Whatever it Takes

The wind screamed over the rooftops, pushing against the dark silhouette that leapt from one ledge to the next. HeartEater moved like smoke—gray cloak whipping behind him, boots hitting steel and stone with perfect balance. The city stretched below in grids of amber and ash. From above, the world looked manageable.

His grappling gun hissed. The line snapped taut, slingshotting him across a chasm between buildings. He landed silently atop a rusted billboard, crouched low, eyes scanning beneath the glowing lenses.

Then—

A scream.

Sharp. Young. Desperate.

A girl.

He pivoted without hesitation, sprinting along the rooftop and vaulting down a rusted fire escape. The sound echoed off the alley walls—one block over. He dropped, landed in a crouch, then sprinted again, cloak dragging orange across the wet cement like fading embers.

When he reached the alley, he stopped.

A girl was cornered—small, trembling, pressed against the wall while two men loomed over her.

Except… they weren't moving.

His head tilted.

The "girl" shifted unnaturally, arms stiff. Her face was a blank latex mask. Too perfect. Too still.

A dummy.

So were the thugs—lifeless mannequins in tattered street clothes, posed mid-motion.

> Trap.

He turned.

The attack came from above—blades flashing in the thin moonlight. He raised his forearm just in time, catching steel on steel. Sparks spat as he twisted back, landing in a crouch.

Calla Brandt stood where he'd just been.

Her hair was slicked to her face with sweat and rain, eyes flat and quiet—feral behind their calm. The torn gloves were the same. So were the curved knives. Her breathing was shallow. Controlled.

> "You remembered," she said softly.

She lunged.

Their blades clashed in rapid beats—ringing like wind chimes made of bones. Her style was fast, agile, full of turns and redirection. She struck with fury, but her eyes remained emotionless—like her body was raging and her mind was somewhere else.

> "You ruined it," she muttered between blows. "The job. KorrinTech. I was going to finish it. But you—"

He caught her wrist mid-swing and twisted. Her knife clattered to the ground. She kicked at his knee, but he sidestepped, hooked her other arm, and spun her hard against the wall.

He pinned her there—one hand locking both wrists above her head, the other resting on her hip to steady her thrashing.

Her eyes burned holes in his mask.

> "Three warnings," he said quietly. "You know this."

She didn't struggle. Not at first.

> "I haven't wasted one," she said.

He was silent for a moment. Then he leaned closer. His lenses glowed inches from her face. The dry rasp of his voice came again.

> "Why did you come back?"

She didn't answer at first. Then, beneath her breath—

> "He's out."

HeartEater's fingers flexed slightly.

> "Iosef," she said. "My brother. He broke out. And he'll come for me. Doesn't matter where I hide. He always finds me."

He stared.

> "Why do you care?" she snapped suddenly, twisting her hands in his grip. "Why are you even here? You don't save people like me."

He let go.

She dropped to her feet, breathing hard. Her hair fell across her face like curtains, hiding the worst of her expression. She turned from him.

He took one step away.

Then—her hand caught his arm.

She gripped it tight—not to restrain him. Not to fight.

To stop him.

He turned his head slightly, watching her.

> "You don't understand," she said, her voice cracking at the edge. "He'll drag me back into it. Into him. And I'm not strong enough to stop him alone. Not anymore."

He didn't move.

She looked up at him finally, eyes full of something brittle. Not fear. Not quite hope either.

> "I don't care what it costs," she said. "I'll fight. I'll bleed. I'll kill for it. But you… you have to protect me."

She swallowed, and her voice dropped.

> "Whatever it takes."

HeartEater said nothing.

Only the faint hum of the city stirred behind them.

But in his silence—there was no denial.

And Calla didn't let go.