The war room smelled of static and sweat. Old plaster, new nerves.

Dim light filtered through cracked blackout curtains. A half-dead projector whined quietly above them, throwing flickering overlays of psychic trails and aura disruptions onto the wall.

It had been hours. No leads. No breakthroughs. Just silence where Max had been.

Ying stood at the head of the table. Arms crossed. Spine straight. She hadn't slept, but the fatigue didn't show – except in her eyes. There, it lingered like smoke that wouldn't wash out.

"We've confirmed Max was moved," she said, voice clipped and even. "The soulfield trails are surgical. He was here. Now he's not. And it's likely because of us."

No one responded.

A map glowed on the centre console – Prague's inner sectors carved up into pulse zones, threat colours, and enforcer patrol routes. All of it... useless.

Liz leaned forward. Shadows under her eyes. "We're running out of time," she said. Quiet. But resolute. "It's been five years just to get this close. If they move him again... we lose everything."

Victor grunted. Pushed off the wall. "So what? We keep chasing ghosts until someone notices?"

Ying shook her head. "No. We stop chasing."

She tapped the screen once. A new image appeared – a psychic composite of the vanished, their names scrubbed from official records. Dozens of faces. Young. Beautiful. Unusual.

"Tomas doesn't just take people. He selects them," Ying said. "They call it tribute, but it's not random. It's curation."

She didn't look at them. Not yet. She let the image speak first.

Then turned.

Her eyes found Chloe. Then Alyssa.

"Twins. Beautiful. Unique."

She let the pause hang.

"If we want in… you're the perfect offer."

The air thickened.

Dan was on his feet before anyone could speak. "Absolutely not," he snapped. "You're out of your mind if you think we're handing them over."

"They wouldn't be alone—"

"I don't care if we shadow them with a damn army," Dan cut in. "There has to be another way."

Chloe didn't flinch. Just shrugged like someone who had already lost the argument with herself hours ago. "We knew it might come to this."

Alyssa's voice followed, calm but unmistakable: "And if it gets us to Max?" She met Ying's gaze, then Dan's. "I'll walk myself to his throne."

Dan's mouth opened. Closed. He didn't sit back down.

Liz spoke, finally. Her voice was dry, flat. "So, this is it. We become bait. Again."

"No," Ying said. "We become bait on purpose."

The silence that followed wasn't resistance. It was something worse.

Agreement.

The kind that leaves a taste like iron in the back of your throat.

…………………

Dan caught her by the arm as the meeting broke. The others filtered out in twos and silences, but he didn't let go. Not yet.

"Alyssa," he said, too sharp at first. He softened it. "This is like Japan all over again."

She didn't answer, not immediately.

"You throw yourself into hell," he continued, voice tightening, "and I just watch."

Alyssa studied him. That old pain in his eyes again—fury shaped by love, helplessness dressed in steel. She placed her hand lightly against his chest. His heart was racing.

"You didn't just watch," she said. "You were always there. Bleeding beside me. Lifting me when I couldn't stand."

He looked away. "But this time…"

"This time you can't be," she finished. "And that's okay."

He shook his head once. "You said it yourself, you're at your best when we fight together."

Alyssa smiled. Not the sharp one she used in battle. The quiet one. The one she only saved for him.

"Then make sure I come back."

She stepped past him before he could speak again. But her fingers lingered just a moment longer on his chest. And then she was gone.

Chloe dragged a whetstone slowly down the edge of her blade. A slow, dry scrape. Again. And again. Her foot tapped quietly, almost absently, as if she didn't know she was doing it. The rhythm was too steady for nerves. Too sharp for calm.

Liz leaned against the wall nearby. Arms crossed. Jaw set like stone.

"So, you're just fine with being bait?"

Chloe didn't stop sharpening. Didn't even look up. "I've been invisible my whole life. Now I'm a lure. It feels honest, at least."

Liz's mouth twitched. Not quite a frown. Not quite anything.

"I should've been the one," she muttered.

Chloe looked at her. Just a glance.

"Don't worry," she said quietly. "When it's your turn… we'll be there too."

And the whetstone sang its dry little song again.

…………………

The map flickered across the war table – soulfield overlays twitching like bruises under skin, clusters of light-sick halos marking priority zones, glowing and dying by turns. The edges bled static. The city's soul was sick, and the screen showed it plainly.

Ying stood at the head of the table, arms folded, jaw tight.

"We go wide," she said. "Each of us takes a different path in. We cast a net."

The others were scattered across the war room, each a shadow of focus and fatigue. Liz leaned back in her chair, arms crossed – not defiant, just coiled. Chloe crouched low on a stool, her blade resting across one knee, eyes already scanning the exits. Victor paced slow laps by the window. Alyssa perched on its ledge, sunlight haloing her hair like defiance given form. Dan stood beside her, silent.

