The last time Elara Vox appeared on any radar was three years ago, in the ruins of an abandoned collider facility in Oslo. Since then, she'd vanished from every grid, every database, every traceable system.
Officially, she was dead.
Kael knew better.
He and Reeva sat across from an old contact—Titus Wren, a former intelligence analyst turned data smuggler—inside a dim, flickering bar two levels beneath Manhattan's old subway system.
Titus smirked as he leaned back. "Elara Vox? That's the ghost you're chasing?"
Kael slid a data chip across the table. "This says she's not a ghost. We need her."
Titus picked up the chip, scanned it with a worn retinal lens, and gave a low whistle. "Multiversal interference readings. Quantum signatures. And... hmm." His eyes paused. "You're trying to follow drift anomalies. You're either suicidal or about to become very important to someone powerful."
"She's alive," Kael said. "I know it."
Titus hesitated, then tapped a few commands into his device. A map blinked into existence—dimensional overlays, encoded temporal signatures, the whole mess of fringe science wrapped in espionage.
"She's off-grid, but she left a trail," he said. "Encrypted pulses in the chronal networks. Bursts of energy sent across offworld nodes. She's signaling someone—or something."
Reeva leaned in. "Location?"
"Coordinates point to the edge of Null Zone 7," Titus said. "The Scar Desert. No laws. No physics half the time. You'll need radiation shielding, and probably anti-grav boots unless you want your feet fused to the stone."
Kael stood. "We'll manage."
Titus chuckled. "You'll owe me."
Kael didn't answer. There might not be a world left to owe anyone.
Thirty-six hours later.
The Scar Desert stretched before them like the corpse of a forgotten god. Jagged rocks floated midair. Lightning arced sideways across the crimson sky. Gravity pulsed unevenly—Kael felt ten pounds lighter with every step.
Reeva's handheld pinged.
"She's close. Two hundred meters. And Kael... she knows we're coming."
A shadow moved in the rocks ahead.
Then a figure stepped forward, cloak flaring in the shifting wind.
Elara Vox.
She looked older than her photos, harder around the edges. One cybernetic eye gleamed red. A patchwork gauntlet of multidimensional tech buzzed quietly at her side. She stopped a few feet away.
"You brought the storm with you," she said flatly.
Kael nodded. "We need your help."
She raised an eyebrow. "Is this about the Architect?"
Kael blinked. "You know?"
"I knew before you did. I've seen him—twice. Once in the Drift. Once in a dream that wasn't mine." Her expression tightened. "And I've been waiting for the moment he'd start moving again."
Reeva stepped forward. "Then you'll help us?"
Elara paused. "That depends. You ready to burn your world to save the rest?"
Kael didn't flinch. "If we don't act, there won't be a world left."
Elara studied him for a long moment, then turned away.
"Come," she said. "If you're serious... I have something to show you."
As they followed her into the rocks, the sky above cracked faintly—like lightning dancing along the seams of reality.