Jack didn’t sleep that night.
He stood by the window long after Victor vanished, the dagger still pulsing in his hand like a second heartbeat. The corpses lay cold behind him, a testament to how close death always lingered.
Eventually, the local clean-up unit from the rebuilt Guardian Order arrived—silent, grim, efficient. No questions. Just nods. They knew better than to ask Jack Parker what he saw in the dark.
But even after they were gone, the weight remained.
The coin. The dagger. The whisper.
The boundary is thinning.
Jack didn’t even know what that meant yet. But he knew Victor did. And whatever was happening—it had already begun.
The next night felt… off.
The city didn’t hum the same. Harmonfield had noise, always had, even in its ruins. But tonight? Too quiet. Like the wind
