Gideon checked his phone.
"This is it. Beck's apartment."
Brandon tilted his head up, squinting at the structure above them.
"Has it changed at all?"
"Indeed. Beck owns the entire complex now," Gideon muttered. "Tore it apart. Built something new."
Brandon let out a low groan, eyes tracing the three-story building.
"You're due for a hell of a time."
He glanced between Gideon and the structure again.
Something about it felt… off.
The corners weren't studded anymore. Steel had replaced brick. Screws replaced mortar. Everything looked too clean. Too deliberate.
Like it wasn't meant to fall apart.
Gideon slipped his phone into his pocket, already bracing for the pressure building behind his eyes. Brandon shifted a little closer without thinking.
Gideon raised his hand and knocked six times.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
A pause.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Each hit echoed too clearly through the entryway.
A series of soft clicks answered. Metal sliding against metal.
Something unlocked.
The door cracked open—
—and she slipped through it.
A short woman with a bright orange ponytail stumbled into view, freckles scattered across her face like ink. Round glasses clung loosely to her nose.
"Gideon! I've been expecting you…"
She laughed, light—but edged with something sharp.
Gideon didn't react.
"So," she tilted her head, smile curling, "what brings you to my place, hun?"
He exhaled slowly, already feeling the headache digging deeper.
"We need somewhere to hide." He glanced toward Brandon. "And you need to fix him."
Her grin widened.
"You know I'm the best at fixing people, babes."
Another sigh.
"Maybe stop with the nicknames."
Beck pouted immediately, her glasses slipping lower.
"Why? It's been so long since I've seen you."
Brandon smiled faintly, watching the exchange. He'd heard about Beck—heard enough to know she wasn't someone you forgot.
Her attention snapped to him.
She stepped closer. Just a little taller.
Then she bent down, leveling with his eyes.
"We've got a lot of work to do, young man." Her voice softened—but not kindly. "Gideon's told me all about your current state with magic handling."
A pause.
"You're a disgrace to your race, hun."
Brandon's smile dropped. His gaze fell to the ground.
Then—slowly—he looked at Gideon.
Not just at him.
Through him.
The scars.
The sleepless eyes.
The way his body never really rested.
The way violence seemed to sit on him like it belonged there.
Gideon needed that.
The brutality.
The efficiency.
The willingness to hurt first and think later.
He needed it to survive.
Brandon swallowed.
He didn't.
His hands curled slightly at his sides before he looked back at Beck.
"I don't wanna fight like him."
The words came out quieter than he expected.
"I wanna use my fire my way."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Beck's grin didn't disappear—but it changed. Sharper. More interested.
Her eyes flicked briefly to Gideon.
"Oh?" she murmured. "Good."
A beat.
"Wouldn't want two of those walking around."
Gideon said nothing.
But his jaw tightened—just enough to notice.
Beck straightened, clapping her hands together once.
"Well! We'll work on you, boy." Her tone brightened again, like a switch flipped. "And work will mold you into something useful."
Gideon glanced over his shoulder, tension snapping back into place.
"Can we go inside," he muttered, "before Brandon gets a bullet in his back?"
Beck lit up instantly.
"Oh! Right—yes, yes, come in!"
She swung the door open wider, stepping aside with exaggerated excitement.
The boys stepped past her—
—and the moment they crossed the threshold, something shifted.
The air felt… different.
Still.
Clean.
Too clean.
The lights came on without a sound. No flicker. No hum. Just perfect, quiet illumination stretching down a narrow hall of smooth metal and seamless walls.
No rust.
No cracks.
No imperfections.
Brandon slowed slightly.
Gideon didn't.
Behind them, the door slid shut with a soft, final click.
Beck's voice echoed lightly from somewhere ahead.
"Welcome home, boys."