Jared braced for impact as he hurtled off the catwalk. A heartbeat later, he crashed onto a stack of wooden crates below, the impact vibrating up his legs and into his spine. He muffled a pained grunt, scrambling to keep his balance on the teetering boxes. The flickering lights of Greyline Depot strobed overhead, casting disjointed shadows that made each shape seem larger and more menacing than it was.
From up here, he had a direct vantage point on the stage where the Shades of Authority were displayed. A swirl of confusion rippled through the crowd on the warehouse floor: wealthy bidders huddled in small clusters, guards barked orders into handheld radios, and at the center of it all stood Selina Vaughn, eyes blazing with fury as she tried to keep the auction under control.
Marcus's improvised sabotage had worked, throwing half the overhead lights into a chaotic stutter. But Jared knew that advantage wouldn't last forever. Already, some of the Syndicate's tech-savvy minions might be trying to reset the fuse box or bypass Marcus's device. He had to move fast.
Still crouched on the crates, Jared scanned the confusion for Ava. He caught a glimpse of her silhouette behind a tall partition near the stage, just as a guard with a rifle sidled toward her position. Ava slipped deeper into the shadows, presumably to remain unseen, but her exit was effectively blocked. Jared's pulse quickened. She was trapped.
A burst of static from the nearby intercom turned heads across the depot. A frantic voice crackled over the speakers:
"—sweep the upper levels—"
"—check the catwalk—"
"—intruders confirmed—"
Jared gritted his teeth. They were officially exposed. The sense of being hunted pressed down on him, like a vise tightening around his chest.
A Desperate Plan
He hopped off the crate stack, dropping lightly onto the warehouse floor behind a row of empty chairs. Most of the buyers had retreated from the center aisles, murmuring nervously about the power failure and the potential security threat. The few who remained were the daredevils—or those confident they had muscle to protect them. Jared used the relative chaos to slip behind a tall metal pillar.
He flattened his back against the cold steel and dared another peek around the edge. Two guards circled the stage, scanning for suspicious movement. The glass display case containing the Shades of Authority still rested in the center, lit by a single, flickering spotlight. Selina Vaughn paced near it, her swirl tattoo shifting ominously under the half-lit environment. She barked commands at a man wearing a headset, who nodded and rushed away.
If Jared could reach the stage—if he could just get his hands on the artifact—maybe he could escape using the catwalk overhead, or one of the side doors. The plan felt half-baked at best, reckless at worst, but he saw no other option. If the Syndicate realized the sabotage was Marcus's doing, they'd double down on security—and turn this place into a death trap.
He spotted an opening: a gap between two sets of stacked chairs near the front row, close to the stage's left side. In the flickering light, he counted only one guard in that direction, and the man's attention was on the perimeter, not the stage. Jared inhaled, steadying himself.
Now or never.
Convergence on Stage
Keeping low, Jared darted out from behind the pillar and zigzagged through the rows of chairs. The crowd gasped and shifted; a few startled guests pointed, but no one stepped in to stop him—not yet. He reached the final row and rolled behind a cluster of toppled seats. Close now—only a few strides to the stage.
A shout rang out from somewhere behind him. A guard. Jared clenched his jaw and lunged forward, scrambling up the stage's small steps. He nearly collided with a startled auction assistant, who screamed and stumbled backward, allowing Jared a direct path toward the glass case at center stage.
At the same moment, Selina Vaughn whirled around, her silver dress catching the erratic light. Surprise flashed across her face, quickly replaced by cold resolve. She lunged for a side table—a place where the Syndicate might have concealed a firearm. Jared cursed under his breath. He didn't have time to worry about her if he wanted to grab the glasses first.
He dashed to the display case, heart pounding as he reached for the small latch. It was locked. Of course, it was locked. A wave of frustration welled up—he had nothing to break the glass with except his fists. Still, desperation made him reckless. He slammed his elbow against the case, ignoring the searing jolt that shot up his arm. The reinforced panel only cracked slightly.
"Stop him!" Selina shouted, voice echoing through the stuttering P.A. system. Guards converged, their boots thudding on the stage steps.
