The rain in Grimwall Hollow sounds like static that forgot how to quit. It threads through the broken tramlines below us, hums against the metal ribs of the old station. Kess’s loft sits right above the rust and steam—half tech den, half jungle of wires and neon. Everything smells like solder, burnt coffee, and the faint electric tang of too many power strips in one socket.

Cassie’s message still glows on my phone:

AI-doctored videos of us are everywhere. Can you two find where it started?

Short. Controlled. Cassie only writes like that when she’s holding a wall up for Mira’s sake.

I lock the screen before I start rereading it again. Mira and Cassie are stuck in the fallout, trying to survive another human day. That means Kess and I handle the quiet war in the background.

Kess drops from the upper bunk, bare feet silent on concrete. She yawns once, pulls her hoodie on, and drags a stool over to her rig. The monitors are already half awake, cycling through blue code like they can smell her coming.

“So,” she says around the rim of a mug that used to be mine, “we ghost-hunting or rumor-killing?”

“Both.” I take the mug back before she chips it. My breath clouds the air; it always does when I focus. “Find the source. Burn it out.”

She grins—feral, easy. “Let’s hunt.”

I stand behind her while she wakes the machines. The clatter of keys blends with the rain outside. She moves fast, sliding through data tunnels like they’re veins she already mapped. The glow from the screens paints her skin blue; I can see the reflection of code running through the silver ring in her nose.

“You ever notice,” she mutters, “people believe anything if it fits their favorite flavor of outrage?”

“Because outrage is free,” I say, folding my arms. “Fixing things costs effort.”

“Mm. Spoken like someone who charges extra for therapy.”

“I charge extra for patience.”

She laughs under her breath and keeps typing.

I pace the narrow strip between the workbench and the window. Outside, the city exhales steam into the dark. Inside, the room smells alive—wet metal, circuitry, a trace of panther musk that never leaves Kess no matter how much detergent she uses. It’s grounding. The kind of scent that says home, even if we both pretend we don’t need one.

A new line of text flashes across her middle screen. Kess leans in. “Got a repost chain. Three burner accounts, same timing. Someone’s looping this.”

I move closer, shoulder brushing hers. “Any trace enchantments?”

“Hold up…” She magnifies the file’s signature. The code wavers, heat over asphalt. “That’s not human software. See that shimmer? That’s Veil-laced data.”

So it isn’t gossip. It’s deliberate.

“Keep digging,” I tell her.

“You’re so bossy when you’re worried,” she says, but she obeys, fingers flying. More windows open, links folding until one domain name settles in the middle of the screen:

Silverrow Wellness Holdings LLC.

The name hits like a bruise under the ribs. For a second I forget to breathe.

Kess notices. “You know it?”

“Yeah.” My voice drops. “That’s the spa Mira and Cassie went to last winter—the one tied to the missing students.”

Kess whistles softly. “Didn’t that place get shut down?”

“Apparently not.”

I stare at the name until the letters blur. Memory flickers—Mira, shaking from more than heat, saying the water had pulsed around her like it was alive. I press my thumb against the desk’s edge, grounding myself in cold metal. This isn’t the spa. This is data. I can handle that.

Kess breaks the silence with a smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Guess the ghost learned how to post.”

The corner of my mouth twitches. “Then let’s make it regret logging on.”

The hours slide by the way rain does down glass—quiet until you notice how much has gathered.

Kess has gone still, eyes flicking over three monitors at once, each screen painting the room a different color: green from a registry search, amber from a tax ledger, blue from the mirror-web.

I nurse the last swallow of cold coffee, tapping the rim against my knee to the rhythm of her typing. The air smells like ozone and overworked circuitry.

“Talk to me,” I say.

“Still digging.” Her voice is all focus. “Silverrow Wellness Holdings went dark six months ago—bankrupt, dissolved, perfectly tidy. But the license didn’t die.”

She drags another window forward. “It pivoted to this.”

Ebonspire Rejuvenation Clinic blinks across the screen, minimalist logo and all.

The name alone tightens something in my gut. “Ebonspire.” Of course. The Hollow’s rich cousin—corporate towers pretending to be holy.

Kess scrolls faster, ponytail slipping loose. “Same filing address, same tax ID, same founding date.” Her tone sharpens. “Payroll shows one employee carried over. Guess who?”

I already know. “Avery.”

She highlights the record. The alias line updates mid-scroll—Avery Venn → Marielle Venn.

Same birthdate. New smile.

The hair on my arms rises. The air pressure shifts; the old tram below groans once like it felt it too.

Kess frowns. “You feel that?”