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Ying tapped the projection. The inner ring lit up – a cluster of surveillance dead zones, psychic dead spots.

"Victor escalates," she said. "Loud. Visible. Get arrested. Stir unrest."

Victor grinned like someone finally handed a hammer.

"Been aching to start a riot. Masks off, claws out – you know the deal."

Chloe gave him a sidelong glance. "Just make sure you're the one that gets caught."

He gave a mock salute. "What, no faith in me?"

Chloe's mouth twitched – just a flicker. "Oh, I've got faith. That you'll absolutely cause a scene."

Ying turned, nodding toward Dan and Liz. "You two go through the front gate. Volunteer yourselves to the Flame Father. It's the fastest direct route."

Liz didn't flinch.

But she didn't speak right away either.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the board – not at the markers, not at the paths, but at the name.

Flame Father.

The phrase caught behind her ribs. Not fear. Not revulsion. Just… wrongness. Like something sacred had been mocked in public.

"Dad would've hated that name," she said finally, voice quiet. "Flame Father. Like fire's supposed to be worshipped. He never thought like that."

Dan glanced at her. "What did he think?"

Liz blinked – once, slow. A memory lit behind her eyes, warm and painful.

"When I was five, we were driving home from the night market. Normal night. There was a crash ahead – some drunk clipped a car and sent it spinning."

She hesitated. Then: "Before I even realised what happened… he was already out the door."

A pause.

"There was a kid inside. Screaming. The car was already on fire. And he just – ran. No gear. No plan. Just Max, ripping the door open with his bare hands."

She glanced down, lips pressed thin. A faint laugh escaped – brittle, unsteady.

"Mum used to tease him about it. Afterward. When they were bandaging his arms."

Her voice softened, almost a whisper. 'You save people, she'd say. That's who you are.'"

Silence crept into the corners of the room.

Liz finally looked up. Her jaw set.

"If they're calling Max a tribute… if they've turned him into something else… then we go in and pull him out. Just like he did for everyone else."

Her voice hardened, even as her chest tightened. "If he's still alive… he's not just surviving. He's still saving people. That's who he is."

A long silence.

Then: "Straight through the fire. That's where he'd be."

Dan swallowed hard. His gaze shifted – to Alyssa. Still close. Still about to be left behind.

"I don't like leaving you here," he murmured. "Not when I don't know what they'll do to you."

Alyssa rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder lightly into his. "You're not leaving me. You're letting me hit someone when it counts. You know I'm crap at sneaking around – that's her job." She jerked her chin toward Chloe.

Dan exhaled through his nose – but his lip twitched.

"Right. You'll just sit around looking pretty until it's time to break something."

Victor snorted. "Honestly? Best bait we've got."

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Careful, Vic. If they take her, I'm ghosting through their walls and ripping out throats."

Alyssa grinned. "Try not to be too jealous if I get picked first."

Dan looked between them – Chloe, Alyssa, Liz. Then nodded slowly, something solemn in his throat.

"Just get out if it goes wrong. Please."

Chloe didn't blink. "You know I will. I'll take her out like smoke."

Ying waited. Let the moment settle. Then stepped forward, her voice cold again.

"I'll embed with the Enforcers. There's a high-turnover squad cycling weekly. I'll find a way in."

She looked around the table. One by one. No judgement. Just assessment. Measuring steel.

"We fan out. If any of us gets taken – the rest follow."

No one spoke.

Then Chloe, dry as old paper: "So this isn't just a plan. It's a trap."

Ying didn't blink. "No. It's a net."

Chloe's eyes narrowed. "You think it'll work?"

Ying's voice dropped low.

"Yes. One way or another… we'll find Max. Or finally learn what Tomas is really hiding."

A gust of city wind rattled the windows. Outside, the bells began to chime – dull, warped by the smog. Seven notes. Then silence.

Inside, no one moved.

They didn't have to.

The net was cast. The bait chosen.

And someone… was about to vanish.

…………………

Victor watched them talk.

Plans. Paths. Bait and tactics. Ying's voice cutting clean through the haze. Dan and Liz talking about walking into fire like it was routine. Chloe sharpening her blade like it was just another Tuesday.

Victor stood near the edge of the room, arms folded tight, tail twitching slow behind him. Casual, on the outside. But his fangs felt too close to surfacing. The room was too small. The walls felt too close. Everyone was being so damn calm about it.

He kept his jaw locked. Didn't interrupt.

But the longer he watched Alyssa joke about being bait – the longer he saw Liz nod with that fire-glint in her eye, the kind Max used to have – the deeper it pressed into him.

That quiet pressure. Like something cracking under your own ribs.

Five years.

They were still carrying Max's name like a compass.

But Victor hadn't been carrying it.

He'd been carrying the silence.

The guilt.

