Tavany
The mission wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.
That was the first lie.
The second was that I was ready.
I stood at the edge of the abandoned transit station, boots inches from the crumbling drop to the tracks below. The air tasted like rust and old rain. Shadows pooled at my feet—not lazily, not tonight. They coiled. Restless. Listening.
Above us, the city roared with neon and traffic and life.
Down here, it felt like a grave holding its breath.
“This is simple,” the silver-haired man said, voice low but steady. “We confirm the signal source. In and out.”
Simple.
The word echoed wrong.
The signal was what dragged us underground—an energy spike that mirrored my own frequency so closely it felt like someone had taken a fingerprint of my power and pressed it into concrete. Too