“Yeah.” I lean closer to the speaker. A faint distortion hums under the static—metallic and intentional, built into the file.

It creeps under my skin like memory: Mira describing the Silverrow water’s strange pulse, how it tasted like coins on her tongue before the runes flared. My throat goes dry.

Kess glances up. “You okay?”

“Fine.” I lie by reflex. “That trace is in the data itself—it’s part of the recording.”

She tests a few keys; the tone spikes, steady, deliberate. “Like a hidden glyph.”

Exactly. “They’re hiding spellwork inside digital files.” My voice feels distant. “Silverrow didn’t die—they just traded water for bandwidth.”

Kess leans back, rubbing her jaw. “And Marielle’s running the new show from Ebonspire.”

I nod once, jaw tight. Same ghost, new body.

The rain outside has stopped, but the room still carries a charge. Somewhere between the walls and the wires, the quiet weight of it lingers.

The Hollow always smells like wet stone and rebellion. The rain’s eased into a mist that clings to everything, wrapping cracked street lamps in halos. Kess and I step out into it, the door of her loft closing behind us with a tired groan.

She zips her hoodie to her throat. “So, what’s the play, Captain Iceheart?”

The title’s teasing, but the question underneath it is real. She knows me well enough to wait for my answer before poking again.

I glance toward the main street, where puddles mirror the neon in streaks of sickly color. “We need proof. Enough to tie Ebonspire to Silverrow before anyone else disappears.”

“Define ‘proof.’” She flips her hood up, falling into step beside me.

“Records. Footage. Anything that shows they’re still using the same Veil-bound tech.” I pull my hands into my sleeves, shoulders tensing against the damp. “If I loop in Rori or Kael, we could get warrants—”

“By the time those forms are filed,” Kess cuts in, “a new wave drops at dawn.”

She’s right, damn her.

I stop at the curb, breath fogging in the chill. “I don’t like walking in blind.”

“You never do.” Her grin flashes quick and sharp. “That’s why you bring me.”

“Funny. I thought I brought you because you can pick locks without breaking a nail.”

“Multi-talented.” She shrugs. “But seriously—recon only. We slip in, grab proof, slip out. No drinks, no ‘treatments,’ no heroics. Even you can manage that much restraint, right?”

I give her a flat look. “I’m not Mira.”

“No,” she says softly, nudging my shoulder. “You’re the one who cleans up after her.”

It’s not a jab, but it still lands. I stare at the steam rising from the drains. “She’s reckless, not stupid. She just… forgets where she ends and the people she loves begin.”

Kess’s smirk fades. “Sounds familiar.”

I huff a laugh. “Don’t start psychoanalyzing me again.”

“Hey, I’m just saying—you care loud for someone who spends most of her life pretending she doesn’t.”

That one hits closer. “They’re my family,” I admit, voice rough. “Cassie, Mira, you… I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She goes still beside me, the streetlight turning her eyes to gold. “Then we don’t lose anyone. We burn the rot out before it spreads.”

I look over, and for a second the usual smug grin is gone. It’s just Kess—tired, dangerous, loyal to a fault. “You make it sound easy,” I say.

“It’s not,” she admits. “But it’s easier when someone’s watching your back.”

I roll my eyes to hide the warmth creeping in. “You volunteering or flirting again?”

“Can’t I do both?” She bumps my shoulder. “C’mon, Frostbite. Let’s go ghost-hunting.”

I snort, but fall into step beside her. The mist thickens as we walk, softening the street until the whole Hollow looks half-real. Somewhere under the city, the old tramlines groan to life, echoing through the metal like a distant heartbeat.

“Recon only,” I remind her.

Kess grins over her shoulder. “Sure thing, boss. What could possibly go wrong?”

The drive to Ebonspire feels longer than it should. Maybe it’s the silence—the kind that builds when both of us are thinking too much and pretending not to. The rain turns to needles against the windshield, streetlights bleeding gold through the blur.

When the building finally rises out of the mist, my gut goes tight. Beige glass, all sharp corners and polished emptiness. The sign out front glows in restrained white letters: Ebonspire Rejuvenation Clinic. Every curve too perfect, every line too sterile.

“Looks like someone Googled ‘tranquility’ and hit copy-paste,” Kess mutters beside me, pulling her hood lower.

She’s not wrong.

We step out, shoes splashing into the thin sheen of rainwater coating the walkway. The air smells like lavender and eucalyptus—manufactured calm—but underneath it, I catch it: the faintest metallic undertone. Coin and static. The same hum from the data files, dressed up as aromatherapy.

My pulse flares.

Kess senses it too. Her nostrils flare like a cat catching the scent of a lie. “You smell that?”

