Chapter Twenty-Eight: A City in Waiting

The Middle Order was deceptively peaceful.

Tara had only been a child when she last walked these streets. Now, every building, every street corner, every government checkpoint carried a different weight.

She saw what she had never seen before—the cracks beneath the perfect veneer.

The fluorescent city lights cast long, unnatural shadows against the gray and white architecture. Towers of stone and glass stood shoulder to shoulder, pristine and calculated, with every street carefully planned. There were no wasted spaces. No signs of life beyond what was allowed.

Tara could feel the eyes watching them.

There were no true secrets in the Middle Order. Everything was recorded, everything was observed. And yet, beneath the rigid control, something in the air felt off.

It was too still.

Too controlled.

⸻

Group One: Merchants of Middle Order

(Collin, Talulah, and Seamus)

Collin tugged at the high-collared coat Seamus had given him, scowling. "This thing feels like a straitjacket."

Seamus grunted, adjusting his sleeves. "It's called 'fashion,' boy. Try looking the part."

Collin rolled his eyes, but Talulah—poised in an elegant white gown—gave him a warning glance. "We don't need any unnecessary attention."

They walked in a perfectly measured pace, just slow enough to blend in but not so slow that they seemed out of place.

Talulah's silvery hair was braided and draped neatly over her shoulder, her movements as fluid as water. She looked every part the angel wife she was supposed to be.

Collin, on the other hand, felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb. He had spent too much time in the Shade. The way people walked here—the way they moved with a quiet sense of purpose—was unnatural to him now.

Seamus, however, was in his element.

He walked with confidence, the weight of his supposed frailty an act. His role was clear—an ailing father, traveling with his Fluorescent son and angelic daughter-in-law.

No one stopped them.

But Collin could feel the watchful gazes.

One group of Ordie officials lingered nearby. They were talking amongst themselves, but Collin caught it—the way one of them turned, just slightly, listening.

Seamus murmured under his breath, "They don't suspect us yet, but they will."

Collin barely moved his lips. "What do we do?"

Talulah straightened her posture, smiling politely at a passing guard. "We don't give them a reason to look closer."

Collin exhaled.

So far, so good.

⸻

Group Two: Scouting the Perimeter

(Landon, Ballad, and Lottie)

Landon walked like he belonged here.

It wasn't just his face—his warm skin, his deep green eyes, the way his curls caught the city's glow. It was his posture. The way he carried himself.

People in the Middle Order didn't look twice at him.

Ballad, on the other hand, was too sharp, her smirk too knowing. And Lottie—Lottie looked like she was one second away from bolting into the shadows.

They reached the edge of the Human President's office.

The tallest structure in the district, standing against the sky like a monument to control.

Guards stood at every entrance. Not just Ordies—Fluorescents too.

Ballad whistled under her breath. "That's a lot of firepower."

Landon's jaw tightened.

"Do you think it's for us?" Lottie whispered.

Ballad shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Landon's fingers flexed.

They had one job—gauge the security levels, see what they were up against.

But something felt wrong.

The Fluorescents stationed here weren't acting normal. They weren't just standing guard.

They were tense.

Waiting for something.

Landon's gut twisted.

Something was coming.

⸻

Group Three: The Haunted Home

(Tara and Skye)

Tara's breath shook as she stood in front of her childhood home.

The house was exactly as she remembered.

That was what made it worse.

The white stone walls were pristine. The doorframe, the arched windows, the iron lanterns lining the entrance—all seemingly untouched.

Like nothing had ever happened.

Like her parents hadn't died here.

Tara's stomach twisted violently.

It was too perfect.

Skye stood beside her, silent.

His black-glimmering eyes traced the edges of the house, searching.

She knew what he was thinking.

"It's a trap," he murmured.

Tara clenched her fists.

"Yes," she whispered. "But it's mine."

She stepped forward.

The front door was unlocked.

Her fingers hovered over the handle.

Skye's presence was a heavy shadow behind her. "You don't have to do this."

Tara swallowed hard.

"Yes, I do."

The door creaked as it swung open.

The air inside was still.

Too still.

Tara stepped inside, every sense on high alert.

Her childhood home looked exactly the same.

The marble floors gleamed. The portraits on the walls were untouched. Even the scent of old wood and lavender still clung to the air.

It was as if time had stopped here.

A sharp creak sounded from deep within the house.

Tara's breath hitched.

Skye shifted beside her. "We're not alone."

She reached for her dagger—

Then something moved.

Not an intruder.

Not a guard.

Something else.

The shadows flickered.

The house seemed to breathe.

Tara's pulse thundered.

She had been so sure this was a trap.

But now—

She wasn't so sure anymore.

Something was waiting for her here.

Something ancient.

Something that knew her name.

Tara stepped deeper into the house.

A voice—soft as smoke, brittle as old paper—whispered from the darkness.

"Little crow... you have come home."

Her blood went cold.

Skye's breath was sharp. "Tara—"

The door behind them slammed shut.

The house was alive.

And it was waiting for her.