Jared hammered the display again, this time with all his might, and the glass splintered in a spiderweb pattern. A third blow broke it inward, shards raining down onto the black velvet lining. Ignoring the risk of sliced fingers, he reached inside—and his hand closed around cool metal frames.
The Shades of Authority.
A jolt of fierce relief surged through him, mingled with adrenaline. He tore them from the case and pressed them to his chest. Behind him, the echo of rapid footsteps told him the guards were mere seconds from seizing him.
Collision and Revelation
In an instant, Jared whirled around and slid the glasses onto his face. The world darkened under the tinted lenses, but it came alive with flickers of color—auras, energies. He saw the guards rushing in, their aggression pulsing in vivid streaks of red and black around their bodies. He perceived the arcs of motion as they raised their weapons, preparing to fire.
Reflex sparked inside him. He threw himself off the stage, landing hard on the floor below. Bullets spat from the guards' rifles, whizzing above him, punching holes in the back wall. Shouts erupted from the crowd; panic swept the aisles. The watchers dashed in every direction, a stampede of terrified buyers who wanted no part in a shootout.
Now wearing the artifact, Jared sensed the surge of aggression from each armed figure like a pressure wave. He ducked behind a podium as gunfire sprayed overhead. From behind the stage, Selina Vaughn roared an order: "Don't kill him—shoot to disable! We need those lenses back intact!"
Jared grimaced. If they wanted him alive, it was only to reclaim the Shades. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse than having them try to kill him outright.
Then he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye—a swirling aura of pinkish-red, more subdued than the guards. Ava. She slipped from behind a tall crate, snapping photos with a concealed camera pen before tucking it away. Her eyes locked onto Jared, and he saw relief flicker across her face. She gestured urgently toward an exit door behind the stage. One guard posted there had been drawn away by the chaos, leaving it momentarily undefended.
We have a path out, Jared realized.
But between him and that door, four guards crouched near the stage edge, forming a loose perimeter. Guns up. Hostile intent radiated off them in shimmering waves, courtesy of the glasses. Jared inhaled, scanning their stances. The artifact's influence let him sense the micro-movements, the tension in their muscles, the direction each would pivot.
I can do this.
He burst from cover, heart thudding a rapid beat. The first guard snapped his rifle up, but Jared twisted aside a microsecond before the shot, guided by the aura's shift. The bullet ricocheted off a metal railing. Jared lunged, ramming his shoulder into the guard's midsection. The guard tumbled backward with a strangled grunt.
Another guard rushed in, swinging the butt of his rifle toward Jared's face. Through the tinted lenses, Jared saw the telegraphed movement in a swirl of red. He ducked under it, seized the rifle's barrel, and wrenched it sideways. The gun clattered to the floor, and Jared slammed a knee into the guard's stomach. He went down, gasping.
Two more guards remained, pressing in, eyes hard with grim resolve. Their auras crackled with bright, lethal intent. Jared backed up, scanning for an escape route. Ava was now out of sight—hopefully she'd already slipped further behind the stage.
One guard fired low. Jared dodged, but a bullet grazed his thigh, sending a flare of pain lancing through his leg. He staggered, fighting to stay upright. Another shot thundered, tearing through the stage's wooden steps. Smoke and debris filled the air, and the acrid smell of gunpowder bit at Jared's throat.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to keep moving. The artifact's aura-vision gave him just enough edge to anticipate a final swing from the second guard. Jared ducked under the blow and elbowed him in the jaw. The guard toppled with a crash, rifle spinning across the floor.
But his luck was running out. The first guard he'd knocked down was back on his feet, racking the slide of his weapon with grim determination. Jared was caught between them, leg throbbing, sweat trickling down his temple.
Unfinished Business
Suddenly, a metallic object clattered across the floor—Marcus's improvised gadget. It sparked and emitted a high-pitched screech, like feedback on steroids, causing the guards to cringe and clutch their ears. Jared seized the moment, lunging toward the unguarded exit door. He saw a blur of movement to his right: Marcus, half-hidden behind an overturned table, manually jamming a tangle of wires into a portable battery pack.
