They didn't talk until they were three blocks away.
Desto kept moving, pace steady, shoulders loose, like nothing had happened. He knew better than to look back twice. The building had already decided what mattered. Staring at it again wouldn't change the outcome.
Only when they cut into an alley lit by a single flickering lamp did Tristo finally break the silence.
"That thing," he said, voice light, almost amused, "wasn't hunting."
Desto stopped. "Then what was it doing?"
Tristo leaned against the brick wall, eyes still black, still empty. "Curating."
Desto didn't like that word.
He checked the Glock automatically. Full magazine. Safety off. His hands were steady, but the pressure behind his eyes hadn't faded. If anything, it felt more focused now. Like a finger resting on a trigger somewhere far above them.
"People don't just disappear," Desto said. "Someone notices."
"They do," Tristo replied. "Just not long enough."
He straightened, pacing a step, then another. "Think about the photos. Not ripped. Not burned. The world didn't reject the change. It accepted it."
Desto frowned. "You're saying it edits?"
"I'm saying it doesn't fight," Tristo said. "It removes. Quietly. Cleanly. By the time anyone feels something's missing, there's nothing left to grab onto."
A memory surfaced uninvited—his cousin's voice, breathless, urgent.
Stay.
Desto clenched his jaw. "Then why didn't it take us?"
Tristo smiled again, slow and deliberate. "Because we noticed it back."
The alley light flickered.
Desto looked up sharply.
Nothing moved. No footsteps. No whisper.
But the feeling remained—like standing under something tall enough to blot out the sky.
They didn't go back to the runner den that night.
Instead, they crossed into a quieter stretch of the district, past boarded storefronts and abandoned transit stops, until they reached a low concrete building with reinforced windows and a rusted steel door.
Inside, a dozen teenagers trained in silence.
Some practiced hand-to-hand in tight circles. Others disassembled firearms on scarred tables. A few sat against the walls, bruised and exhausted, eyes too old for their faces.
This was where the Lawless District sent kids it didn't expect to survive.
Desto stepped in without hesitation.
The instructor noticed them immediately.
He was broad, scarred, missing part of his left ear. His eyes flicked to Desto's mismatched gaze, then to Tristo's black eyes, and lingered just a second longer than polite.
"You're late," the instructor said.
"We're early," Tristo replied automatically.
The man snorted. "Figures."
He tossed Desto a practice blade without warning.
Desto caught it midair.
"Show me," the instructor said.
Desto didn't ask how.
They sparred for ten minutes. No cheers. No commentary. Just the scrape of boots, the thud of bodies hitting mats, controlled violence under dim lights.
Desto fought like someone who didn't waste motion. No flourish. No anger. Every strike had a purpose. Every retreat set up the next angle.
When it ended, the instructor raised a hand.
"That'll do."
He turned to Tristo. "You too."
Tristo stepped onto the mat, smiling faintly.
He moved differently.
Where Desto was efficient, Tristo was deliberate. Each step landed like it had been rehearsed. Each feint drew reactions before the strike even came. He let opponents think they were winning, then corrected them.
When the instructor finally stopped it, he was breathing harder than either of them.
"Names," the instructor said.
"Desto Sinfall."
"Tristo Virtuoso."
The man grunted. "You two planning on merc school?"
"Yes," Desto said.
"Good," the instructor replied. "Because whatever you ran into tonight?"
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"That wasn't a beginner problem."
Desto felt the pressure behind his eyes tighten again.
"How do you know?" he asked.
The instructor turned away. "Because things like that don't start with buildings."
He tapped the side of his head.
"They start with attention."
That night, long after training ended and the lights were killed, Desto lay on the cold floor, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep didn't come.
When he finally closed his eyes, he didn't see the building.
He saw empty spaces where people should have been.
And somewhere, far beyond the Lawless District, something decided to wait.