Fix's apartment smelled of antiseptic and old paper.

  Zak sat on the edge of the worn leather couch, his shirt cut open to reveal the mess of bruises and gashes across his torso. Fix worked in silence—stitching, wrapping—his thin fingers precise.

  Ron leaned against the wall by the window, arms crossed. His injuries were superficial—glass cuts, nothing serious. He'd refused Fix's offer to check him.

  "I'm fine," he'd said. "Fix the Grumpy One first."

  Fix had grunted and turned back to Zak.

  Now, with the worst of the wounds closed, Fix stepped back to wash his hands. Then he stopped.

  His eyes locked on Zak's bare chest. On something beneath the skin. A faint darkness that pulsed and shifted like smoke under glass.

  Fix's hands froze.

  "Zak," he said quietly. "What is that?"

  Zak looked down. The black sigil—usually hidden—had stirred during the fight. It moved under his skin like a living thing.

  Ron straightened. "Fix—"

  Fix held up a hand. His eyes never left Zak.

  "You have a sigil." His voice was flat. "You've had it this whole time."

  Zak didn't answer.

  Fix stepped closer. Stared at the darkness moving beneath the wounds. For a moment, his eyes weren't looking at Zak. They were looking at someone else. His daughter. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been hiding something too. He'd never asked what. Now he'd never know.

  "Black," he whispered. "You have a black sigil."

  Silence.

  Then Fix's head snapped up. His old eyes were sharp. Angry.

  "All these months. I trained you. I watched you bleed and almost die—and you never told me?"

  Zak met his eyes. "I had my reasons."

  "Reasons." Fix laughed—a harsh sound. "I lost my daughter to these people. I risked my life to help you. I trusted you." He stepped back. "And you hid this from me."

  Ron moved forward. "Fix, listen—"

  "No." Fix pointed at Zak. "Why?"

  Zak looked down at his hands. "Because my father made me promise."

  Fix stared at him.

  "When I was nine, the black started showing up. He made me promise never to use it. Never to let it out." Zak's voice was quiet. "He said it would eat me alive."

  Fix was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. Tired.

  "You should have told me."

  "Would you have looked at me differently?"

  Fix closed his eyes. He didn't answer immediately. When he opened them, they were wet.

  "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe. At first." He paused. "But I've spent six years wishing I'd asked my daughter more questions. Wishing I'd pushed when she pulled away." His voice cracked. "I'm not making that mistake again."

  He sat down across from Zak.

  "The black isn't evil, Zak. It's just power. What matters is what you do with it." He paused. "But hiding it—hiding yourself—that almost killed you tonight. And it almost killed the people who trust you."

  Zak looked at his bandaged hands. "I know."

  "Do you? Because in the garden, you let go. Finally. And look what happened." Fix leaned forward. "You didn't become a monster. You became more."

  Ron clapped Zak on the shoulder. "Told you, Grumpy. You're not a monster."

  Ron pushed off the wall and crossed to Fix's desk. He pulled something from his jacket—a small, battered notebook.

  "There's something else." His voice was different now. Serious. "I need to tell you both something."

  Fix looked up. "What is it?"

  Ron held up the notebook. "This is why I went to Calyx. Not just for the sword." He flipped through the pages. "I've been researching sigils for years. The common ones—orange, yellow, white—everyone knows those. But there are others. Hidden ones."

  Zak frowned. "Hidden?"

  Ron nodded. "Someone buried this knowledge a long time ago. The Knights, maybe. Or someone before them. I found records in Calyx—fragments, half-translated, scattered across different archives." He turned the notebook toward them.

  Two symbols. One blue. One purple.

  Fix leaned forward. "What are those?"

  "I don't know everything yet." Ron's voice was quiet. "The blue one... I've found references. Mentions. But nothing solid. The purple one is even stranger. It's appeared three times in recorded history. Each time, everyone near it died."

  The room fell silent.

  Zak's blood went cold. "What kind of sigil does that?"

  Ron shook his head. "I don't know. No one does. The records just say... 'purple came, and then there was silence.' That's all."

  Fix was the first to speak.

  "How do you know this is real?"

  Ron met his eyes. "I don't. Not for certain. The sources are old—some predate the Knights. But there's something else."

  He looked at Zak.

  "The girl. Lila. When she appeared between you—that wasn't just courage. I've never seen anything like it."

  Zak's breath caught. "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying... maybe there's more to this world than we know. Maybe the sigils we know—orange, yellow, white, red, black—aren't the whole story." Ron closed the notebook. "I didn't tell you before because I wasn't sure. The records are fragmented. But after what Lila did... I had to bring it up now."

  Fix stood slowly. He moved to his desk, staring at his own notes—death certificates, autopsy reports, years of lies.

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  "If what you're suggesting is true..." He didn't finish.

