reporting to a disappointed parent.
Christna's lips curled into a grin that felt too sharp for her own face.
They thought they were hunting.
They had no idea the prey was already smiling back.
She stepped away from the window, letting the curtain fall.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a streetlamp sneaking through the cracks.
She paced slowly, bare feet silent on the peeling linoleum, mind racing faster than her heartbeat.
They were close.
Too close.
If they had eyes on the building, they had probably tagged the landlord already, maybe slipped a tracker into the key, maybe even had a drone circling overhead right now.
The Chaos Force purred in her chest, eager, almost giggling.
*Play,* it seemed to say.
*Just a little.*
Christna stopped in the center of the room.
She raised one hand, palm up, and let a tiny violet spark dance between her fingers.
It spun lazily, bright enough to cast flickering shadows on the walls, then brighter still until the whole room hummed with soft purple light.
She whispered to it like an old friend.
"Show me."
The spark flared once, then shot upward, passing through the ceiling like smoke.
Christna closed her eyes.
Through the Chaos Force, she saw.
The scouts' heat signatures glowed red against the cold rooftops.
One was relaying coordinates into his comms.
Another adjusted a small camera drone perched on the ledge, its lens pointed straight at her window.
The third had already slipped down to street level, positioning himself in the alley behind the building—cutting off the back exit.
They were setting a perimeter.
Slow.
Methodical.
They didn't know she was watching them back.
Christna opened her eyes.
The spark returned to her palm, obedient, playful, waiting.
She laughed—soft, delighted, dangerous.
The sound bounced off the bare walls like a promise.
They thought they had the advantage.
They thought she was scared, cornered, desperate.
They were wrong.
Christna walked to the window again, this time throwing the curtain wide open.
She stood framed in the glass, silver hair glowing under the streetlight, violet eyes blazing like twin beacons.
Across the street, the scout with the binoculars froze.
Christna raised one hand in a lazy wave.
The violet spark leaped from her palm, streaked across the gap between buildings, and exploded into a harmless but brilliant burst of light right in front of his lens.
The scout stumbled backward, cursing into his comms.
Christna grinned wider.
Message sent.
She turned away from the window, already moving.
The Chaos Force laughed with her—bright, wild, unstoppable.
The scouts had arrived near her neighborhood.
Good.
Because Christna was done hiding.