The first thing Chloe felt was the heat.

  The Monolith was pulsing, its golden light thick and heavy in the stagnant air of the substation. She groaned, her eyelids feeling like they had been fused shut by the salt of dried sweat and the exhaustion of the previous night’s hunt. She rolled over, expecting to feel the rough edge of the tarp and hear the jagged, rhythmic wheeze of Ren’s breathing.

  There was no wheeze. There was only the low, electrical hum of the core.

  Chloe bolted upright. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. The sun was streaming through the ceiling gaps in solid, dusty shafts of amber; it was well past noon.

  "Ren?" she croaked, her hand instantly darting toward the floor where she always kept her machete.

  Her fingers hit cold concrete. The blade was gone.

  "Looking for this?"

  Chloe’s head snapped toward the darkness just beyond the Monolith’s glow. Mel was sitting on a rusted electrical crate, legs crossed, lazily spinning Chloe’s machete by the hilt. The scavenger looked remarkably composed, though there was a new tension in the set of her shoulders that hadn't been there the night before.

  Chloe scrambled to her feet, her hands balled into fists. Where is he? Did the Watchers come? Did she sell us out? The panic was a cold tide rising in her throat. She was raw, sluggish, and unarmed.

  Mel stepped back playfully, keeping a careful distance as she saw Chloe preparing to spring. She pointed the tip of the machete toward the ground. "Relax, Lexington Jr. I’m not here to collect a bounty. If I wanted you dead, I would’ve done it while you were snoring."

  "Where is Ren?" Chloe demanded, her voice cracking. "What did you do with him?"

  He wouldn't leave me, Chloe’s mind screamed. He’s sick. He can barely walk four blocks without coughing up a lung. He wouldn't leave the gold line.

  Mel sighed, the playful glint in her eyes dying out. She flicked her wrist, sending the machete skidding across the floor. It stopped at Chloe’s boots. "He’s gone, kid. He did what 'Ghosts' do. He paid a debt and walked into the fog."

  Chloe snatched up the weapon, the cold steel grounding her. "What does that mean? Gone where?"

  "He told me to take you out of the city," Mel said, her voice turning uncharacteristically flat. "He asked for a favor. A 'real' one. He wanted me to get you to the East River, across the bridge, and out of the Grinder before the sun went down today. He was very specific about the 'without him' part."

  "No," Chloe whispered. "You're lying. He’s scouting. He’s just—"

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  "He’s at the First National Bank," Mel interrupted, and for the first time, she looked Chloe dead in the eye with a gaze full of pity. "I watched him zipline into the maw of a Level 8 Apex. I ran back here the second he disappeared because I knew he wasn't coming back up. No one survives the Wraith. Not with lungs like his."

  Chloe stood frozen. The words hit her like physical blows. The image of Ren—frail, shriveled, and stubborn—flinging himself into a monster’s den flashed through her mind.

  He traded himself, she realized. He bought my exit with his life.

  She didn't mean to cry. She barely knew this man. Four days ago, he was a stranger in a hospital gown. But in those four days, he had been the only anchor in a world that had turned into a sea of blood. He had fed her, protected her, and treated her like a human being when the System treated her like a stat block.

  A single, hot tear tracked through the dirt on her cheek, followed by another. She wiped them away angrily, but they kept coming. She hated him. She hated him for being so arrogant, for deciding her fate without asking, for leaving her alone in this nightmare.

  Before they moved, Chloe walked to the Monolith. The interface flickered in the air, cold and indifferent.

  [MONOLITH WAR: 3 DAYS]

  "Three days," Chloe muttered, her voice trembling. "He didn't even wait for the end."

  "We need to move, kid," Mel said, picking up her mic stand. "The shadows are long, and I promised the Ghost I'd get you to the bridge."

  "I want to see it," Chloe said, turning around. Her eyes were red, but the tears had stopped. A new, hard resolve had taken their place. "Take me to the bank."

  Mel groaned, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. "Did you not hear the 'Level 8' part? There’s no body to bury, kid. The Wraith doesn't leave scraps. It’s a bank; it keeps everything it takes."

  "I know you have your shortcuts," Chloe countered, stepping toward the exit. "I'm sure you can move in and out of the city like a shadow. If you're as good as you told Ren you were, take me there. I’m not leaving this city until I see the place where he died. If you won't do it, I'll walk down the middle of the street until something eats me."

  Mel stared at her for a long beat, then spat on the floor. "Unbelievable. You’re both the same brand of idiot. Fine. But we don't go inside. We go to my 'seat' on the twelfth floor. You look, you say your goodbyes, and then we run for the river. Deal?"

  "Deal."

  They moved through the "Silent Routes." Mel led her through a series of interconnected basements and rooftop catwalks that bypassed the major monster nests. For a long time, they moved in total silence, the only sound the distant, muffled screams of the city.

  Mel watched Chloe from the corner of her eye. She could hear it—the frantic, fluttering heartbeat of a girl trying to stay composed, the hitch in her breath every time they passed a pile of rubble that looked like a body.

  "I'm Mel, by the way," the scavenger said, trying to break the heavy tension. "Since we're officially 'partners in suicide' for the next hour or so, we might as well use names. Melodia, if you want to be formal, but I haven't been formal since the Gacha pulled my soul out through my ears."

  "Chloe," the girl replied shortly.

  "Nice to meet you, Chloe. Look, I get it. Ren was... he was a lot. Most people in this world are trying to become gods. He was the only one I met who was trying to stay a man. It’s a bad strategy for the Grinder, but it makes for a hell of a show."

  Chloe didn't answer. She just kept her eyes on Mel’s boots, following the path.

  "My hearing," Mel continued, her voice light but focused. "It’s a Passive. I can't turn it off. It’s like living inside a giant drum. But if I concentrate—if I really lean into the silence—I can hear the city's pulse. That’s how I made these routes. I listen for the 'skips' in the rhythm where the monsters aren't. It’s my safe space. My private concert."

  Suddenly, Mel stopped.

  She didn't just stop; she froze. Her grip on the mic stand tightened until her knuckles turned white. Her head tilted to the side, her eyes glazing over as she focused every ounce of her concentration toward the North.

  "Mel?" Chloe whispered, her hand going to her machete. "Is it a monster?"

  Mel didn't answer. A strange expression crossed her face—a mixture of shock, confusion, and a wild, manic excitement.

  "Holy shit, no way," Mel breathed. "No freaking way."

  "What is it?"

  "I told you," Mel said, her voice trembling with a laugh that sounded almost hysterical. "I check the routes. I just focused my range. I doubled it. I’m hitting the bank. I’m listening to the 'landlord'."

  Chloe’s heart stopped. "And?"

  Mel looked at Chloe, and for the first time, the scavenger looked genuinely happy. "The Wraith... that slow, heavy heartbeat? The one that's been the metronome of this district for four days?"

  "Yeah?"

  "It’s gone," Mel whispered. "The monster’s heart isn't beating, Chloe. It's silent."

  Chloe felt a surge of hope so violent it made her dizzy. "Does that mean he killed it? Did Ren kill it?"

  Mel starts to pull Chloe as they make their way through the routes, "He did. That son of a... actually did. The only thing I hear from the vault is coughing."

  Chloe picked up speed, faster than Mel.