  Zak looked at Ron. "Why are you telling us this now?"

  "Because after tonight, I think we need to start asking different questions." Ron's voice was serious. "The Lynx. The sigils. Lila. It's all connected somehow. And that girl—she might be part of something bigger than any of us understand."

  Silence settled over the room.

  Then Zak spoke.

  "We need to talk to Reed."

  Fix turned sharply. "What?"

  "The girl is his daughter. Whatever she is, whatever she can do—he needs to know there are people who might come looking for her. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday."

  Ron frowned. "You want to warn him?"

  "I want to make a deal with him."

  Fix stared. "A deal? With Jon Reed? The man who runs the Lynx? The man whose organization killed your father?"

  Zak met his eyes. "He's also a father with a daughter he'd die to protect. I saw it. You didn't."

  Fix shook his head slowly. "You want to trade information for—"

  "I want to trade protection for protection." Zak leaned forward. "Reed has been in the Lynx for twenty years. He knows their secrets. Their weaknesses. Their leaders. If we could get him on our side—"

  "And you think he'll just agree? Because you asked nicely?"

  Ron snorted. "You? Persuasive? You have the social skills of a brick wall."

  Zak ignored him. "He has something he's hiding. His daughter. No one in the Lynx knows about her. If they did—if they knew he had a weakness—they'd use it against him."

  Fix's eyes narrowed. "You're talking about leverage."

  "No. I'm talking about common ground." Zak's voice was firm. "He's hiding her to protect her. We're hiding—" he gestured at himself, at Ron, at everything—"to survive. That's something."

  Ron crossed his arms. "So what's your plan? Walk up to his door and say 'let's be friends'?"

  "Something like that."

  "That's the worst plan I've ever heard."

  "You have better ideas?"

  Ron was quiet for a moment. Then: "Actually, yes. We use what we know. He's hiding his daughter. That's a secret that could destroy him if the wrong people found out. We don't threaten him with it—but we make it clear we know. And we make it clear we're not his enemy."

  Fix frowned. "That's dangerous. If he thinks you're a threat—"

  "He won't." Ron glanced at Zak. "Not after tonight. He saw Zak pull back. He knows we could have killed her and didn't. That's worth something."

  Zak nodded slowly. "He also saw me let go of the black. Saw what I really am. And he didn't run."

  "But," Ron continued, "if we go in there with nothing but trust and a handshake, we're idiots. We need to show him we understand his position. That we know what's at stake for him."

  Fix rubbed his temples. "You're talking about walking into a lion's den with nothing but words."

  "That's all we've ever had." Zak stood, wincing at the pull of his stitches. "And it's worked so far."

  Ron laughed. "Worked? You almost died tonight. Multiple times."

  "Details."

  Fix was quiet for a long moment.

  Then he spoke.

  "Reed runs the docks. But he's not the only player in the Lynx." He pulled out a worn map, spread it on the desk. "I pieced this together over the years. From widows who had nowhere else to go. From documents I was forced to sign. From guards who talked too much when they thought the dead couldn't hear."

  Zak leaned closer.

  "There are at least three major leaders in this country. The capital is where the real power is—the real money, the real decisions. This city—" he tapped the map—"is a backwater. Important enough to need someone in charge. Not important enough to send one of the real leaders."

  Ron leaned over the map. "So Reed is... what?"

  "A regional supervisor. With a fancy title and no real say." Fix's voice was dry. "The other two—Erik and Son—run things from the capital. They give orders. Reed follows them."

  Zak stared at the map. At the city where his father died. At the capital far to the north where the real killers sat.

  "Erik and Son," he repeated. "Those are names?"

  "Codename. Erik—" Fix spelled it—"and Son. I don't know their real identities. No one does. They've been running the Lynx for decades."

  "And Reed?"

  "Reed has been here for five years. Before that, no one knows." Fix shrugged. "He appeared, took over, and kept his mouth shut. That's how you survive in that world."

  Ron whistled softly. "So the man we're about to make a deal with is the weakest of three. Sent to the middle of nowhere because the real bosses don't trust him."

  Fix nodded. "That's my understanding."

  Zak was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful.

  "I know what that feels like."

  Ron looked at him.

  "Being the weakest. Being sent away because they don't trust you." Zak touched his bandaged ribs. "Feeling like you're alone, waiting for someone to notice you're vulnerable." He met Ron's eyes. "That was me. Before Fix. Before you."

  Ron said nothing.

  "If I'm right about Reed," Zak continued, "he's not our enemy. He's just another person who needs a way out. He just doesn't know it yet."

  Fix shook his head slowly. "That's a lot of assumptions."

  "It is," Zak admitted. "But I know what it's like to have something to protect. And I know what it's like to be alone while you're doing it."

  He looked at the window. At the grey sky beyond.

