The engines' drone lingered in my skull like a dying echo as I stepped off the transport and into the cavernous maw of the Blackout Alliance headquarters. The air bit at my skin—cold, sterile, laced with the metallic tang of machinery and secrets. Dim fluorescent strips flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows that writhed across the black metal walls like restless spirits. My boots struck the polished floor with a hollow rhythm, each step reverberating through the silence, a countdown to confrontation. In my satchel, the Pyro Stone and Tetra Sphere pulsed faintly, their weight a tether to the chaos I'd just escaped.
I reached Toreon Kane's office door, its surface a slab of obsidian gleaming under the weak light. My knuckles rapped twice, sharp and unyielding. From within, his voice slithered out—smooth as oil, heavy with authority.
"Enter."
The door hissed open, and I stepped into his domain. Kane sat behind a fortress of a desk, holographic screens flickering like ghosts above a sprawl of ancient leather-bound books. His eyes, sharp as a predator's, flicked up to meet mine. A smile twitched at his lips, thin and calculated. "Tawnie," he said, leaning back. "How did the mission go?"
I didn't answer with words. My jaw tightened, and I reached into my satchel, fingers brushing the artifacts' cool surfaces. With a deliberate thud, I dropped the Pyro Stone and Tetra Sphere onto his desk. Their ethereal glow bled into the room—crimson and emerald, pulsing like twin hearts torn from some cosmic beast. Kane's breath caught, his fascination naked as he leaned forward, hands hovering over them as if afraid to touch.
"Remarkable," he whispered, voice thick with awe.
I didn't move, didn't blink. My stare bore into him, heavy and unyielding, until his shoulders stiffened. "Why should I trust you?" The words came low, edged with a venom I couldn't suppress.
He froze, eyes darting to mine.
"Trust? Tawnie, we've been through this. You know the Alliance's goals—"
"Do I?" I cut him off, stepping closer. "The mission in Saudi Arabia was a disaster. Jacob Maxwell promised me a team immune to kaitron radiation. Four survived. The rest—compromised, dying on their feet as they turned into lifeless drones. You call that a plan?"
Kane reeled, his chair creaking. "I… I didn't know it went that badly."
"Didn't you?" My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms. "Or did someone conveniently leave out the details? I'm starting to think not everyone was in on the real objective."
His face darkened, offense flaring in his eyes. "Are you accusing me of sabotage? After everything I've sacrificed for this organization?"
"Sacrifices?" I spat. "Like sending us into a slaughterhouse with no warning? We're losing control, Kane. This—" I jabbed a finger at the artifacts—"feels like it's slipping through our fingers, and I'm not sure whose hands I'm putting it in."
He surged to his feet, towering over the desk. "How dare you question my loyalty? I've bled for this cause!"
"So have I," I snarled. "And I'm still bleeding."
The air crackled between us, thick with unspoken threats. Then his shoulders slumped, the fight leaching out of him. "Tawnie, I get it. You're angry. But these artifacts—they're our chance to turn things around."
I studied him, searching for a crack in his mask. Nothing. Just shadows and sincerity I couldn't trust. "If I find out you're hiding something," I said, voice cold as the grave, "there'll be hell to pay."
He nodded, solemn. "Understood."
I turned on my heel and stormed out, the door sealing shut behind me with a whisper that felt final.
The flight to Rexburg was a blur, the world below a monochrome quilt of fields and regret. My chest tightened as the plane dipped toward Idaho, the horizon smudged with storm clouds that mirrored the turmoil in my gut. I rented a beat-up sedan at the airstrip, its engine growling as I drove the winding road to my childhood home. The house loomed in the epicenter of a sprawling block—a relic of faded white paint and sagging eaves, its picket fence a row of broken teeth.
I killed the engine and sat there, staring. The wind rattled the windows, a mournful howl that stirred memories I'd buried deep. Finally, I climbed out, gravel crunching underfoot as I approached the porch. The key was still under the mat, cold against my fingers. The door groaned open, and I stepped into a tomb of dust and silence.
The living room smelled of time—musty and heavy with the ghosts of laughter long gone. My gaze snagged on the portrait above the fireplace: my grandmother, her silver hair pinned tight, her eyes piercing through the years. Pain lanced through me, sharp and sudden. She'd been my anchor, the one who taught me strength when the world tried to break me. Now she was just a memory, staring down with a judgment I couldn't face. I turned away, throat tight, and drifted to the kitchen.
I sat at the island in the center of the room and pulled out my phone. My throat tightened as I dialed Abigail Calloway's number. By now, I knew it from muscle memory. It rang twice before her voice broke through, warm but cautious. "Hello?"
"Abbie, it's Tawnie."
"Tawnie!" Her tone brightened, then softened. "God, it's been forever. How are you?"
