Word got out.
Someone else was searching for the same thing.
A group in all-black rolled through the Southside the next day—quiet, calculating, and far too clean for their part of town. The leader wore rings on every finger and spoke with an accent none of them could place.
Nate watched from a rooftop with Ava, eyes narrowing.
"They're after the same thing," she whispered.
"Then we stay ahead of them," he replied. "Whatever that compass is pointing to, they want it bad."
They returned to the wreck the next night, this time finding a sealed hatch beneath the floorboards. Ryuji cracked the rusted lock with shaking hands.
Inside were pages—old journal entries, water-damaged and barely readable. But one word stood out among them all:
"Solara."
"What's Solara?" Ava asked.
Nate didn't answer. He didn't know why, but the word sent a chill down his spine.
It felt familiar. Too familiar.