The lot looked smaller in daylight.
Riven stood across the street with a paper cup of bitter tea in one hand and studied the rusted gate as workers passed around him. Yesterday it had seemed promising because he needed it to be. Need had a talent for improving real estate.
In the morning light, the place looked exactly like what it was—an abandoned machine yard no one had cared about for years. Sections of fencing leaned inward. The concrete walls were stained dark by rain and smoke. Twisted metal frames lay stacked near the rear like bones arranged by laziness instead of purpose.
Still useful.
Useful mattered more than attractive.
He crossed when traffic thinned and stopped near the chained gate. The lock had been cut once before and replaced badly. Someone who wanted privacy but lacked standards.
Riven touched the chain lightly, then listened.
No voices, movement or any warning instincts worth respecting.
He slipped through the gap where the gate no longer met the post and entered.
The yard opened wider inside than it appeared from the street. Broken machinery sat in clusters across cracked concrete. Old steel panels leaned against walls at angles sharp enough to reflect light. Rainwater had gathered in shallow depressions, creating thin mirrors under the sun. A collapsed office structure occupied the far corner, its upper floor half-caved into the rooms below.
Prism Shift noticed the place before he did.
Reflective surfaces tugged at his awareness in a dozen directions at once. Not strongly, but enough to remind him the skill never truly slept. Angles became clearer. Distances easier to judge. Routes revealed themselves with irritating confidence.
"Good," he thought. "You approve."
Riven moved deeper into the yard, checking lines of sight and exits as habit demanded. Front gate, side breach in the fence, narrow climbable section of wall near the rear, office ruins with interior cover. Better than expected.
He placed his tea aside and began carefully.
Burst Step first.
A short acceleration from one marked crack in the concrete to another. Clean. Familiar. Again, longer this time. The burn in his legs arrived quickly but predictably. He repeated it until the body loosened and breathing found rhythm.
Then Shadow Veil.
His outline thinned, presence fading into the cluttered geometry of scrap metal and shadows. He moved between rusted frames, testing how the broken environment swallowed him. Useful. Better than alley walls. Worse than night.
Then Prism Shift.
Riven chose a dented steel panel six paces away and committed.
The world folded sharply.
He appeared beside it with both feet under him. No stumble. Only the now-familiar pressure behind the eyes.
Better.
He tried again from panel to puddle reflection.
The transfer dragged halfway through, spitting him out off-balance. He caught himself on one hand before his face met concrete.
"Still arrogant."
He reset and kept going.
Minutes became an hour. Sweat darkened his shirt. The headache grew and receded in waves. Slowly, patterns emerged. Prism Shift favored certainty and punished greed. Longer jumps cost more than they appeared to. Multiple reflective anchors at once created interference unless one was chosen cleanly.
It was less a movement skill than a negotiation with space.
Riven was beginning to appreciate why stronger men rarely looked graceful while learning.
He was lining up another attempt when applause sounded from the office ruins.
Slow. Lazy. Insulting.
Riven turned.
A man sat on a broken desk half-buried in concrete dust, one boot resting on a filing cabinet door. He was large enough to make the furniture seem borrowed. Thick shoulders, shaved head, dark coat hanging open despite the heat. A scar crossed one eyebrow and disappeared into his hairline.
Riven had checked the ruins twice.
The man smiled around an unlit cigarette.
"Good footwork," he said. "Terrible awareness."
Riven's breathing steadied as he picked up his tea.
"You've been here long?"
"Long enough to know you teleported into a puddle five minutes ago."
The voice was deep, roughened by old smoke and older violence. Amusement came naturally to it.
Riven took a sip. "Then you stayed for free entertainment."
"I stayed because this is my yard."
There it was.
Riven glanced around at the scrap, the cracked walls, the leaking roofline.
"You should ask for a refund."
The man barked a laugh.
"Got a mouth on you. Most people apologize before they lie."
"I haven't lied yet."
"You standing in my place acting like it looks abandoned feels close enough."
He rose from the desk with an ease that made his size more noticeable. Big men often moved heavily because they could afford to. This one moved like weight had learned discipline.
Riven set the cup down.
The man noticed and seemed pleased.
"That's better," he said. "Hate talking to people holding drinks."
"You charge rent or just force-feed speeches?"
"Depends who's asking."
"Someone deciding whether to leave."
"And?"
Riven looked at the exits, then back at him.
"Haven't decided."
The man descended the rubble slowly, hands empty.
"Name's Garron," he said. "People who work nearby pay to store things here. People who hide nearby pay more. People who sneak in and train mysterious movement skills usually pay with blood or coin."
"Reasonable pricing structure."
"I thought so."
Riven studied him while pretending not to. Thick wrists. Balanced stance. No visible weapon. Which usually meant confidence in hands, hidden steel, or both.
"How much coin?"
"For snotty brats like you? Too much."
"And blood?"
Garron grinned wider.
"Now that's negotiable."
Silence stretched between them while distant traffic hummed beyond the walls.
He could leave now. It would be the smart choice, and the same cheap choice he had made for years.
But cheap choices had built his whole life, and he was growing tired of their architecture.
He stepped away from the tea.
Garron rolled his neck once.
"There you are," he said softly. "Knew you had better instincts than that smug face suggested."
Riven felt Prism Shift stir like a blade noticing light.
If he won, he gained a yard.
If he lost, he would at least learn what kind of man had been charging rent to broken machines.