We traded small talk—weather, old haunts—like actors reading a script. Then silence stretched, awkward and heavy, until she sighed. "Okay, what's the real reason you called? I know you didn't drag my number out of the grave for nostalgia."
I smiled faintly, leaning against the counter. "You always could read me. The world's going to hell, Abbie. I've stumbled onto something—ancient texts, prophecies—that says we're on the edge of collapse. I need a team to figure it out, to stop it. I want you in."
"Me?" She laughed, incredulous. "I'm just a fan of the Observer Chronicles! What do you expect me to do? I'm not a hero!"
"You dig up truths people don't want found. That's exactly what I need. Fly to Rexburg. I'll cover the ticket. We'll talk it through."
She hesitated, then relented. "Fine. But I might bring someone—another friend who could help."
"Perfect," I said, a spark of hope igniting. "See you soon."
I hung up, the chime echoing through my head. Outside, thunder rumbled, a promise of rain and reckoning.
Days later, Idaho Falls buzzed with small-town life, its coffee shop a pocket of warmth against the gray drizzle outside. I sat in a corner booth, the scent of espresso and cinnamon curling around me, my latte cooling as I watched the door. Abbie swept in first, her gold hair damp, followed by a woman with sharp cheekbones and guarded eyes—Rhiannon. They slid into the booth, and Abbie grinned. "Tawnie, meet Rhiannon. Rhi, this is Tawnie."
I offered a handshake, her grip firm but wary. "Good to meet you."
"Same," she said, voice clipped.
The waitress brought their coffees, and I eased into the conversation. "So, Rhiannon, you're from here?"
"Born and raised," she replied, stirring her drink. "Left for a while, came back."
"Family?"
Her eyes flicked up, guarded. "Something like that."
I nodded, letting it drop. "Abbie says you might help with something I'm working on."
Rhiannon glanced at Abbie, then back to me. "She didn't say much, but I am in between work. What's this about?"
I leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur. "Ancient texts. A prophecy about the end of the world. I think we're the ones meant to stop it."
She arched a brow, skepticism etched into her face. "You're serious?"
"Deadly." I held her gaze. "I need people who can handle the weight of it. You've been highly appraised. Even Abbie vouched for you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Her tone sharpened.
"You've got grit," I said carefully. "Strength from surviving things that would break most people."
Her cup paused midair, eyes narrowing. "What do you know about what I've survived?"
"Enough," I said, unflinching.
She turned to Abbie, voice rising. "Did you tell her about my depression?"
Abbie's hands shot up. "No! I didn't even know, Rhi."
Rhiannon's stare swung back to me, hard and accusing. "Then how?"
I tilted my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "Six degrees of separation." I said as I grabbed my cup of coffee and swirled it about. "We're all connected, Rhiannon. Through Abbie, through whispers and shadows, I've pieced together enough."
"That's not an answer," she snapped, shoving her chair back.
"Maybe not," I said, calm as stone. "But you can walk out that door, and something will still pull you back. You feel it, don't you? The pull?"
She froze, then sank back into her seat, unease flickering in her eyes. "How does she know you?" she asked Abbie.
Abbie shrugged, sheepish. "She's a fan of my blog—*Observer Chronicles*. Conspiracy stuff."
Rhiannon frowned, recognition dawning. "I've heard of it. But why drag me here to meet a blogger?"
"Because you've got something I need," I said. "A quality—resilience, instinct—that fits this mission."
"And what's that mission?" she pressed.
I leaned closer, voice a blade wrapped in velvet. "To save the world. In return, I'll help you become who you're meant to be. Fix things with your son, Brian."
Her breath hitched, and Abbie's eyes widened. "How did you know I'd bring her?" Abbie asked.
I smiled, sharp and knowing. "Because I told you to."
Standing, I slid a phone across the table. "One number in there. Call me when you're ready."
Rhiannon grabbed it, rising to her feet.
"This isn't over." She claimed.
"Glad to hear it," I said, clapping softly. "It's already working."
"Why me?" she demanded.
I met her gaze, unwavering. "Because the prophecy demands it. An ancient text says three will restore balance, keep humanity from the abyss. You, Abbie, me—we're it. I've never defied fate before, and I won't start now."
"Prophecy?" Rhiannon's voice trembled with disbelief.
"From Saudi Arabia," I said, sinking back into my seat. "I retrieved two artifacts—the Pyro Stone, the Tetra Sphere. Handed them to someone I trusted, my mentor. But now…" I trailed off, a chill creeping up my spine. "I've got a bad feeling they're in the wrong hands."
Abbie leaned forward, eyes wide. "What prompted this now?"
"Instinct," I murmured, staring into my coffee's dark swirl. "And a shadow I can't shake."
The rain tapped the windows like impatient fingers, and in the silence, I felt the weight of their stares. The pieces were aligning, but the board was still shrouded in fog. Whatever came next, I knew one thing: the darkness was only beginning to unfurl.