The van rolled through the outskirts of town, headlights still dark, tires whispering against the dirt road like secrets being passed hand to hand. Crickets sang a thin, wavering tune in the tall grass, broken only by the low hum of the engine. The farmhouse stood ahead—aged, sprawling, weathered white paint clinging to its wood like an old lie trying to pass for the truth. Its silhouette loomed against the twilight, flanked by rusted silos and skeletal windmills that groaned softly in the wind.
The van turned without slowing, crunching over gravel as it pulled around back, away from the view of the main road. It came to a halt beneath the wide eaves of the barn turned barracks. A flicker of motion near the porch two sentries stepped forward, rifles slung but eyes sharp. A coded knock. A nod. The doors unlatched.
Inside, the barn's interior was not filled with hay or horses, but instead with maps, tech rigs, and crude bunkbeds lining the walls. The air was a mix of oil, leather, and gunmetal thick and warm like breath on glass quite different from the hostel building and Infamary building around it. Julius' men were already there, stationed in corners and shadows, eyes like sharp knives and marbles in the dark, watching.
The van doors creaked open.
Jeffery's body hit the ground with a dull thud same was with two other men with him in same condition, unconscious but alive. One of the sentries nudged him with a boot, then signaled for two others. They dragged him inside, arms limp, boots scraping over the barn floor. Someone bound his wrists with metal cuffs that hummed faintly containment-grade, keyed for abilities. The moment they snapped shut, the man flinched even in his unconsciousness.
A minute later, the growl of a bike's engine curled through the night like a wolf's snarl. Scott pulled up on his battered iron-frame motorcycle, flicking off the ignition with a lazy ease. Dust rose in a soft plume around his boots as he dismounted. His shirt was half-unbuttoned now, blood on the cuffs and collar, knuckles still raw.
He didn't speak as he approached the barn. Just flicked his cigarette onto the ground, crushing the embers beneath his heel.
From the farmhouse porch, Julius stepped into view.
He wore a long coat despite the warmth, its collar turned up like a crown of thorns around his neck. Gray in the beard, silver at the temples, but no one mistook his age for weakness. Julius was the kind of man whose voice carried even when he whispered, whose presence always felt like an omen arriving just before the storm.
He looked down at the man they'd dumped on his floor, then at Scott.
"You dragged a feral into my barn?" Julius' voice was like stone scraping against stone. "You know what I think about unannounced guests."
Scott didn't blink. "He wasn't even invited. He came clawing."
Julius raised a brow, unimpressed. "And yet here we are, cleaning up after him when we just cleaned up his previous one."
The tension broke a little as the low rumble of another engine came over the hill. Crook's jeep, dented and dust-streaked, crested the ridge like a reluctant dog coming home. He pulled up rough, engine coughing as it cut off. When he stepped out, his coat was open, shirt damp with sweat, the weight of exhaustion pulling his frame down like gravity had a grudge.
He didn't speak. Just nodded toward Julius and stepped inside.
Inside the barn, Jeffery had started to come to. He blinked once, then twice, dragging in breath like he was surfacing from deep water. As he sat upright, someone doused his face with a splash of cold water. He coughed, shook his head, then saw who stood in the room and grinned despite the blood drying on his lip.
"Nice welcome party," he rasped.
Julius stepped closer, hands behind his back. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with a cold fury that could've melted brass.
"You do realize," he said slowly, "that this is my town. And in my town, you're a conditioned guest. You and your leash-holders were permitted space, not freedom."
Jeffery chuckled, lips cracked, jaw stiff. "I was following orders."
Julius leaned down, face inches from his. "How is that any of my concerns?"
Jeffery shrugged as far as the cuffs would let him. "My superiors. They said you should call them if you don't believe my words."
That grin of his faltered as Julius' fingers wrapped around his jaw not violently, but firmly, like a man inspecting a piece of rotten fruit before throwing it to the pigs.
"And what," Julius said softly, "did your so call superiors hope to find what they seek by sending your sniffing men to make things uncomfortable for house folks?"
Jeffery's lips twitched, but he said nothing.
Scott stepped forward, voice low and edged. "You got five seconds to talk before I make your joints learn new directions."
Jeffery's expression changed just slightly. Not fear. Calculation.
"I was just confirming," he said finally. "Nothing more."
He glanced at Crook.
Crook scoffed refusing. Julius noticed.
"Oh," Jeffery added, that smug little grin returning, "they know about her whisper, yes. But the frequency's not what we're hunting anymore."
Silence hung in the air like smoke.
"They're triangulating," Jeffery continued, "Claire as she's called, her signal was a flare, but they're looking for the other match. The ones who are her siblings."
Scott's shoulders tensed, and Crook's expression went grim.
Julius exhaled. "We've been patient. Too patient that you've tried upon what you shouldn't know of ."
He stood, stepping back, his voice suddenly louder booming, cold, decisive.
"Lock him down. No food. No light. No contact. Strip him of everything except his pain. We'll let the night do the talking."
Two guards moved forward, silent and exacting.
Jeffery didn't resist this time. Just grinned again as they dragged him away.
"You think you're hiding," he called out over his shoulder, "but we've already seen you."
The barn doors shut with a final, echoing clang.
Julius turned to the others.
"We hold position," he said. "The festival goes on. We smile. We dance. We pour drinks. But under the skin, we move everything up. No more waiting. If they're sniffing us out, they're closer than we thought."
Scott nodded. Crook was already pulling out a folded map from his coat.
And out in the field beyond, under the weight of stars and the silent churn of watchful satellites above, the earth seemed to brace itself.