The van moved first.
Its engine rumbled softly, controlled, deliberate. No sudden acceleration, no impatience. Whoever was inside knew exactly where they were going—and more importantly, they knew they weren't supposed to be noticed.
I followed from above.
Rooftops were easier now. Not effortless, but familiar. Night Step carried me from shadow to shadow, each transition smoother than the last as my body reluctantly adjusted to the strain. My muscles burned, joints protesting, but the pain no longer slowed me. It sharpened me.
Below, the city stretched endlessly—glass, steel, and concrete layered over secrets people weren't meant to see.
The van turned twice, then merged onto a wider road.
I stopped on the edge of a rooftop and crouched, watching its taillights shrink into the distance.
Too far for Night Step.
Fine.
I dropped down the fire escape and blended into pedestrian traffic, keeping my pace casual, head down. The shadows followed willingly, clinging to me just enough to dull attention without drawing suspicion. To everyone else, I was just another late-night commuter.
But my senses were wide open.
Every awakened left a trace. Not obvious—nothing as crude as glowing footprints—but distortions. Pressure changes. Places where the darkness felt heavier than it should.
And the van was leaking them.
Ten minutes later, it pulled into an underground parking structure beneath a building that looked aggressively ordinary. Gray concrete. Narrow windows. A fading sign that read CARTER & SONS LOGISTICS.
A shell.
I watched from across the street as the van disappeared underground. Two men exited moments later, scanning the area with practiced ease before entering the building through a side door.
Awakened, without question.
Security wasn't tight—but it was confident.
Which meant they didn't expect an outsider.
Good.
I circled the block twice, mapping entrances, exits, blind spots. Cameras were present, but outdated. Coverage overlapped poorly near the alley on the west side.
I waited.
Patience wasn't something I'd ever been good at in my previous life.
Now it felt… natural.
At 1:17 a.m., a guard stepped out for a smoke.
He leaned against the wall beneath a broken light, scrolling on his phone, completely unaware of the shadow behind him stretching just a little too far.
I stepped.
The world folded silently.
My hand covered his mouth as I dragged him backward into the alley. He struggled for exactly half a second before the shadows wrapped around his limbs, pinning him in place like wet cement.
His eyes bulged with terror.
"Relax," I whispered. "I just need information."
He tried to scream.
The shadows tightened.
Not enough to kill.
Yet.
"You work here," I said calmly. "You see things. People coming and going. Tell me about the man in the black coat."
Recognition flickered instantly.
Good.
"He—he's not supposed to be talked about," the guard choked.
I let a little more pressure seep into the shadows. His breath hitched painfully.
"Try again."
"Director," he gasped. "They call him Director Kade. He recruits. Tests. If someone awakens without registration, he handles it."
Registration.
That word tasted wrong.
"Tests how?" I asked.
The guard shook his head frantically. "I don't know everything. Just—people disappear. Some come back different. Some don't come back at all."
That matched.
"What's in the building?" I continued.
"Records. Training rooms. Containment levels underground. They monitor awakened activity across the city. Sensors. Informants."
An organization, then.
Structured. Methodical.
Arrogant.
I released the shadows slightly so he could breathe. "How many awakened here tonight?"
"…Five," he said after a pause. "Maybe six."
Not overwhelming.
But dangerous if unprepared.
I stepped back.
The whisper surged eagerly.
Take him. Strengthen yourself.
I hesitated.
Then shook my head.
"No."
The shadows loosened entirely. The guard collapsed to the ground, gasping, coughing violently.
"Forget this conversation," I said. "If you remember anything, remember fear."
I stepped away and vanished into the darkness before he could respond.
---
I didn't enter the building.
Not yet.
Instead, I climbed the adjacent structure and settled into a position overlooking the logistics office from above. From here, I could see through the upper windows—rows of desks, screens displaying data I couldn't read from this distance, people moving with quiet efficiency.
Hunters.
Cataloging prey.
My prey.
I focused inward, feeling the power coil tighter as my intent sharpened. Assimilation wasn't just about killing. It was about integration. Adaptation. If I rushed in now, I'd win a fight—and lose the war.
I needed leverage.
A crack.
Something small enough to exploit.
That was when I felt it.
A fluctuation.
Deep underground.
Different from the others.
Unstable.
I narrowed my eyes.
Someone was being tested.
The energy surged suddenly, spiking like a dying star, then collapsing into containment. Even from here, the echo made my chest tighten.
A new awakened.
Untrained.
Terrified.
And very much alive.
Director Kade's voice echoed faintly in my memory.
You're not ready.
Maybe not.
But they weren't as prepared as they thought either.
I leaned back into the shadows, letting them swallow my outline completely.
The city lights blurred.
The whispers softened, coiling patiently instead of screaming.
Tonight wasn't about destruction.
It was about infiltration.
I'd found my first thread.
And tomorrow—
I'd start pulling.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Until their entire hidden world unraveled in my hands.