Day in the story: 10th December (Wednesday)

I landed in my Domain and immediately broke apart.

I hadn't had a panic attack since I was fourteen, back when I learned to push all the awful things Penrose taught me into the back of my mind and when I finally stopped crying over my dead parents. But now it hit me like a tidal wave. I collapsed onto the black floor, shaking and gasping and crying, every emotion I'd bottled up during that conversation with him flooding out like poison from a wound.

I feared that man more than I feared death itself and now, he was officially my enemy.

At some point, I stopped moving. Stillness took over, locking me in a fetal position. The ever-changing light of my Domain rippled around me like the reflections on water, soft, unpredictable, oddly calming. It helped. A little.

[Not so good.]

Yeah, no shit, Anansi. I'm in deep trouble now. Real deep shit. All because I had to be greedy, had to pull the perfect heist.

[Not so perfect.]

Not perfect at all, girl. And now I have to watch over Jason. Pete. Soph. Zoe. Elena. Hannah. Lebens. I can't do this. I can't protect them all. As soon as Penrose gets comfortable with his new Domain, he'll come knocking. And I can't give him the necklace.

If you thought Eveline was bad with it… Penrose would be a walking void. The hunger in him is endless. I bet he'd try to rip this Domain from me the second he had the necklace. And worse, he'd succeed. He has the soul of an artist and the stomach of a predator.

Fuck. This was bad.

[You can move people.]

Yeah, I can. But what am I gonna do, uproot everyone I care about because I screwed up? They'd hate me for it. I need another way. A smarter way. But I don't even have the beginnings of a plan.

Penrose is a mastermind. One wrong move and everyone I love is as good as dead.

[Can Damian help?]

I don't know. He owes Penrose a life debt, but… I felt like he acted the way he did because of me. Still, can I really trust him? That man could break me in half with one hand.

[Nick won't.]

You're right. I actually… I do trust Nick. More than Damian, for sure. But even then… he'd always choose his family over me. Wouldn't he?

[Why do you fear him so much?]

Penrose? Because he's smarter than me. Always has been. He knows how to build power, hold power, use power.

[You are a better cheater.]

That actually made me laugh.

What good was a cheat against a man like him?

Maybe Anansi was right. Maybe I could still figure out a way to beat Penrose, preferably without killing him. But time would tell.

One thing was certain: I had to get a grip on myself. I couldn't afford to be this much of a mess, especially not now, when nothing had even happened yet.

Thank you, Anansi.

I touched the mural depicting my room and teleported there.

It took all of five seconds for my phone to light up with Nickolas Leben's name.

"Hello?"

"Alexa, this is very urgent. Please gear up and come to my house."

Trap? It felt too soon. Penrose had just let me go, barely an hour ago. Would he already be using the Lebens to capture me?

"Alexa, are you there? Please, if you don't come, I'm going by myself."

Nick had done everything to earn my trust and never asked for it. Until now.

And the timing? Suspiciously perfect.

"Give me a minute to dress up," I said.

I jumped back into my Domain, suited up in my Usagi gear, grabbed all the war essentials, infused my mask with rabbit senses and then teleported straight to the Lebens' training hall.

Nick was already waiting by the door to the safe room, motioning me to follow. He didn't wait, he ran straight upstairs.

I caught up to him.

"What's going on? Why are you alone?"

"Parents went to Ideworld, there was an opening nearby. Let's go to my car, please."

I stopped cold.

"Nick, I am trying to trust you… but this feels like a trap."

"Trap?! Why would I trap you, Alexa?"

"Because I parted ways with Penrose. That's why."

"I have nothing to do with that guy. Dad told him to go to hell weeks ago, as far as I know. If they talked after that, it was only because of you."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

What should I do?

I was already dressed for war, wasn't I?

And Nick, either the worst liar I'd ever met—or the best. No in-between at all.

"Okay," I said.

I followed him outside, into his car. He started the engine and pulled onto the street. I'd never seen him drive this fast.

"Will you finally tell me what's going on now?"

"Sorry," he muttered, swerving past a van. "I was focused on the traffic. Malik's in big trouble. He called me half an hour ago. I've been trying to reach you since, but you were off-service. I was just about to give up when you answered."

"What kind of trouble did that idiot get us into this time?"

I always knew Malik's name was spelled T-R-O-U-B-L-E. Finally, I had confirmation.

"He, against my wishes, mind you, decided to play hero. Went after some gangers, all non-lethal takedowns, left them for the police. But now it's come back to bite him. Somehow, they got his grams. Told him to meet them in a warehouse. In the Bronx."

"You're kidding me. Is this for real?"

"He's going for them," Nick said, eyes locked on the road. "He sent me the address, said they gave him two hours. That time's almost gone. If we don't show, they'll kill him."