The moment Ying had laid out the plan, he'd spoken first. Volunteered. Voice too steady.

"I'll go loud. Cause enough noise to make them grab me."

Dan had paused, one eyebrow raised. "You sure?"

Victor shrugged. "I'm tired of hiding the monster. Maybe it's time I let them see it."

He said it like it was a joke. But it wasn't.

Because truth was – it wasn't the fight that scared him.

It was what came after.

What came without Max.

Max used to anchor him. Keep the worst parts of the Chimera in check. Victor was the chaos – Max was the reason. That was the dance. That was how it worked. Victor broke walls, Max gave orders, and somehow nobody died that wasn't supposed to.

But now…

Now he didn't know what would happen when he cut loose.

He'd been avoiding it. Holding back. Even in the worst raids. Even when the feral edge came whispering. He always stopped short.

Because if he didn't – if he let it in – who would stop him?

Max used to. Max could.

Victor's tail flicked again, sharp and fast this time. He clenched his fists, knuckles cracking.

He didn't let himself think about that night. The moment they lost him. Max, standing in that crumbling courtyard, chains glowing, screaming for them to run.

Victor had run.

He hadn't been strong enough.

Was he now?

He didn't know.

But if someone had to start a riot… If someone had to throw the first match into the powder keg… Let them take him.

He'd walk straight into the trap. Smile while they chained him.

Because this time, when the monster came out, he'd make damn sure it had purpose.

He would get Max back.

Even if it meant losing himself.

And if he couldn't?

If he wasn't strong enough?

Then at least he'd go down trying – teeth bared, tail lashing, with the whole city watching.

Let Tomas see what happens when you back a Chimera into a corner.

Let them all see.

…………………

The city swallowed them one by one.

Chloe and Alyssa went first. No goodbyes. Just a glance between them – the kind only siblings shared – and then they walked. Side by side. Hand in hand.

Their clothes had been chosen with care. Matching dresses, elegant but sharp, hemmed just above the knee. A hint of curve, a glint of skin – enough to draw eyes but not invite touch. They didn't wear disguises. They didn't need to. The power was in the symmetry. Identical enough to draw whispers. Unusual enough to draw the right kind of attention.

Alyssa adjusted the silver clasp at her neck. Chloe checked the blade hidden beneath her sleeve. Then they stepped into the plaza, their heels clicking in unison, two rare notes in the city's stifled rhythm.

Alyssa's hand brushed Chloe's briefly. Not a squeeze. Just enough.

"We only get taken if we want to," Chloe murmured.

Alyssa smirked. "Speak for yourself. I plan on getting picked."

Chloe rolled her eyes – but her fingers stayed close.

Within moments, they were just another part of the crowd.

Victor didn't dress up.

He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and joined a loose cluster of migrant workers lining up at Checkpoint Six. His jacket was stained. His boots scuffed. His claws tucked into fingerless gloves, tail wrapped tight around his waist like a coil of rope.

But his eyes burned.

He scanned the guards. The weapons. The cracks in their formation.

He was already planning how to break the silence.

The moment he was inside, he'd start a fight loud enough to shake the walls.

Ying moved without a word.

The repurposed Enforcer uniform fit too well. Armoured fabric, stitched for obedience. She pulled her hair into a tight, painful bun. No makeup. No scent. Her eyes were already dead.

She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a bundle of old ID tags – small metal discs etched with names that no longer mattered.

She held them over the trash incinerator and let go.

The fire didn't blink.

Dan and Liz lingered on the rooftop of the Aria Hotel.

The city sprawled beneath them – neat cobblestone grids, golden light, smokestacks puffing faintly in the distance. Prague looked peaceful from above. Almost like it had earned its silence.

Liz held a match between her fingers. She struck it.

Fssh.

The sound was sharp, clean. The flame danced.

She didn't light anything with it. Just watched it burn down to her fingertips.

Dan stood a few steps away, hands in his coat pockets. He didn't say anything. He just watched her. The way her shoulders stayed tense. The way her eyes never blinked.

She didn't look back.

The match burned out. She dropped it. The wind carried the ash away.

Somewhere near the Grand Basilica, a golden statue rose above the square – pristine, radiant, arms raised toward the heavens.

King Tomas.

Carved into the pedestal: To be chosen is the highest honour.

Chloe and Alyssa passed beneath it, shoulder to shoulder, heads high.

Neither paused.

But Alyssa murmured under her breath, just loud enough for her sister to hear.

"Then let's make him regret choosing us."

Victor didn't dress up.

He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and joined a loose cluster of migrant workers lining up at Checkpoint Six. His jacket was stained. His boots scuffed. His claws tucked into fingerless gloves, tail wrapped tight around his waist like a coil of rope.

But his eyes burned.

He scanned the guards. The weapons. The cracks in their formation.

He was already planning how to break the silence.

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