  "Two days," he said. "Rest. Heal. Think. Then I decide."

  Ron straightened. "We decide."

  Zak glanced at him.

  "You think I'm letting you walk into that house alone?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "After everything I just said about stupid plans?"

  "You said it was the worst plan you'd ever heard."

  "It is. That's why you need someone with half a brain along."

  Fix sighed. "You're both insane."

  "Probably." Zak moved toward the door. "But insane people sometimes change things."

  They reached the blue door just as the sky began to lighten.

  Zak stood there for a moment, listening to the house breathe. Then he slipped inside, Ron behind him. Up the stairs. Into his room.

  He collapsed onto the bed.

  Ron took the chair by the window. Didn't sleep. Just watched the sky lighten until exhaustion claimed him too.

  Morning came.

  Zak opened his eyes to sunlight. His body screamed, but he stood anyway.

  The smell hit him before he reached the door. Bacon. Eggs.

  Ron stood in the kitchen, flipping pancakes. "Morning, Grumpy. Sit down before you fall down."

  Zak sat. The food smelled incredible.

  Anne appeared in the doorway, still in pajamas. She saw them—Zak bandaged, Ron in a borrowed shirt—and crossed the room to hug Zak hard.

  She pulled back. Signed.

  You're hurt. Again.

  "I'll heal."

  Liar.

  Ron laughed. Anne shot him a look, then grabbed a plate.

  Elena found them twenty minutes later. She stood in the doorway, taking in the scene—her son alive, his friend making jokes, her daughter smiling.

  She didn't ask questions. Just poured coffee and sat down.

  After breakfast, Zak drove Anne to school. Ron came along.

  Anne sat in the back, staring out the window. Zak watched her in the rearview mirror.

  "You okay?"

  She looked at him. Signed.

  You ask that a lot.

  "Because I worry."

  Don't. I'm not the one who comes home bleeding.

  Ron snorted. "She's got a point."

  They pulled up outside the school. Anne kissed Zak on the cheek.

  Come home tonight, she signed. All of you.

  Zak nodded. "Promise."

  She got out and walked toward the gates.

  Ron waited until she was inside. "She's tougher than she looks."

  "She's had to be." Zak pulled away from the curb.

  They drove in silence. Grey buildings. Grey sky.

  Finally, Ron spoke.

  "So. The Lynx."

  Zak's hands tightened on the wheel. "What about them?"

  "We know Jon Reed runs the docks here. Erik and Son run things from the capital. And there's someone called 'The Ghost' who handles assassinations—works directly under Reed."

  Zak nodded slowly. "The one at the docks."

  "Probably." Ron put his phone away. "Point is, Reed is one piece of a much bigger machine. Even if he wanted to help us, he might not know everything about the capital operation."

  "But he knows something. Twenty years in the Lynx—he knows more than anyone else we could reach."

  "Maybe." Ron looked at him. "Or maybe this is exactly what Fix said—a stupid idea that gets us both killed."

  "You think it's stupid?"

  Ron considered. "I think it's dangerous. I think there's a good chance Reed will kill you." He paused. "But I also think you're right about him. That wasn't a monster holding Lila. That was a father."

  Zak nodded slowly.

  "So we go."

  "We go. But we think first. We plan. We don't rush."

  Zak almost smiled. "Since when are you the careful one?"

  "Since my best friend started making decisions that could get us both killed." Ron grinned. "Someone has to be the brains."

  Two days passed.

  Zak healed. Ron stayed close. They trained. They planned. They argued about the best approach. Ron wanted to send a message first. Zak wanted to go face to face. In the end, they agreed on a compromise: go together, but have an escape route.

  On the third night, they drove north.

  The Reed estate loomed ahead—high walls, iron gates, scars from their last visit still visible. New guards patrolled the perimeter. Floodlights swept the grounds.

  Zak parked at the tree line. Pulled on his mask. The cracked one.

  Ron pulled on his own mask—the one with the single jagged white crack down the left side. Shadow Nightmare.

  They moved through the darkness like shadows. This time it was harder. The guards were alert. They had to wait, time their movements, avoid the lights.

  It took thirty minutes to reach the mansion's east side. To the window they'd memorized.

  Jon Reed's bedroom window.

  Ron checked the perimeter. Nodded.

  Zak climbed. Silent. Precise. His wounds pulled, but he ignored them.

  The window was unlocked.

  He slipped inside.

  Ron followed.

  Jon Reed sat in an armchair across the room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He wasn't asleep. Wasn't surprised.

  He looked at them—two masked figures in his bedroom—and raised an eyebrow.

  "You know," he said dryly, "I really need to have a word with my security team. This is getting embarrassing."

  Zak tilted his head behind the cracked mask.

  "Forgot we killed them?"

  Jon's lips twitched. Almost a smile.

  "Fair point."