The warehouse roof rattled as the helicopter's roar drowned out the fading echo of the stone woman's departure, its blades slicing the night into a deafening storm. Elias Varn clung to Rory Tate on the crumbling loft, his cracked glasses fogged with panicked breaths, the ember in his chest pulsing like a second heart. Dust still hung in the air, thick with the scent of cracked concrete and scorched metal, a gritty veil that stung his eyes and coated his throat. His jumpsuit was a sodden weight, the blue fabric torn at the shoulder from the fall, and his hands trembled as he gripped Rory's arm, the kid's pained coughs cutting through the chaos.
"Move—now!" Rory rasped, hauling himself up despite the wince that twisted his freckled face. His hoodie was ripped where the stone woman's gust had slammed him, and his skateboard dangled from one hand, scuffed but intact. He yanked Elias to his feet, the loft creaking ominously beneath them as the helicopter's spotlight blazed through the skylight, painting the warehouse in stark white.
Elias stumbled, his sneakers slipping on the dust-slick platform, and the ember flared, a jolt that made his eyes glow faintly, casting eerie shadows on the rusted beams. "They're everywhere," he choked out, voice raw as he scanned the chaos below. The SWAT team regrouped, their shouts—"Hostile neutralized!" "Secure the upper level!"—barely audible over the chopper's thrum. Drones buzzed like hornets beyond the walls, their beams piercing the broken windows, and the fissure in the floor glowed faintly green, a lingering scar from the woman's exit.
"No kidding," Rory snapped, shoving Elias toward the ladder. "We're sitting ducks up here—down and out, fast!" He swung onto the rungs, his ribs clearly aching but his movements sharp, driven by the street-honed instinct that had kept him alive this long. Elias followed, his palms slick against the cold metal, each step a jolt that rattled his spine. The ladder groaned under their weight, and a SWAT officer's beam swept upward, catching his heel as he hit the floor.
"There!" the officer barked, radio crackling as he raised his rifle. "Hands up—don't move!"
Elias froze, the ember surging, and his eyes flared brighter, a pulse rippling outward before he could stop it. The officer's rifle glowed, then jerked from his hands, clattering against the concrete, and the man staggered, shouting into his radio: "He's active—repeat, active!" The others spun, weapons trained, but Rory grabbed Elias's wrist, yanking him toward the side door.
"Run, you idiot!" Rory's voice cracked with urgency, and they bolted, the pulse's aftermath sparking chaos—another officer's baton flared with static, a third's visor flickered as if short-circuiting. The door loomed ahead, half-off its hinges, and they burst into the night, the helicopter's spotlight swinging to pin them like moths.
The air outside was frigid, sharp with the bite of impending rain, and the abandoned train tracks stretched before them, a rusted lifeline flanked by weeds and shadows. Elias's lungs burned as he ran, his glasses slipping down his nose, the cracked lens turning the world into a fractured blur. The chopper roared overhead, its beam a relentless eye, and drones swooped low, their red lights blinking like predators on the hunt. Rory skidded to a stop, dropping his skateboard and kicking it into motion. "Get on—same as before!"
Elias hesitated, the memory of their last wild ride flashing—speed he couldn't control, sparks he couldn't predict—but the crack of a gunshot split the air, a warning shot that ricocheted off the pavement. He lunged onto the board behind Rory, clutching the kid's shoulders as it wobbled, and Rory kicked off, the wheels grinding against the gravel-strewn path. "Hold tight!" he shouted, veering toward a cluster of derelict sheds as the spotlight chased them, painting their shadows long and jagged.
The wind whipped past, tugging at Elias's hood and stinging his face, and the ember pulsed, a heat that spread to his fingertips. "They won't stop," he gasped, his voice lost in the roar as the chopper dipped lower, its downdraft kicking up dust and debris. "They think I'm a monster!"
