Chapter 5: The Fade Underground

"Alright, Voss, listen up," Lena barked, her voice slicing through the damp air of the safehouse like a blade through flesh. "We're not just hiding anymore—we're building something. You wanna fix this mess? You're gonna need more than guts and that damn glowing hand."

I slumped against the wall, my boots scraping the grimy floor, the cold seeping through my jacket. The safehouse was a shithole—mould climbing the walls like a disease, lanterns flickering like they were about to give up, and a handful of Fades staring at me with hollow eyes. They looked like they'd been chewed up and spat out by the city, same as me. My paradox mark throbbed under my sleeve, a constant pulse that matched the ticking in my head—loud, relentless, like a countdown I couldn't stop.

Lena paced in front of me, her dagger spinning between her fingers, catching the dim light. "Tali's rounding up runners, Markus is mapping the vault, and I'm scouting the towers. But you? You're the wildcard, Kai. That mark's a liability—it's tearing shit apart—but it's also our ace. We need to figure out how to control it, or at least keep it from blowing us all to hell."

I rubbed my temples, the ticking drilling into my skull. "Control it? I don't even know what it is, Lena. One minute I'm slowing time, the next I'm turning people into dust. How the hell am I supposed to—"

"Focus," Markus cut in, his voice rough as gravel but steady as stone. He leaned on his cane, eyes sharp despite the wrinkles carved deep into his face. "You're tied to that stolen time—your sister's trade. It's like a knot in the fabric, and you're the loose thread. Pull it wrong, everything unravels. But maybe, just maybe, you can pull it right."

Tali stepped out of the shadows, her jittery hands clutching a chipped relic that looked like it'd seen better days. Her voice was small but firm. "I've got people—Fades who hate the Syndicate as much as we do. They'll fight, but they need a reason. They need to believe we can win."

I looked at her, then at Lena and Markus. The air felt heavy, thick with the stink of rot and desperation. "And what's the pitch?" I asked, my throat dry. "That I'm some chosen one with a cursed hand? That we're gonna storm the Syndicate's vault and… what? Steal back time itself?"

Lena smirked, a glint flashing in her eye. "Something like that. Look, Voss, you're not a hero—you're a Fade like the rest of us. But you've got something they don't: a direct line to the Syndicate's dirty laundry. We spread the word that you're the key to breaking their grip, and we'll have an army by dawn."

I wanted to laugh, but the ache in my chest—Mara's ache—kept me grounded. It was her voice I kept hearing, faint and fading: "You can't pay it back." Maybe I couldn't, but sitting here wasn't an option either. "Alright," I said, pushing off the wall, my legs shaky but holding. "Let's do it. But first, I need to know more about this vault. Markus, you said you guarded it—spill."

He grunted, easing himself onto a creaky bench, the wood groaning under his weight. "It's buried deep under the towers—sealed with relics older than the city itself. The Syndicate hoards pure time there—unstolen, untraded. It's their backup stash, in case the whole damn system collapses. But it's guarded by Reapers and worse—things that don't age, don't die, don't even bleed right."

"Great," I muttered, running a hand through my hair, the damp strands sticking to my fingers. "So we're walking into a death trap."

"Pretty much," Lena said, tossing her dagger up and catching it mid-air with a flick of her wrist. "But we've got no choice. That stash is the only thing that might balance your mark—or at least stop the paradoxes from tearing the city apart."

I clenched my fist, the mark pulsing hotter, sending a jolt up my arm. "Then we move fast. Tali, get your people—tell 'em we're hitting back. Lena, scout the towers, find us a way in. Markus, draw me that damn map. I'll… I'll figure out how to not blow us up."

Tali nodded, her skinny frame darting out the door into the rain-soaked night. Markus pulled a crumpled scrap of paper from his coat, his gnarled fingers sketching lines with a stub of charcoal. Lena gave me a hard look, her scar twisting as she frowned. "Don't screw this up, Voss. We're all in now—me, the old man, those Fades out there. You're the spark, but you burn us, and we're done."

She slipped out, her boots splashing in puddles, leaving me with Markus and the relentless ticking. I leaned over his shoulder, watching the map take shape—twisting tunnels, guard posts marked with Xs, relic-locked doors circled in shaky lines. It was a suicide run, no question. The vault wasn't just a place; it was a fortress, built to keep people like us out. But I kept seeing Mara—her reaching, her fading—and I knew we didn't have a choice.

Markus tapped a spot near the center. "Here's the main gate—Reapers patrol it round the clock. Side tunnels might work, but they're narrow, easy to get pinned in." His voice was low, like he was remembering every shift he'd pulled down there. "And the core—the pure time—it's locked behind something even I never saw up close."

I swallowed, my mouth dry as dust. "What's the worst we're up against?"

He looked up, his eyes dark. "Lost Timelords, maybe. Old bastards who traded so much they're barely human—can twist time like it's clay. If they're guarding it, we're fucked without a plan."

"Then we make one," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Tali's bringing bodies, Lena's finding holes. We hit hard, fast, and smart."

Markus snorted, a dry laugh. "You sound like her—your sister. She had that fire too."

The words hit me like a punch, and I froze. "You knew her? Mara?"

He nodded, slow. "Met her once, before the trade. She was desperate—said she'd do anything to keep you breathing. Didn't realize how far she'd go 'til it was too late."

I turned away, my chest tight, staring at the flickering lantern. Mara's sacrifice was the ghost I couldn't shake, and now it was driving us into the Syndicate's jaws. "She's why I'm doing this," I muttered. "If there's a chance—even a slim one—to fix it, I'm taking it."

Markus didn't reply, just kept sketching. The safehouse door creaked open, and Tali stumbled in, soaked to the bone, trailed by a dozen Fades—ragged, hard-eyed folks with knives and relics of their own. "They're in," she said, breathless. "Word's spreading—more'll come."

I looked at them—strangers who'd signed up for a fight they might not survive. "You know what we're up against?" I asked, stepping forward. "Syndicate towers, Reapers, maybe worse. We're going for their heart, and it's gonna hurt."

A big guy with a scar across his nose grunted. "They've been bleeding us dry for years. If you're the one to stick it to 'em, I'm in."

Others nodded, murmurs rippling through the group. I wasn't a leader—not really—but they didn't care. They saw the mark, heard the rumors, and that was enough. Lena slipped back in, rain dripping off her hood. "Towers are locked tight, but there's a sewer grate—leads to the tunnels. It's our shot."

"Then we take it," I said, meeting her gaze. "Tomorrow night, we move."

The room buzzed with tension, the Fades gearing up, Markus finishing his map. I clenched my fist, the mark's heat spreading, and felt the weight of it all—Mara's trade, the city's collapse, our insane plan. We were a spark in the dark, and I just hoped we'd burn bright enough to matter.