Rylan stabilized, thanks to Liv's glowing hands—some kind of healing trick, I guessed. She didn't explain, and I didn't ask. The warehouse felt less like a refuge and more like a cage now, walls groaning under distant blasts. Tucker barricaded the doors with a busted pallet, while Jace kept watch through a shattered window, muttering about Skraith patrols.
I hovered near Rylan, knife still in hand, feeling useless. My system pinged again. Subject 'Liv' Detected. Potential Ability: Cellular Restoration. Mimicry Possible with Sample.
I shoved the thought down hard. No way was I creeping around stealing blood from these people. Not yet. Not unless I had to.
Liv stood, wiping her hands on her jeans. "He's out for now. Needs rest, but he'll pull through."
"Good," I said, throat dry. "So… what's the play? You guys just hold up here?"
She snorted. "Hell no. We're bait if we stay. Skraiths track energy signatures—ours are loud. We move, or we're dead."
"Move where?" I glanced at the others. Jace didn't look up, but Tucker grunted, hefting a crowbar like it was a toy.
"Safehouse," Liv said. "Few miles north. Got gear, supplies—maybe some answers."
"Answers about what?"
She eyed me, like she was weighing how much to spill. "The Skraiths. Why they're here. What they want."
"You don't know?" I frowned. "Rylan said you've been tracking them."
"Tracking ain't understanding," she shot back. "They hit us blind. Bigger numbers, better tech than we expected. We're scrambling."
Great. Superhumans with no plan. I shifted, the knife digging into my palm. "And me? What am I supposed to do?"
"Your call," she said, shrugging. "You're not one of us, but you hauled Rylan out of the fire. That buys you a seat if you want it."
A seat. With them. Part of me wanted to bolt—back to my apartment, my coffee, my normal life. But that life was gone, torched the second those ships cracked the sky.
"I'm in," I said, surprising myself. "For now."
She nodded, like she'd expected it. "Then grab something useful. We roll in ten."
Tucker tossed me a tire iron from a pile of junk—heavier than the knife, solid in my grip. I ditched the blade, feeling a little less pathetic. Liv barked orders, and we moved—fast, quiet, piling into a dented van parked out back. Rylan got stretched across the rear seat, still out cold. I crammed in beside Jace, the tire iron across my lap.
The engine growled to life, Tucker behind the wheel. We peeled out, weaving through backstreets, avoiding the main roads where fire and smoke choked the air. My system hummed, steady, tracking every jolt. Mimicry Active: 21 Hours Remaining.
Jace finally spoke, voice low. "You ever fight before, Kai?"
"Nope." I kept my eyes on the window, watching shadows flicker past. "You?"
"Too much." He didn't elaborate, and I didn't push.
A screech cut the quiet—metal on metal, too close. Tucker cursed, swerving as a Skraith craft buzzed overhead, low and fast. Liv leaned out the passenger window, hands sparking blue, and fired a blast. It clipped the craft's wing, sending it spiraling into a building with a satisfying crunch.
"Nice shot," I said, pulse racing.
"Practice," she muttered, slumping back.
The safehouse was a squat, concrete box tucked behind a collapsed overpass—ugly, but hidden. We piled out, dragging Rylan inside. The place was sparse—cots, crates, a few flickering lights. A radio crackled in the corner, spitting static and garbled voices.
Liv got to work on Rylan again, while Tucker and Jace swept the perimeter. I stood there, tire iron dangling, feeling the hum in my bones. Twenty-one hours. Time was ticking, and I still didn't know what I was doing.
But I wasn't running. Not yet.
The safehouse smelled like damp concrete and rust, the kind of place that'd been forgotten long before the Skraiths showed up. I paced near the radio, tire iron tapping my leg, while Liv hunched over Rylan, her hands glowing faint as she patched him up. Tucker and Jace were still outside, their footsteps crunching faintly through the walls.
The radio hissed, spitting fragments of words—"evac zones overrun"—"south grid down"—"containment failing." I twisted the dial, chasing a clear signal, but it was all noise. My system flickered. Audio Analysis Available. Enhance Signal?
I blinked. "Yeah, sure," I muttered, half to myself. The static sharpened, voices cutting through.
"—repeat, all units pull back to Sector 9. Skraith forces advancing—losses critical—"
Liv glanced up. "What'd you do?"
"Uh… tweaked it." No point lying, but I kept it vague. She didn't push, just nodded and went back to Rylan.
The broadcast looped, grim and relentless. Sector 9 was miles east—too far to matter. Wherever the fight was, we weren't in it. Yet.
Rylan stirred, groaning. Liv pulled back, hands dimming. "Welcome back, asshole."
He squinted at her, then me. "Kai. You're still here."
"Apparently." I dropped onto a crate, tire iron clanking. "Your friends are intense."
"They're family," he said, voice rough. "All I've got."
Liv smirked. "Sweet, but save the sap. We're in deep shit."
"Caught that," he muttered, sitting up slow. "Where are we?"
"North safehouse," she said. "Barely made it. Skraiths are everywhere."
He nodded, grimacing as he tested his side. "Team?"
"Us four," she said. "Rest are… scattered. Or gone."
The weight of that hung heavy. I shifted, uncomfortable. "What's the plan, then?"
Rylan looked at me, eyes sharp despite the pain. "Survive. Regroup. Hit back."
"Great. Specific," I said, dry.
He almost smiled. "You'll get used to it."
Tucker and Jace stomped back in, faces grim. "Perimeter's clear," Tucker rumbled. "For now."
"Caught chatter outside," Jace added, tossing a cracked handheld radio onto a crate. "Skraiths are hunting enhanced. Picking us off."
Liv cursed. "They're adapting. Fast."
My stomach twisted. Enhanced. Like them. Like… me, sort of. The hum in me buzzed louder, insistent. Mimicry Active: 20 Hours Remaining.
"We can't stay long," Rylan said, standing with a wince. "They'll lock on eventually."
"Then we move again," Liv said. "But we need intel. Weapons. Something."
I hesitated, then spoke. "The Skraith I saw—it dropped a weapon. Back at my place. Looked… alive, almost."
Jace perked up. "Energy-based?"
"Maybe. Glowed weird. Flickered."
Liv frowned. "Could be useful. If we can figure it out."
"Worth a shot," Rylan said. "Kai, you up for a trip back?"
I stared. "You're kidding. It's a warzone."
"Yeah," he said, steady. "And you've got balls enough to drag me out of one. We need every edge."
The others watched me, waiting. The hum pulsed, daring me to say yes. Twenty hours left—and a ticking clock on everything else.
"Fine," I said, gripping the tire iron. "But if I die, I'm haunting you."
"Deal," Rylan said, grinning faintly.
We geared up—me with my tire iron, the others scavenging what they could: a pistol for Liv, a machete for Tucker, some rigged-up stun baton for Jace. Rylan stuck to his bare hands, energy flickering weak but there.
The van rumbled back to life, and we rolled out, back into the fire. I didn't know if I was crazy or just too stubborn to quit. Either way, I was in it now.