"You're not!" Rory yelled back, swerving to dodge a drone that buzzed too close, its camera glinting. "They're just scared—same as you!" The board hit a rut, nearly tipping, and Elias's grip tightened, his panic spiking. The ember erupted, a pulse surging outward, and Rory's hands glowed again, the vibration humming through the skateboard. It surged forward, wheels spinning faster than they should, a blur of motion that shot them into the shed's shadow just as the spotlight swung away.
They crashed through a gap in the shed's wall, the board skidding to a halt on a floor of cracked tile and scattered nails. Elias tumbled off, hitting the ground hard, his glasses flying into the dark. Pain jolted up his elbow, but he barely registered it—the ember was still burning, and the pulse's echo lingered, a faint hum that vibrated through the shed's rusted frame. Rory groaned, rolling to his knees, his skateboard clattering beside him. "That's—ow—twice you've saved us with that trick," he panted, clutching his ribs. "You're getting good at this."
"I'm not," Elias whispered, groping for his glasses until his fingers brushed the bent frames. He shoved them on, the world tilting into focus—Rory's strained grin, the shed's sagging walls, the faint green glow seeping through a crack in the floor. His stomach dropped, the stone woman's words—"The Shroud"—ringing in his ears. "It's not me—it's this… thing inside me. It's waking stuff up."
Rory followed his gaze, frowning at the glow. "Like rock lady? You think that's her again?"
"No," Elias said, voice trembling. "It's something else—something bigger." The voice stirred, cold and resonant: "You cannot outrun your purpose." He flinched, clutching his head, and Rory scooted closer, his bravado peeling back.
"There it is again, huh? The creepy voice?" Rory's tone softened, his hand hovering over Elias's shoulder. "What's it saying now?"
"That I can't run," Elias murmured, tears welling behind his glasses. "That I've got a purpose—like she said. The Shroud. It's—it's connected to this." He gestured at his chest, the ember a dull ache, and the glow in the floor pulsed, as if responding.
Before Rory could reply, a new sound cut through—the crunch of boots on gravel, close and deliberate, not the SWAT team's heavy tread but something lighter, stealthier. The shed's door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside—a woman, her silver-streaked hair glinting in the drone light that slipped through the gap, her coat crisp despite the chaos. She held no weapon, just a tablet that hummed faintly, its screen casting a blue glow on her sharp features.
"Elias Varn," she said, her voice smooth and measured, a scientist's calm amid the storm. "I've been looking for you."
Elias scrambled back, the ember flaring, his eyes glowing as he pressed himself against the wall. "Who—who are you?!" Rory leapt up, skateboard raised, but the woman raised a hand, unfazed.
"Dr. Thalia Voss," she said, her gaze locking onto Elias with a predator's focus. "And you're a marvel—an anomaly I intend to understand. That power of yours—it's not just chaos. It's a catalyst, isn't it? Waking things, changing things." She tapped her tablet, and a graph flared on the screen—spikes of energy, each one tied to his pulses. "I saw it at the hospital, the tunnel, here. You're rewriting the rules."
Elias's throat closed, the ember surging, but Rory stepped between them, his vibration humming faintly in his hands. "Back off, lady! He's not your lab rat!"
Voss's lips curved, a cold smile. "Oh, but he's so much more. And you—you're proof of it." She nodded at Rory's hands, then back to Elias. "You're not just amplifying—you're igniting potential, sparking what's dormant. The question is, how far does it go?"
"I don't want it!" Elias shouted, the pulse breaking free, weaker but sharp, rattling the shed. Voss's tablet flickered, and she stepped back, her smile widening as Rory's vibration flared, shaking the floor.
"Fascinating," she murmured, then tilted her head as the chopper's roar grew louder, its spotlight sweeping closer. "We'll talk again, Elias. Soon." She slipped out, vanishing into the night as the shed's walls groaned under the downdraft.
Rory grabbed Elias, pulling him toward a back exit. "She's nuts—we're out!" They stumbled into the shadows, the chopper's beam missing them by inches, but Elias's mind spun with Voss's words—catalyst, igniting—and the voice whispered, louder now: "The Shroud waits." The hunt was on, and he was the prize.