Rain fell across Neon Spire like shattered glass, slicing the city into fractured reflections. Griff Hale hunched over a flickering CRT, the green phosphor glow carving deep lines across his face. Cables snaked over concrete, frayed ends sparking with ozone and old insulation. The Hollow was alive in a way the topside world had long forgotten."Late again, old man?"
Valley leaned in the doorway, leather coat heavy with rain and quiet mischief. His grin was faint, but his eyes scanned the room with unreadable precision.
"I like to watch the first ripple," Griff said. "Before anyone panics."
Valley tapped a loose cable with his wrench. "Observation's fine. Obsession's dangerous."
Griff ignored him. The node pulsed—deliberate, almost playful. Someone—or something—was nudging the system tonight. Elin Morgan stepped in, boots splashing puddles, coat dark and clinging. Griffs chest tightened at the sight of her. "You're fiddling with the node again," she said. "Stabilizing it," he corrected. Protecting her had become instinct.
Valley leaned over the monitor. "Patterns aren't random. The Hollow has rhythm. Miss a beat, and someone pays." Elin met Griffs eyes. "You're obsessed."
"Someone has to be."
The neon bleed from above painted puddles in electric blues and pinks. Griff saw the city as a forgotten game board: drones as pieces, humans as pawns, and the Shadows as the only ones still moving.
A monitor blinked with graffiti tags:
Disco Potato, Jitter Node, Glowworm Sector.
Griff smirked faintly.
"Even the ghosts have taste," Valley said lightly. The node pulsed faster—like a heartbeat quickening. Valley's grin sharpened. "Looks like someone's watching back." The CRTs blinked once more… and went black. Silence swallowed the Hollow. Something had just made the first move.