They stood in the shadow of the monolith that was Emma's office building—the very spot Ron had been plucked from moments ago. Theo's expression was grim.
"Everyone is going to die, Ron. You, me... all of us."
Ron didn't flinch. "And who exactly handed down that sentence?"
"I've never seen his face, but he's had his eyes on you since day one," Theo replied, his voice dropping to a cautious whisper. "I'm bound by forbidden spells. If I say too much, I won't just die—I'll be erased. No resurrection, no coming back."
"Give me a name," Ron pressed.
Theo shook his head, a flicker of fear crossing his eyes. "I can't. But I can tell you this: he's blood-related to Foster."
Ron absorbed the information with a slow, sharp nod.
"I have to disappear," Theo said, glancing nervously at the surrounding shadows. "If he finds out I lost, he'll come for me."
"With your miracle ability? You could take him."
Theo let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "He's the one who gave me this ability, Ron. You don't beat the architect at his own game."
Ron narrowed his eyes, shifting the subject. "One more thing. When did you pull me into your world? Was it when I left Emma's office?"
"Exactly then," Theo confirmed.
"Liar," Ron countered calmly. "You took me the second I stepped into the portal back in Wulkranoth's world."
Theo looked genuinely baffled. "Are you kidding? How would I even know you were in Wulkranoth's world? I got the hit from him and started hunting. I tracked you and Carter to this building, and the second you hit the reception desk, I pulled the trigger on my ability."
Ron went quiet. "And the others?"
"Sleeping it off. Go see for yourself—Carter is out cold inside." With a final, weary nod, Theo vanished into thin air.
Ron stared at the empty space for a moment, then sighed heavily. "Right. Back to work."
Inside the lobby, Ron found Carter sprawled on the floor. A few rough shakes brought him back to the land of the living. Carter blinked, disoriented, as he scrambled to his feet.
"What happened? Where are we?"
"Change of plans," Ron said. "I'm heading out to rest for the day. I'm spent."
Carter nodded, rubbing his temples. "I'll stay on the clock. I'll see what else I can dig up on Emma."
"Good. And Carter?" Ron paused. "Any word on Locki?"
Carter shook his head. "I've burned through my best resources. Nothing. It's like he fell off the map."
Ron gave a grim nod and teleported away in a blur of motion.
Meanwhile,
Deep within a hollowed-out mountain, Finian was sprawled on a sofa, an open book resting over his face. The shrill ring of his phone shattered the silence. He sat up so abruptly the book slid to the floor.
"Finian here."
"We've got nothing," the voice on the other end reported. "Locki is a ghost."
Finian stood up, his jaw set. "Fine. I'll handle it myself."
He took the lift to the mountain's peak. The wind whipped around him, but he ignored the cold, looking out over the sprawling city below. His eyes shifted, his pupils dilating as his vision turned crystalline. Solid walls, steel beams, and concrete foundations became translucent as he scanned the urban maze.
"I can see through half the world," Finian muttered to the wind, "but I still can't see you, Locki."
"WHERE ARE YOU!" he roared, his voice echoing across the range.
He headed back down to find Liora waiting. "Any leads?"
"The last time I saw him, he was being summoned to court," she offered.
That was all he needed. Finian packed his gear—laptop, scanners, and a few high-tech 'toys'—and swung onto his bike. He tore down the mountain path, heading straight for the city's legal district.
At the courthouse, Finian found a secluded corner and activated his Camouflage. His form shimmered and faded, blending perfectly into the marbled walls. He slipped into the security hub, where a lone, balding guard was mid-bite into a chocolate donut.
Finian placed a hand on the man's head. The guard froze instantly, his eyes turning a milky, sightless white.
Finian exhaled, his gaze drifting to the open box of donuts on the desk. His stomach gave an ill-timed growl. Locki's life is on the line, he scolded himself. Focus.
He looked at the donut in the guard's frozen hand. Then again, you can't stage a rescue on an empty stomach.
Finian snatched the donut, took a massive bite, and began scrolling through the digital archives with his free hand. He found the footage from the day of the trial.
On the screen, a stern Judge was delivering a sentence: "You will spend the rest of your life in the new smart prison. A tragic irony that a police officer is our first high-profile resident."
Finian's eyes locked onto a figure in the gallery—a man in a long coat and a low-brimmed hat. His face was obscured, save for a distinct, jagged scar across his lip.
Finian cloned the drive, plugged it into his laptop, and fired off a message to Ron.
Finian: Ron, I need backup. Find out who this man in the hat is. I'm heading to the prison for a look around.
Finian stuffed the rest of the donuts into his bag, kept his camouflage active, and walked out. The second he broke contact, the guard snapped back to reality, accidentally biting his own finger. As the guard's yell echoed through the halls, Finian was already revving his bike.
Back at his safehouse,
Ron sat at the kitchen table as his phone buzzed. Ava walked over, placing a plate of steaming food in front of him.
Ron opened the video file and paused it on the man with the scarred lip. "Where have I seen this guy before?"
Ava leaned over his shoulder, her eyes widening. She didn't look at the man in the hat, though. She pointed at the man behind the bench.
"Him," she whispered. "The Judge."
Ron looked up. "You know him?"
Ava nodded.