“Yeah.” I adjust my jacket, keep my tone even. “They’re still piping the resonance through the ventilation. Probably think it helps their ‘atmosphere.’”

“Creepy atmosphere,” she says, hands in pockets. “You sure we shouldn’t have brought backup?”

“I thought about it,” I admit, glancing up at the seamless rows of tinted windows. “But Rori’s too by-the-book, and Kael stands out in a crowd even when she doesn’t mean to. We need quiet, not authority.”

Kess smirks, brushing rain off her sleeve. “So we’re the quiet ones now? That’s new.”

“Tonight we are,” I say, letting the chill of my magic calm my nerves. “Customer-experience auditors. Subtle, polite, and very boring.”

“Speak for yourself,” she says, straightening her jacket. “I’m allergic to boring.”

“Then fake it.”

The entrance slides open before we even reach it—motion sensors keyed to false hospitality. A looped water feature hums beside the reception desk, pouring too evenly, too measured. Not water; rhythm. The same sound pattern from the Silverrow footage, just layered into decor.

My tongue tastes metal.

Kess leans close enough for her shoulder to brush mine, murmuring, “No Veil ping yet. You want minimal glamours or full mask?”

“Minimal. If this place is running Fae tech behind the front, heavy glamours might draw attention.”

She grins, eyes glinting. “Barely disguised badasses it is.”

We step inside.

The walls gleam sterile beige, reflecting the soft gold light meant to feel safe. It doesn’t.

The receptionist’s smile is too symmetrical, her voice trained into customer-service warmth.

“Welcome to Ebonspire,” she says. “Do you have an appointment?”

Kess beats me to it, tone bright and careless. “Walk-in audit. Corporate sent us for a quality check—make sure the customer experience matches the file copy. You know how it is.”

The woman nods. “Of course. May I see your identification?”

I slide a card across the counter. The ward-ink woven into the plastic gives it a faint shimmer—Mira would’ve rolled her eyes at how many hours I spent getting the fonts right.

“Excellent.” The woman gestures toward a corridor lined with still-life paintings of lilies and rivers that never existed. “Please, wait in the serenity lounge.”

Cameras above the door pivot soundlessly to follow our motion.

“Serenity lounge,” Kess whispers as we walk. “Code for brainwashing?”

“Probably.”

“You ever get tired of being right?”

“Not really.” I scan the ceiling vents as we move. The air hums faintly—trace charm residue clinging like humidity. My pulse matches it until I force my breathing even. Five in, seven out. Stay in control.

Kess catches me watching the cameras. “Relax, Frostbite. We’re just tourists.”

“Tourists don’t clock fountain loops to the second.”

She snorts. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“I’m alive. Big difference.”

The hall opens into a waiting area of beige couches and looping spa music. The scent here is thicker, floral over metal, the kind that lulls mortals into compliance.

Kess sprawls into a chair like she owns the place. I stay standing, counting exits, cameras, reflections in the glass.

She studies me, amused. “You know, if Mira were here, she’d already have lit something on fire.”

“Which is why I’m here instead.”

Her grin softens. “You really do care about her, huh?”

“Of course I do.”

“Didn’t sound like ‘of course’ a year ago.”

“A year ago I thought she’d get herself killed before she let anyone in. Guess we both got proven wrong.”

Kess’s smirk turns gentle. “You’re a better friend than you think.”

“Don’t get sentimental.”

“Never,” she says, stretching out. “But for the record? I’ve got your back too. Always.”

A new figure appears at the desk—a tall woman in pale gray scrubs, posture perfect. Her badge reads Marielle. Every line of her body says professional grace; every detail too careful.

“Good,” I murmur to Kess. “Because something tells me we’ll need it.”

Marielle’s smile is brochure-ready. The air around her carries jasmine and parchment, sweetness edged with dust. Controlled.

“Welcome,” she says. “Are you our corporate auditors?”

“Depends who’s asking,” Kess replies, leaning on the counter. “If you’re Marielle, then yeah—guess that’s us.”

“Wonderful. Please fill out our wellness profiles before we begin. It helps us calibrate the client experience.”

She slides two tablets across the desk. Questions scroll by—name, birthdate, allergies, fears, sleep habits.

“You need all this to check towels and water pressure?” I ask.

“Your feedback is vital to our continued evolution,” Marielle answers smoothly. “Please take your time.”

Kess shoots me a warning glance—don’t spook her yet—and turns on a smile bright enough to melt frost. “So, Marielle, how long have you been with Ebonspire?”

Marielle tilts her head. “Long enough to know perfection takes repetition.”

