GIANCARLO
The tunnel entrance breathes rot and old magic when Quinn pries the manhole cover free. Below, darkness pools thick enough to drown in. My enhanced vision cuts through it now—another gift from the ninth tail burning under my sternum—showing brick walls that predate Chicago's last rebuild, runes carved by hands that knew how to hide from hostile eyes.
"After you, boss." Quinn's form shifts between words, settling on something lean and predatory with eyes that catch light wrong.
I drop through, landing on stone that's slick with centuries of seepage. The air tastes of copper and forgotten crimes, and underneath it all, fox-fire. Akiko's scent threading through the dark like a roadmap written in jasmine and ozone.
Through the bond, I feel her moving parallel to us—three blocks e
