"Did you get it?"
Salomon didn't bother hiding the urgency in his voice.
They were crammed into a narrow alley on the edge of Salem—half-choked with garbage, stale liquor, and something that smelled like regret left out too long in the sun.
Wong leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
"I… I think so."
He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to steady his heartbeat.
"…That was the first time I've ever stolen something."
Salomon blinked.
"Technically, that was robbery."
He reached over and gave Wong a couple of firm pats on the back.
"Also, I really hope there weren't any cameras. Otherwise, next time you step outside, you might get greeted by a few very nervous police officers."
A pause.
"Which, statistically speaking, is not great for your long-term survival."
Wong tried to take a deep breath—
Immediately gagged.
"…Why does it smell like this?"
"I regret everything about this location," Salomon muttered.
In the distance, the chaos they'd caused was still unfolding.
People shouting.
Police sirens.
Ricky White yelling loud enough to carry across the street.
Even blinded, he had felt it.
The moment the ring was taken.
That ring—
Had never failed him.
No accidents.
No injuries.
Not even a shaving cut.
And now—
Bruises bloomed along his wrist.
The worst injury of his life.
The situation escalated fast.
A politician losing his pants?
Embarrassing.
A politician getting robbed in public?
A crisis.
The police responded accordingly.
Everyone nearby was being detained—journalists included.
Salomon and Wong had slipped away just in time.
But staying in Salem?
That would be a mistake.
"Here," Wong said finally.
He opened his hand.
The ring rested in his palm.
Platinum.
A large pink gemstone at its center, framed by smaller stones arranged with almost obsessive precision.
Even without magic—
It screamed value.
Salomon studied it briefly.
Then nodded.
"Good. Put it in my pocket."
They couldn't risk using portal magic yet.
Not without stable access to Vishanti power.
Which meant—
They had come here the old-fashioned way.
A bus.
Wong leaned out of the alley, checking the street.
He waved.
"Come on."
No response.
A chill crept up his spine.
Familiar.
He turned slowly.
"…I knew it wouldn't be that easy."
A crash.
The ground behind him exploded.
Wong was thrown forward, hitting the pavement hard.
By the time he scrambled up—
The alley had changed.
Wider.
Broken.
Brick and stone shattered as if something invisible was tearing through it.
At the center—
Salomon.
Dodging.
Rolling.
Barely staying ahead of impacts that came from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Something unseen was attacking him.
Relentlessly.
"Get out of there!" Wong shouted. "Salomon, move!"
"No—!"
Salomon twisted, barely avoiding a collision.
They appeared.
Skeletal figures.
Wrapped in faded, archaic clothing.
Their forms bled faint pink light—the same hue as the ring.
Their voices—
Carried no sound.
But Salomon understood them.
"Heretic."
"Thief."
"Sorcerer."
"Return what you stole from our bloodline."
Salomon spat.
"Yeah—no."
He didn't have time for spells.
A brick slammed into his back.
Pain exploded through his body.
Wong didn't hesitate.
He charged in.
Dodging falling debris, he grabbed Salomon under one arm—
And ran.
"Are they still there?!" he shouted.
"If you put me down—" Salomon choked, "—I can actually fight back—!"
Each word came out strained.
Wong's grip wasn't helping.
"Not here!" Wong snapped. "We can't expose magic!"
"I thought— we weren't— the Ministry of Magic—!"
But the ghosts didn't stop.
They weren't like the ones in the museum.
These were anchored.
Bound to the ring.
Each generation of the White family had been guarded by them.
Strengthened by it.
And now—
They were hunting.
Glass shattered along the street.
Cars overturned.
Asphalt cracked.
To anyone watching—
It looked like something massive and invisible was tearing through the city.
"Almost there!" Wong gasped.
He veered into a narrow gap between two abandoned buildings.
Empty.
Isolated.
Exactly what Salomon had asked for.
Wong dropped him.
Hard.
Salomon hit the ground with a dull thud.
"…Ow."
Everything hurt.
But there was no time to complain.
He pushed himself up.
Staggered.
Focused.
Pain didn't matter.
Not now.
His training kicked in.
Breathe.
Focus.
Cast.
There was one spell he liked.
Simple.
Reliable.
Pure magic.
No tricks.
No conditions.
And it didn't miss.
"Magic Missile."
The words snapped into place.
Power gathered—
Then fired.