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"Playing hero never pays off. How'd they even figure out it was him?"

"I have no idea, but they did."

I stared at the dashboard, anger bubbling under the surface.

"His grams is probably dead already, you know that, right?"

Nick flinched. The words hit him hard, like I'd just said out loud what he'd been trying not to believe. He gave a shallow nod.

"And he's going to die too," I added. "I get wanting to help, but you won't save him alone. You're right about that. Still, Malik's gonna drag you down with him. You're not indestructible, Nick. You're not immortal. And you can't do this to Soph, man. She really likes you."

He didn't argue, didn't snap back. Just gripped the wheel tighter.

"I feel responsible for him, Alexa," he said quietly. "He's a kid. He needs guidance. And somehow… it's fallen to me."

"It was just a coincidence. There's no fate in this world, only Reality. You told me that."

"But we met in the Other World, didn't we?"

That shut me up.

Damn him.

I didn't want to continue the conversation. So I didn't.

I just sat in silence and let the streetlights streak by, watching him drive like a man possessed.

Finally, he pulled over, tires screeching slightly on the curb. We jumped out, urgency buzzing in the air like static. I ran after him, our steps echoing against the cracked pavement.

Seconds later, we saw Malik. He was pacing back and forth, his silhouette jittery and frantic under the dim streetlamp. Its yellow light flickered with silvery undertones.

"You both came?" he asked as he saw us approaching. He looked like an animal caught in a bear trap, tense, trembling, eyes wide with fear and pain, utterly unsure what to do next. The desperation was almost palpable.

He wore a bandana pulled over his face, a black hoodie hanging loose on his frame and worn cargo pants. Brass knuckles glinted faintly in the low light, clutched tight in shaking hands, the only weapon he'd brought and barely enough.

"Thank you," he said, voice cracking. A single tear rolled down his cheek, the first solitary harbinger of what I was sure were many more to follow.

"There's a good chance one or more of us will get hurt. Maybe even die," I said flatly. No point softening the truth. "And your grandma, Malik? If she's in there… she's as good as dead."

"Alexa!" Nick snapped beside me, his voice sharp. Still no grasp of the first rule: never use real names when people wear masks.

"No, I get it," Malik said quietly. "I was thinking the same. But I'm still hoping for a miracle."

"How much time do we have? And where is it?" I asked.

"Around the corner, half a mile down. End of the street. Warehouse by the water. We've got about thirteen minutes," he said. His voice was the saddest I'd ever heard it, low, broken, like even he didn't believe in what he was doing anymore.

I hated this guy. With all my guts. He was reckless, untrained and let his emotions override every ounce of caution. Playing the hero for what, guilt? Pride? A need to prove himself? And yet here I was, standing beside him, getting drawn in. I was becoming weak. Letting people use me instead of using them. Penrose had warned me and maybe he was right. Maybe this would be my downfall.

"What are you thinking… Usagi?" Malik asked.

At least he'd remembered not to say my name. A small lesson learned. Too little, maybe. But not too late. Not yet.

"I'm thinking there's barely any room left to breathe, let alone plan," I said, voice low but steady. "Point me to the building. I'll run there now. If I can get your grams and portal out, I'll call Nick. So if your phone buzzes, don't go in. If it doesn't—you do whatever you think is right."

Nick peeked around the corner and pointed to a hulking warehouse at the far end of the street. It looked like it hadn't seen a single day of maintenance since the '70s, a rusting relic of forgotten industry. I didn't wait.

With a surge from the power stored in my boots, I launched myself onto the nearest lamppost, landing with feline precision. A quick crouch, then a high jump launched me onto the rooftop of the very building we'd been hiding behind. From there, I ran.

Ahead, three men stood on the rooftop near the warehouse. They were talking, laughing, unaware. One of them spun a gun in his hand like it was a toy and judging by their vibe, permits weren't likely part of their lives.

I pulled a card mid-stride, infused it with steeliness and let it fly. It sliced the air like a peregrine falcon, silent and fast. It struck the man with the gun in the back of the head. Blood and brain matter exploded as he crumpled forward.

Before the others could react, two more cards were airborne.

The second hit one of them in the neck, a brutal, arterial spray followed. The third hit the last guy square in the jaw, shattering it and sending him staggering.

As I closed in, the cards returned to my aura, humming with spent power. I felt the threads of their lives tug against my soul sense, I reached out and reclaimed the slivers of authority left behind.

The man with the shredded neck was still alive, clawing at his throat, choking on blood and panic. I slowed, just a moment and looked him in the eye. Then I kicked him in the head, hard. He dropped. Silence followed.