Kess laughs, light and teasing. “Sounds exhausting.”

While they talk, I study the desk’s base. A shallow burn curls along the wood, almost hidden by the light—lines within lines, a hair-thin lattice. The same heat-kissed pattern Mira described from Silverrow. A ghost of a glyph, still warm.

My magic prickles.

Kess senses it and turns her charm up a notch, keeping Marielle’s eyes on her. “You must get tired of smiling at people all day.”

“We all have our roles,” Marielle says.

“And yours is pretending you’re not the most interesting person here.”

“That’s very kind.”

Kess keeps the conversation going; I keep mapping the room—three exits, four cameras, vents large enough for wiring. The fountain’s loop: thirty-two seconds. Identical to Silverrow.

The glyph’s faint glow flares once, candlelight under varnish. I shift to hide the twitch in my fingers.

Kess’s voice lifts, easy and warm. “You ever think about running the place yourself?”

Marielle’s smile doesn’t change. “I already do.”

Silence stretches. Kess recovers first. “Right. Of course you do.”

I slide a tablet back to her. “Profiles are complete,” I say. “Corporate will follow up by email.”

“Excellent. We pride ourselves on accuracy.” She looks up, expression unchanged. “Would you like a tour?”

Beside me, Kess murmurs, “Here we go.”

“Lead the way,” I tell her.

The faint hum from the rune under the desk trails us down the hall.

Marielle walks too quietly. My own boots sound too loud on the polished floor. Lavender hangs heavy in the air. I keep my breathing even and my expression polite.

The earbud in my right ear vibrates once.

“I’m clear,” Kess whispers. “Left corridor splits. Following the sound.”

I nod as if Marielle has said something about aromatherapy. “Fascinating.”

“Our philosophy is holistic,” she says smoothly. “Healing should begin before clients even know they need it.”

Under her voice, the same metallic thrum Mira heard at Silverrow ripples through the vents. I clench my jaw.

“Two attendants,” Kess mutters. “Standing guard. I’ll handle it.”

I smile politely at Marielle. “Beautiful facility. Every detail must take incredible precision.”

“Yes,” she says. “Every detail is intentional.”

Her tone is steady, but something beneath it rings sharp. I resist the urge to look toward Kess’s corridor.

“Found a door,” Kess whispers. “Utility Access. Lock’s a joke. Give me thirty seconds.”

I hum agreement under my breath. Marielle glances over.

“Did you say something?”

“Just admiring your air flow,” I answer. “Feels clean.”

“Purity is important to us,” she says, approving.

“Door’s open,” Kess says. “And, Naomi—this place is wrong. Rows of pods. Veil-wired, all active.”

My pulse stutters. “Copy everything.”

“Already on it. Whoever built this has power to burn.”

Marielle gestures toward a frosted window. “Our rejuvenation wing,” she explains. “Clients leave renewed.”

“I can imagine,” I murmur.

“Salt bowls everywhere,” Kess says. “Same pattern as Silverrow. And there’s a queue calendar—wait—Naomi, Bree Halden’s name is on it.”

My breath locks. “What?”

Marielle studies me. “Something the matter, Ms. Inari?”

I smile thinly. “Just remembering something a friend said.”

Kess’s voice rushes in my ear, fierce. “She’s flagged as an external contributor. She’s feeding them. Naomi, we have to move.”

“Would you like to experience our mineral suite?” Marielle asks, still pleasant.

“Kess,” I whisper, “how much longer?”

“Drive’s done. Getting out—hang on, something’s activating.”

The lights flicker. The air thickens with heat and salt.

I step back, heart hammering. “You know,” I tell Marielle, “I think I’ve seen enough.”

She tilts her head. “That’s unfortunate.”

The chime above the corridor clicks once, polite as a hotel concierge.

“Please remain for your post-session reflection,” the intercom croons, voice warm enough to hide the lock mechanisms snapping into place.

Every door along the hall seals with a soft hiss.

Kess exhales through her teeth. “That sounded friendly.”

Two attendants step out from opposite ends of the hall, moving in mirrored rhythm—same build, same bland smiles, identical gray scrubs. Their eyes are wrong: too calm for people walking into a fight.

I slide half a step forward, instinct taking over. “You wanted subtle?” I murmur. “We’ll do subtle.”

Thin frost laces over the tiles beneath our feet, a sheen so faint it only catches light when they step on it.

Left attendant first—his heel hits, slips; Kess moves faster than thought. She sweeps low, one leg scissoring through his, a palm to his sternum to bleed momentum. He hits the floor with a breathless grunt, not a shout.

