Chapter 17: The Rift’s Echo

The Apex Tower trembled under a sky dulled by rift scars, their purple glow fading into a bruised haze as rain streaked the rooftop. Elias Voss stood at the edge, machete sheathed, its runes dim beneath crusted blood and rift ash. His gray eyes pierced the neon sprawl of Old Detroit below, unblinking, the scar over his eyebrow sharp in the flickering light. The SIG Sauer hung empty at his hip, its clip spent, while blood dripped from a fresh gash on his arm, soaking his torn tactical gear. Pain throbbed in his back and shoulder, a dull roar he silenced with every breath—exhaustion was a foe he'd outlasted before.

Mira Kade slumped against the platform's wreckage, her magic gone, hands trembling as she wiped blood from her nose. Her torn jacket hung in rags, her smirk faint but defiant despite the bruises blooming on her side. "She's slippery," she rasped, voice raw, kicking a shard of the shattered rift console into the rain. Elias didn't reply, just scanned the roof—techs' bodies strewn, rift tendrils burned into the steel, the gate's hum a faint echo in the wind. The Wraith Queen's laugh—"Freedom's dawn"—lingered in his skull, a taunt he'd answer with steel.

The city wailed below—sirens screaming, drones converging, Apex's collapse unfolding in real time. Elias moved to the stairs, gray eyes narrowing as the tower shuddered, glass cracking somewhere below. "Out," he rasped, voice flat, machete in hand. Mira followed, limping but steady, her breath fogging in the chill. "Apex won't like this cleanup," she muttered, her smirk sharpening. He grunted, a rare sound, descending into the stairwell—rift energy lingered, a faint pulse in the walls, the Queen's shadow not fully gone.

The top-floor hall was a ruin—Carver's suite door hung off its hinges, blood pooling where he'd fallen, unconscious but alive. Elias stepped over him, gray eyes piercing the dark—guards' bodies littered the corridor, glass shards crunching under his boots. Mira paused, magic flickering low as she checked Carver's pulse. "Still breathing," she said, voice sharp. "Too bad." Elias didn't stop, just kept moving—Carver was a loose end, but the Queen was the hunt, and she'd slipped through again.

The elevator bank loomed, doors jammed half-open—Elias pried them apart, machete wedged as leverage, and nodded Mira in. She slipped through, her magic flaring to fry a sparking panel—the car jolted, descending in fits, alarms blaring as the tower groaned. "Forty-seven floors," she quipped, leaning against the wall, breathless. "Plenty of time to bleed out." Elias grunted, gray eyes on the numbers dropping—40, 35, 30—his blood dripping onto the floor, a steady rhythm he ignored.

The lobby hit like a warzone—marble cracked, guards' bodies slumped, drones buzzing through shattered windows. Elias stepped out, machete up, runes glowing faintly as he scanned the chaos—Apex security swarmed outside, rifles barking at looters breaching the perimeter. Mira's Violet spark fried a drone diving for them, its crash muffled by the sirens. "Exit's hot," she said, magic coiling in her palms. He nodded once, voice low. "Through."

They broke for the doors, Elias's machete slashing a guard's chest—blood sprayed, runes blazing as he fell—while Mira's Violet whip snapped another's neck, clearing a path. Bullets chewed the marble—Elias rolled, firing the last of his SIG Sauer, dropping two more, then discarded it, empty. The truck waited in the alley, dented but alive—he vaulted in, starting the engine as Mira climbed shotgun, her magic shielding them from a stray shot. Tires screeched, spinning mud, and they peeled out, the tower's chaos fading in the rearview.

The docklands swallowed them, neon bleeding through the rain as Elias drove for the safehouse—a squat garage in the slums, its walls a shield against the city's eyes. He parked inside, killing the engine, the silence thick with the hum of rift scars overhead and the drip of blood from his arm. Mira slumped into a chair, kicking her boots off, magic flaring low as she patched her cuts. "You're a mess," she said, eyeing him, her smirk faint. Elias didn't reply, just dumped his gear—machete on the workbench, SIG Sauer beside it—gray eyes scanning shelves for ammo and bandages.

A low hum broke the quiet—not the truck, not the city. Elias froze, machete up, runes flaring as the floor trembled—a faint crack shimmered, purple light pulsing, a rift seam waking. Mira's magic flared, violet casting shadows. "Again?" she hissed, standing fast. The crack widened, tendrils lashing, but no shade emerged—only a voice, cold and sharp, echoing from the rift. "You break my toys," the Wraith Queen purred, her laugh like breaking glass. "But I mend fast."

Elias slashed the tendrils—runes blazed, cutting through, black smoke curling as the rift snapped shut, her voice fading. He wiped the machete, gray eyes narrowing—the seam was gone, but the hum lingered, a whisper in his skull. Mira's magic dimmed, her smirk replaced by a grimace. "She's taunting us—rifts are her playground now." Elias nodded, sheathing the machete, voice flat. "Then we burn it down."

He pulled a bandage from the shelf, wrapping his arm—blood soaked through, but he tied it tight, gray eyes steady. Mira watched, her voice low. "Apex is done—Carver's out, tower's breached. She's got no leash here." Elias grunted, cleaning the machete by habit, runes glowing soft as he worked. "Doesn't need one. Rift's enough." She smirked, faint but real, leaning back. "Guess we're stuck chasing her shadow."

The safehouse settled, neon bleeding through the cracks, but the air felt charged—rift scars pulsed overhead, a reminder of her reach. Elias sat, gray eyes on the blade, the hunt a quiet, unyielding thing in his bones. "She's rift-bound," he rasped, voice low. "But not weak. We find the scars, we find her." Mira nodded, pulling Rhea's vial—empty now—from her pocket, rolling it in her hands. "Back to the Flask, then? Rhea's got ears."

He didn't reply, just finished the blade, sheathing it with a click that echoed in the quiet. The Wraith Queen was out there, her tendrils threading through the city's veins, Apex's collapse a crack she'd widen. Elias stood, gray eyes on the door, the truck waiting beyond. The hunt wasn't over—it was deeper now, a war of seams and shadows, and he'd meet her with steel and silence, one rift at a time.