"Go!" Marcus hissed, voice barely audible over the screeching device.
Jared limped toward the door behind the stage. Ava emerged from the shadows, her expression tight with worry. She reached out, supporting him under the arm. "Can you run?"
"Not well," he admitted, teeth clenched against the burn in his thigh. "But I can still move."
They pushed through the exit, stepping into a narrow hallway lined with supply boxes. Behind them, the screech from Marcus's device abruptly stopped. Shouts erupted again, and the thunder of footsteps suggested more guards would be in pursuit any second.
Ava helped Jared hobble forward, scanning doors as they went. "We need an exit—somewhere we can lose them."
At the far end of the hallway, a heavy fire door with a rusted bar handle beckoned like a lifeline. Ava shoved it open, revealing a loading ramp bathed in flickering exterior floodlights. The open night air hit them, along with the sour stench of polluted bay water. Rain from the earlier storm had mostly subsided, leaving puddles glistening on the asphalt.
They descended the ramp, Jared leaning heavily on Ava. In the distance, he could see the chain-link fence surrounding Greyline Depot. Past it lay a narrow side street. If they could just get out of the complex, maybe they could slip into the city's warren of back alleys.
A roar of anger followed them from inside, echoing through the corridors. The door behind them slammed open again, and a pair of guards spilled out, rifles raised. Muzzle flashes spat in the gloom. Bullets sparked against the loading ramp's metal surface, sending Ava and Jared diving for cover behind a stack of rotting pallets.
Jared's vision tunneled, the artifact still perched on his face. The swirling black-red auras of the guards seethed with lethal intent. He had seconds before they rounded the pallet stack for a clear shot. His injured leg screamed in pain, but he forced himself to stand.
A sudden hiss of static from a radio made both guards pause. One pressed a hand to his earpiece, listening to frantic commands—maybe Selina Vaughn herself, demanding the retrieval of the Shades. Jared took the brief opening, hooking an arm around Ava's waist so they could move.
They broke from cover, splashing through puddles, and raced—or in Jared's case, hobbled—toward the fence. Gunfire erupted behind them. A bullet whizzed past Ava's shoulder, tearing a chunk of rusted fence post. She yelped, ducking low. Jared's heart hammered. They were too exposed out here.
As they neared the chain-link gate, it rattled violently. Another figure stood there—Marcus, breathless, a bandana wrapped around his forehead. He held the gate open, beckoning them forward. "Come on, come on!"
Jared half-fell, half-crashed through the opening, Ava helping him remain upright. Marcus slammed the gate shut behind them, though it wouldn't hold against determined pursuers for long. They stumbled down the dark side street, flickering streetlamps offering little comfort. The hum of distant highway traffic mingled with the ragged sound of their breathing.
Unwanted Revelation
Panting, they collapsed against a graffiti-splashed wall, out of direct sight from Greyline Depot. Jared clung to the Shades of Authority with trembling hands, the euphoria of having retrieved them soured by the throbbing ache in his thigh and the knowledge that the Syndicate was still in full force behind them.
Ava peered around the corner. The loading ramp area was quiet—no immediate sign of pursuit. But that wouldn't last. Sirens wailed somewhere far off in the city, though whether they were headed here or not was anyone's guess.
Marcus slid down to sit on the pavement, cradling some bruised ribs. "That was insane. But we got the artifact," he breathed, disbelief warring with relief. "You okay, Jared?"
Jared eased the tinted lenses off, wincing at the bright streetlight overhead. His vision blurred for a moment as he adjusted to normal reality. "I'll live. My leg's messed up, but no bullet's lodged—just a graze." He coughed, the burn of adrenaline fading into exhaustion.
Ava shook her head. "We can't stay here. They'll be looking for us. If we move now, we might slip away before they rally." She rubbed her arms, eyes flicking to the glasses in Jared's hands. "You have them. You actually got them back."