The other lunges. Kess twists away, gives me space. I flick my wrist and let the frost rise—a pane between us, translucent and cold as a breath caught mid-air. His Veil-stun arcs against it, white light crackling over the surface before dying in a puff of steam.

The charge glances my forearm; it should burn. It doesn’t. Ice flowers out from the point of contact, petals of frost instead of blood.

Kess’s elbow catches him under the chin. He drops.

Silence snaps back in. My arm throbs, but the frost holds.

“Nonlethal,” Kess reminds, breathing hard.

“Barely,” I answer, flexing my hand to shake off the ache. “Freight bay’s east side. Move.”

We sprint down the corridor, feet pounding over a trail of melting frost. The overhead lights strobe red; alarms start their slow, rising wail. Every turn smells like ozone and antiseptic.

The freight-bay doors loom ahead—massive slabs of steel framed by rain-wet windows. The loading lights flicker, switching from amber to white as the building reroutes power.

Kess reaches the control panel first. “Locked manual,” she curses. “Give me thirty seconds.”

“You’ve got ten.”

Behind us, the corridor hums again—low, deliberate.

Marielle’s reflection blooms in the bay’s glass. Perfectly dry, perfectly composed, the gray of her scrubs blending with the storm-dark metal. Her image looks more solid than the room we’re standing in.

“Winter preserves what it cannot save,” she says, the words too calm to be a threat—and somehow worse for it.

I meet her eyes through the glass. My breath fogs between us, frost threading outward across the window like veins of silver. “Good,” I tell her quietly. “Rot hates preservation.”

The temperature plunges. The air goes thin. Frost blossoms over the door seams, locking into white crystal lines. Then I drive my palm forward.

The ice bursts outward, a single, clean detonation that fractures the entire bay door. Metal shrieks; the panels fold and split. Rain and moonlight roar in together, washing the sterile light to silver.

Marielle’s reflection shatters with the door—gone in a blink, leaving only the sound of the storm.

Kess grabs my sleeve, eyes wide, grin somewhere between awe and terror. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

“File that under common sense,” I say, already pulling her through the opening.

The rain hits like needles, cold and alive. Behind us, Ebonspire wails its alarms into the night; ahead, the city waits, dark and slick and real.

We run.

The rain hasn’t stopped—just softened, a fine mist that clings instead of falls. We cut through the alley behind Ebonspire, breath still ragged, until the street opens into a narrow service lot.

Kess yanks a tarp off a bike that looks like it’s held together by spite and duct tape. Runes scrawled along the frame pulse faintly as she taps the ignition sigil—her version of security magic, subtle but effective.

“Please tell me this thing still runs,” I mutter, wiping water from my face.

She kicks it once; it coughs, sputters, then growls awake. “She’s temperamental,” Kess admits, swinging a leg over. “Like someone else I know.”

“Drive,” I say flatly, climbing on behind her.

We shoot into the street, tires hissing through puddles. The lights of Ebonspire shrink in the mirror—just another tower pretending to be holy while the real city sprawls beneath it, tired and alive.

Neither of us speaks until the first stoplight. The world narrows to the engine’s low rumble and the pulse still hammering in my wrists.

Kess finally reaches into her pocket and slaps the cold data drive into my hand. “Got your ghost,” she says, voice hoarse with adrenaline. “All of it.”

The drive’s weight feels wrong—too small for what it holds. “We’ll crack it when we’re back in the Hollow.”

“Assuming the Hollow still wants us back,” she says, pulling over near the underpass where the rideshares line up. We stash the bike beneath a construction tarp; the runes along its chassis dim and fade, blending the metal into shadow.

We climb into the next auto-car, seats damp, windows fogging almost immediately. The driver’s avatar glows soft blue and silent. Kess leans back, eyes closed, dripping onto the upholstery. I pull my phone out with shaking fingers.

Cassie.

Message:

Source found. Ebonspire Rejuvenation = Silverrow reborn. Bree is their node. We’re clear.

I hit send before I can think better of it. The message blurs for a second in the light from the screen, the word clear doing more work than it deserves.

The car hums through the city, glass towers bleeding color through the mist. Behind us, alarms fade. Ahead, the Hollow waits, restless as always.

Kess cracks one eye open. “You know she’s gonna lose her mind when she reads that.”

“She deserves the truth,” I say quietly.

She smirks, exhausted but satisfied. “Guess so. Still—next time, we’re doing the easy job.”

I huff a laugh and watch the city slide by, neon bending through the rain. “Kess?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for having my back.”

She grins without opening her eyes. “Always, Frostbite.”

The car merges into traffic, vanishing us into the lights.