Page 109 of Burning Ice
“Do you see anything?”
A pause. “Not sure. Readings keep jumping. Could be interference.”
Kylix’s jaw tightened. “We go anyway.”
“Copy.”
The convoy slowed as it neared the target sector. Rain hammered the vehicles, drumming against steel.
They braked at the curb. A line of Luminary transports waited ahead, engines low and steady. Soldiers stood in formation, weapons ready.
Kylix stepped out first. Heat rose through the air as he straightened his coat.
“Stay behind me,” he said.
Helianth followed, half smiling despite the tension. “Always do.”
Kylix ignored him, eyes fixed on the skyscraper ahead. “Jonah. Secure perimeter. No one moves until I say.”
The command snapped through the comms. The cold answered with the hum of weapons warming.
The team shifted in place, breathing shallow, eyes tracing the faint heat reading pulsing on their visors. Kylix stood at the front, pulse syncing to the wind that scraped through the alley. Every storm in Zephyr carried its own frequency, and this one vibrated low, almost human. He could taste metal in the air, wire and ozone. It felt like the city holding its breath with them. His throat burned with the need to move.
Somewhere behind him a boot scuffed. Someone whispered a count. He lifted a hand and the sound stopped, neat as a switch. Even Helianth went still. The sleet rattled against his coat and melted on contact. He thought of heat meeting cold, how nothing survived between them except steam and noise. Then he exhaled, slow and deliberate, and the doors waited like a dare.
“All units, green light authorized,” the commander said through the link.
Someone swore softly. Another touched the charm sewn into his collar, a reflex born of habit more than faith. Kylix ignored it. Fear was only noise.
He flexed his hand and felt the hum of heat build through his veins. The storm raged around him, the wind hammering against the street. His anger found focus. He turned toward the doors, boots splashing through rising puddles, and with a sharp motion kicked them open.
“Luminary. Move in.”
Their footsteps and shouts echoed down the corridor as lights flashed red against wet concrete.
Inside, the air was thick with copper and heat. Smoke curled along the ceiling, and the floor was slick beneath their feet. A guard coughed. “Smells like they cooked the walls.”
“Eyes up,” Kylix said. “Keep the line clear.”
They advanced, boots striking shallow puddles streaked pink. Somewhere ahead, metal groaned, echoing like a step. A faint clatter of chain fell from above. The sound came again, softer now, fading into rain and thunder. It was not a voice, but it made them pause, weapons raised. The silence seemed to breathe with them.
“Okay, we’re in,” Kylix said into his comm. “Guide us.”
Helianth moved beside him, shoulders tight beneath his coat. “Looks identical. They even left the cameras in the same place.”
“They wanted us to recognize it,” Kylix said. “They wanted us to feel late.”
“Two flights up,” the commander replied through static. “Second door on the right. White panel.”
“Up.”
The team broke into a sprint, boots striking wet steps. The air grew hotter with every floor. The red lights flickered, throwing shadows across the walls.
“What if those butchers haven’t left?” Helianth whispered.
“Then they’re ours.”
The white door waited ahead, half open and scarred. Its paint was blistered and peeling like burned skin. The hinges whispered with each gust of wind. Scorch marks ringed the frame, and something dark had seeped underneath, as if the room itself had tried to bleed.
