The warehouse swallowed sound.
Cold steel and dead machinery loomed like a frozen mausoleum, every breath stirring the scent of rust and ancient ozone. Jax Voss moved first, boots whispering against concrete as he guided Renn deeper into the structure. His amber eyes never stopped moving—tracking shadows that clung too tightly to stacked crates and drooping wires.
The smirk remained on his lips.
A lie. A habit.
Partners were useful.
Until they weren't.
And Renn's eyes—darting, measuring—already belonged to the until.
"Vault's this way," Jax said quietly.
At the far end of the warehouse stood the door: a reinforced slab of steel, etched with glowing runes that pulsed like a sluggish heartbeat. Spell wards. Cheap work, but dangerous enough to turn a careless scavenger into ash.
Renn adjusted his satchel. "Tools are ready. Let's be quick. This place… it's loud."
Jax snorted. "Echoes don't scream unless you listen."
He stepped closer.
The shadows shifted.
Not dramatically. Not enough for panic. Just enough to notice—darkness pooling toward his boots like spilled ink. Jax ignored the prickle crawling up his spine and slid into the deepest patch of gloom, letting it blur his outline as he knelt.
A trick he'd learned the hard way.
The probe hummed as it met the first rune. Sparks danced along the steel.
Renn handed him an enchanted pick—slender, etched with faint ether lines. "Inner lock. Cost me a favor I won't get back."
"Then let's make it worth the blood," Jax replied.
He twisted.
Resistance. A brief surge of ether.
Then the runes dimmed—one by one.
The door groaned open.
Inside, the vault hummed.
It was smaller than expected, lined with lockers and reinforced crates, bathed in a sickly blue glow from emergency strips. Residual Nightmare energy crawled through the air, heavy and electric.
Renn exhaled sharply. "Jackpot."
"Slow," Jax warned. "These things remember how to bite."
He pried open the nearest locker.
Echo shards lay within—fist-sized crystals veined with dark pulses, like frozen lightning trapped in glass. Their glow throbbed in rhythm, syncing with something unseen.
A heartbeat.
Jax lifted one carefully. Cold. Heavy. Alive in the wrong way.
"Old stock," he murmured. "Pre-stabilization. The kind that tore through the Forgotten Shore, back when legends were still bleeding."
Renn grinned. "Sunny-era monsters. That means buyers'll kill for 'em."
Jax pocketed the shard.
That's when the flask stirred.
Warmth pressed against his chest. A vibration—subtle but insistent. He glanced down just as a thin shadow-thread uncoiled from the shard in his hand, writhing like smoke with intent.
The flask reacted.
The cork popped loose a fraction.
The shadow was pulled inside.
—slurp—
A whisper slid through Jax's mind.
Take… more…
He staggered.
For a heartbeat, the world sharpened—every crack in the walls, every pulse of energy, every breath Renn took became painfully clear. Then it faded, leaving unease behind.
Jax stared at the flask. Green light swirled inside the glass.
"…Since when do relics get hungry?" he muttered.
Renn noticed.
His smile thinned. "That thing just ate a shard."
"Family heirloom," Jax said, corking it fast. "Not for sale."
The scar on his cheek burned—hot, rhythmic, alive.
They worked faster.
Lockers opened. Shards filled satchels. Enough wealth to buy warmth, food—maybe even passage closer to the city cores.
Renn kept glancing at Jax's coat.
"Big score," he said casually. "Fifty-fifty feels light."
Jax didn't look up. "Greed's a shadow that eats its owner."
"Sixty-forty."
"No."
Renn laughed, hollow. "Rifts are getting worse. Stabilization didn't fix the cracks—it made them meaner. I deserve insurance."
Jax straightened, amber eyes hard. "We all bleed out here. That's the insurance."
Silence stretched.
The vault hummed louder.
Jax's thoughts drifted—unwanted.
Sirens.
Tearing sky.
Parents swallowed by void.
Ten years old. Alone. Hiding with shaking hands as scavengers prowled past. The flask whispering—
Hide… shadows…
He'd listened.
He always listened.
The memory snapped.
Renn was closer now. Too close.
"Seventy-thirty," Renn said softly. "Throw in the flask."
Jax's smirk vanished.
"No."
The shadows lengthened.
The flask vibrated violently.
Betray… steal…
A low rumble rolled through the warehouse.
Jax stiffened. "You hear that?"
Renn's hand slid toward his belt. "Wind."
"No," Jax said. "That's a rift."
The air near the vault door shimmered—reality thinning like stretched glass. Cold fog seeped through.
Renn stepped sideways, blocking the exit. "About the split—"
The rumble deepened.
The shards pulsed faster.
Jax backed up, heart hammering. "This isn't the time."
Renn drew his blade. "Hand over the flask."
Jax moved first.
A shard flashed up—used like a dagger. Renn lunged. Sparks flew as probe met steel.
The flask hit the floor.
Shadows exploded outward.
They wrapped around Jax's hands like living gloves.
Power surged.
He shoved Renn back hard enough to dent a crate.
Renn stared. "What are you?"
Jax snatched the flask, corking it with a snarl. "A thief."
The vault wall shuddered.
A tear split reality.
Cold poured in.
Whispers followed.
Jax grabbed his satchel and ran.
Behind him, Renn screamed something—anger, greed, fear—it blurred together as the warehouse began to wake.
The flask whispered, satisfied.
More… coming…
And the shadows listened.