They split up at dusk.
Kess and Sylen slipped toward the heart of the city, while Kaiden and Rav moved west into the slums. The team couldn't afford to stay exposed—not with Crater locking down tighter by the hour. Patrols were doubling, shops were shuttering, and every corner carried the weight of something building beneath the surface—something the city wasn't saying.
Kess and Sylen, slight in frame and quiet in movement, were better suited for sneaking. Disguised in ragged layers and dirt-smeared skin, they posed as just two more beggars weaving between alleys and broken merchant stalls.
"Do you think a noble from another state is visiting?" Kess muttered under his breath, eyes flicking across a street now guarded by spear-bearing soldiers.
"Could be," Sylen replied, scanning rooftops and corners for movement. "Or maybe someone else got caught. A real intruder."
"Another one?"
"Who knows," she said. "Nobles don't mind choking a whole town if it means keeping their own blood safe. Half these shops are probably only open because they bribed the right people."
They passed a shuttered jeweler's window bearing the crest of a merchant-noble sponsor—still open, well-lit, untouched. A family above consequence.
Their goal lay deeper in the market, through a winding stairwell hidden behind crates and rotwood boards. Somewhere below, a black market stall carried a rare mana diffuser that Kess had spotted during intel gathering. If they could steal it, he might just stabilize their janky warp device—enough to escape the city in one piece.
Meanwhile, on the opposite end of Crater, Kaiden and Rav pushed through the press of the city's underbelly.
The slums were thick with waste smoke, old brickwork, and desperation. Every alley twisted, every door groaned when opened. Kaiden limped slightly as he walked, mechanical joints protesting with each step. The tight, crooked streets were crowded—too crowded to do anything meaningful.
"We could just beat up a few of the gangs around here," Rav suggested. "Scare them into giving us space."
Kaiden shot him a sideways look. "You had one good idea this week. Let's not pretend you're on a streak."
"People respect strength."
"They also respect not being chased out of town by the city watch for starting a street war."
"Pfft," Rav grunted, ducking under a clothesline. "No vision."
Kaiden ignored him. His left leg was locking up, and the streets were too narrow for Rav's bulk to move without knocking something over every few steps. They needed a quiet corner to work on the device—somewhere no one would ask questions.
That was when trouble walked up to them.
Five men stepped into their path. Scrawny, twitchy, but armed—two with chipped knives, three with clubs. One of them pointed a club at Kaiden.
"Hey, old man," he sneered. "Shouldn't a war vet like you be polishing noble boots instead of scaring off our customers?"
Kaiden froze.
A veteran, again?
It was the limp. The cane. The metal. It didn't help that some soldier earlier had saluted him like he was a half-retired war hero.
He looked at Rav. "Is everyone with an injury a war veteran in this dog-puke town?"
Then, deadpan: "Fine. Since you're so full of brilliant ideas today—go beat these kids up."
Rav grinned.
Before the first man even finished blinking, Rav moved. A punch to the chest sent one flying into stacked crates. The second attacker tried a jab—Rav twisted his wrist and slammed him sideways into the wall. A third went down after being used as a bludgeon, and the fourth barely had time to breathe before a boot caught him in the stomach and folded him in half.
Only one remained.
He stood motionless for a second—then whistled sharply.
Kaiden narrowed his eyes. "That's not good."
From the far end of the alley, three more figures emerged—larger, tougher. Two with iron rods, one with a spear. They didn't move like street rats. They moved like soldiers who'd been kicked out for enjoying it too much.
"They've fought before," Rav said, grin fading.
The first one came high. Rav blocked the rod with his forearm, but a flash of mana stung through the contact. The second swept low, aiming for the back of his knee. Rav shifted back, but the spear came next—fast, straight for his ribs.
Rav grunted as it grazed his side but caught the shaft and yanked the wielder forward into a savage knee. Then he roared and spun, swinging the captured spear like a bat to knock two others flat.
The last man tried to swing again. Rav ducked low and rammed him shoulder-first into the stone wall.
Silence.
The alley smelled like blood and dust.
Kaiden exhaled and pushed off a crooked fence post. "That was loud."
"Hey, I'm efficient," Rav said, brushing blood off his cheek. "No one's dead. Yet."
But Rav wasn't done.
He walked over to one of the downed reinforcements—the one who'd used mana—and yanked him upright by the collar, slamming him against the wall.
"You look like one of the smart ones," Rav said. "So tell me where your base is."
The man wheezed. "They'll kill me…"
"They won't get the chance if we get there first."
Kaiden stepped in, cold and mechanical. "Or you can stay here and wait for patrols to find you with your gangmates drooling on the cobblestone."
The man hesitated, then gasped, "Old tannery... north end... cracked chimney... basement's the hideout."
Rav let him slide to the ground. "Thanks. Real helpful."
Kaiden nodded. "Let's move."
"You think it'll be empty?"
"Doubt it."
Rav smiled again. "Good."
They disappeared into the smoke-choked maze of Crater, heading toward a new hideout—and whoever was foolish enough to still be inside.