It sounds brutal. Savage, even. But anyone who helps kidnap someone's grandmother? That's not a person. That's garbage. And garbage doesn't deserve to keep breathing.

I reached the edge of the rooftop. The warehouse loomed across the street, thirty feet away, brooding and silent. A narrow service walkway traced its perimeter, completely empty. Either they didn't expect anyone to come from above, or they thought those three rooftop sentries had it covered. Either way, I wasn't about to waste time guessing.

My foot hit the ledge. I launched myself like the good little rabbit I was.

The jump, no point in lying, it felt like flying. There was something about it, some primal certainty deep in my bones, like my magic had already calculated the arc before I ever left the ground. I landed soft and clean on the warehouse railing, both feet together, knees barely bending. The wind still whipped past me, but I was still. Balanced. Untouched.

I stepped down, featherlight. No sound. No windows in sight, but who gave a shit? I pulled out the black spray paint and started working fast, circling and looping until the familiar spiral took form. My black hole.

When it was done, I leaned in close and whispered:

"Become a hole."

The shadowlight peeled out from my face, a tendril of dark-glow energy that slid into the painted portal like ink bleeding through paper. I followed it with my eyes as it vanished, then pressed my head near and peeked in.

Inside, the warehouse was cluttered, rows of towering shelves stuffed with busted crates and rotting inventory. But from this vantage, high up in the rafters, I could clearly see what mattered: a dozen men scattered in strategic pockets, covering the main entrance and hidden behind walls and corners.

But in the center of the space, an open area like a stage, stood five more. And they weren't alone.

A woman sat in the middle. Beaten. Bound. Bruised. Alive. Grams.

It gutted me to see her like that. And yet, contrary to my grim expectations, she was still breathing. Maybe this was a chance. Maybe a trap. But it was something.

I inhaled, slow and deep.

Then I jumped through the hole.

The world inverted for a moment as I passed into the painted void and emerged silently on the other side. As my boots hit the warehouse beams, the shadowlight I'd left behind curled back toward me, like a loyal hound returning to its master—and nestled close to my soul again.

I slowed my pace, crouching low to glide more quietly across the top of one of the high warehouse shelves. Silence was everything now, if I had any shot at grabbing the old lady and getting out clean, it had to start with surprise.

Below, the gangers were chilling like it was a house party. Loud hip-hop blasted through some speaker I could not see, the bass thudding in waves. They were laughing. Relaxed. Like this was just some messed-up game to them.

I reached the end of the shelf, peered down, no one looking up. This was the moment. No better chance.

I wedged myself against the shelf's metal frame, one hand gripping tight, body coiled like a spring. Then I launched myself toward her.

For a split-second, it felt like she was flying at me, like a truck barreling into my chest, but it was me. I had become the bullet.

Just feet away.

Then, BOOM, the song's beat dropped and something slammed into me. An invisible force, like a massive paddle swinging through the air. I was flung sideways mid-flight, momentum shredded like tissue. Pain bloomed along my ribs, but I hit the ground rolling, already springing back up.

Gunshots cracked behind me. I heard them before I felt them, bullets striking my skin with sharp little stings, absorbed by the armor woven into my suit. No time to process. I leapt again, ignoring the burn.

This time there was no beat drop. No rhythm to throw me off.

I reached her.

My arms wrapped around the old woman's frail frame and we vanished, falling straight into my Domain. We landed hard on the floor, tumbling. She was unconscious but alive. Breathing. Her body was whole. Almost fine.

I lay there for a second, chest rising fast.

Rhythm. It had to be him. I'd seen a flash of him just as I launched the second time, lurking near the corner, head bobbing, projecting the beat. He'd used the song like a weapon, the rhythm itself turned into force. Only luck saved me the second time, there were no percussive beats in that moment of the track.

I inhaled and teleported to my room.

The panic hit the second I reached for my phone and saw the screen. Cracked. Dead.

I tried the power button once. Twice. Nothing. No flash. No reboot. Just a black mirror mocking me.

"Shit."

I ran to Sophie's room. Empty. No phone.

I didn't know Nick's number by heart. My mind raced.

Peter's room, also empty.

All of this, everything I'd done, couldn't have taken more than five minutes. I still had time. Still had time.

I teleported back into my Domain, sat down at my painting station, snatched up my sketchbook and pen. My hands moved fast, automatic, possessed. I sketched the warehouse from memory: towering shelves like looming titans, the old woman bound in the center, tiny and fragile beneath them. Shadows of the men nearby. The crackling beat in the air. My silhouette perched above it all, ready to dive.

I poured it all into the sketch.

Then I focused.

Eyes locked. Aura tuned. I waited for the pull.

And then, I felt it.

The link flared into being. The picture was charged now. Anchored. I pressed my hand to the page.

And wished to go back.

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