He nodded, heart pounding with mingled pride and dread. "Yeah. But we only stopped them from selling it tonight. The Syndicate's not done. And neither is Selina Vaughn."
Marcus let out a shaky chuckle. "And we're on their most-wanted list now, no question."
Silence settled among them, broken only by the distant shrieks of gulls near the waterfront. In the background, Greyline Depot's lights flickered, and an occasional flash of movement near the building's doors hinted at Syndicate guards still combing the area. So far, the team was lucky to remain undetected.
Ava exhaled, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I got some footage of the auction on my hidden camera—names, faces, bidding details. It's huge, Jared. This could blow the roof off Silvercoast corruption if we release it. But the big question is… how do we use it without getting ourselves killed?"
She had a point. The footage could expose a world of illegal dealings, potentially tying back to the same forces that orchestrated Jared's expulsion. Yet going public prematurely might bring the wrath of not just the Syndicate but also any crooked officials in their pocket.
Jared turned the Shades of Authority over in his hands, the faint swirl symbols etched into the frames glimmering under the lamplight. "I need answers first. About who framed me, why they wanted these lenses out of my hands, and what the Syndicate's ultimate goals are. This," he held the artifact up, "might help me find those answers—but I can't do it alone."
Marcus slowly got to his feet, grimacing from bruised ribs. "We'll figure it out. But let's get you bandaged up first, somewhere safe." He peered up and down the street. "My car is parked a few blocks over. If we can get to it, we can head back to my place—or maybe we should avoid going straight home in case they trace us."
Ava spoke softly, eyes darting around. "I know a safer spot near midtown. A colleague of mine, she's out of town, and I have the keys to her apartment. We can crash there temporarily and regroup."
Jared nodded, pain throbbing in his thigh. It was a risk—leading the Syndicate to another innocent person's doorstep. But they had few options, and they needed time to plan. "All right. Let's go."
The Rising Storm
As they hurried through the dark streets, Jared's mind churned with questions. Why had the Syndicate risked such a large auction if the artifact was as dangerous as it seemed? Why had he been singled out in the first place, framed for academic dishonesty and hounded ever since? And, more importantly, who in the city's power structure was secretly aiding Selina Vaughn's operation?
He cradled the Shades of Authority under one arm, determined not to lose them again. Despite the fear gnawing at his gut, a strange fire burned in his chest—a spark of resolve, or vengeance, or maybe both. The Syndicate had robbed him of his future at Bernington, nearly cost him his life, and threatened his closest friends. Now that he had the artifact back, he wasn't about to let them slip away into the shadows unchallenged.
The distant sirens grew louder, weaving through Silvercoast's labyrinth of skyscrapers and abandoned industrial zones. Blinking neon signs and looming billboards made the city glow like a restless giant, alive with corruption and hidden agendas. It was the perfect habitat for organizations like the Swirl Syndicate, who thrived in the murk just below the surface.
Ava guided them down a winding alley toward the discreet parking lot where Marcus had left his sedan. Headlights and the hum of an engine cut through the gloom—Marcus's battered car waiting like a faithful steed. They piled in, hearts pounding, nerves frayed, but hope flickering in their eyes.
As the engine rumbled to life, Jared stared out the window at the receding silhouette of Greyline Depot in the rearview mirror. They might have narrowly escaped the lion's den tonight, but the Syndicate was still out there, licking its wounds and plotting its next move.
In the cramped interior of the car, the tension was palpable, but so was the unspoken solidarity. They had achieved the impossible—snatching the Shades of Authority from the jaws of a powerful criminal network. Now came the hardest part: unraveling the deeper mysteries, exposing Silvercoast's hidden corruption, and ensuring that those responsible for his downfall faced the consequences.
Jared flexed his fingers around the artifact, the etched swirls cold against his palm. The city lights flickered across his face, illuminating the bruises and exhaustion etched into his features. He closed his eyes, listening to the hum of the tires on wet pavement.
It wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
They'd come too far to back down now, and the next confrontation loomed on the horizon—a storm of revelations, betrayals, and, perhaps, the first tangible hope of redemption for Jared King.