Budapest was a blur of motion and burning lungs.
We emerged from the portal in an alley that smelled like garbage and something I hoped was just old food. The rift was two blocks away according to the map-knowledge, pulsing in my awareness like a migraine with a specific location.
"Two minutes elapsed," Mara said, already moving. "Thirteen minutes remaining."
No pressure.
We ran.
The streets were busier here than Bucharest had been, more people heading to work, more chance of being noticed. But there wasn't time to be subtle or careful, so we just ran like our lives depended on it.
Which, technically, they did.
The rift was in a courtyard behind an old church, tucked away from the main street but still visible if you knew where to look. Bigger than the Bucharest rift, maybe six feet tall, pulsing with that same sickly purple-black light.
"Connected to the nexus," Mara confirmed, not even needing to check her scanner this time. "Same signature as Bucharest."
