The air was thick with the mingled scents of rain-soaked concrete and distant exhaust fumes as I approached the agreed meeting spot, my senses on high alert. Neo Lyon was quieter tonight, an unsettling kind of quiet that always felt like the prelude to something catastrophic. The glow of a streetlamp flickered overhead, casting my shadow long and distorted on the pavement. I was a street away from the tunnel’s entrance, where the city’s forgotten veins twisted into a maze of secrets.

  And, as promised, there was Libra.

  Her white costume gleamed even in the weak light, the bold blue scales on her chest defiant against the shadows. She stood motionless, arms crossed, a lone sentinel among the muted hum of the city. Her mask, an unyielding depiction of blind liberty, turned toward me as I approached.

  “Prompt as ever,” I said, my voice casual but low.

  “You’re late,” she replied curtly, though I could hear the faintest hint of amusement beneath her clipped tone.

  I tugged my hood lower, ignoring her jab. “The tunnel’s just ahead. Let’s move before we attract attention.”

  Libra fell into step beside me, her movements precise and deliberate. She didn’t speak as we walked, her focus unnerving in its intensity. If she was curious about the plan, she didn’t show it. I wasn’t about to offer explanations, either.

  We were halfway to the tunnel’s entrance when I caught the faint sound of footsteps echoing from the opposite direction. I instinctively tensed, my eyes scanning the dimly lit street ahead. A figure emerged from the darkness, their stride easy and confident.

  Tempus.

  His Venetian mask caught the light as he moved closer, the silver accents on his midnight-blue suit gleaming faintly. He raised a gloved hand in a mock salute.

  “Evening, Replica,” he called, his tone light and teasing. “And who’s this? You’ve brought along a friend. I’m flattered.”

  Libra stopped abruptly, her masked gaze locking onto Tempus. Her posture shifted subtly, the faintest edge of tension creeping into her stance. “Tempus,” she said, her voice sharp with recognition. “I’ve read about you.”

  Tempus tilted his head, clearly intrigued. “Oh? Flattery or infamy?”

  “Both,” Libra replied evenly, though her tone carried an undercurrent of caution. “A Rogue with a penchant for time manipulation. You’ve crossed paths with the Moon-Eaters, haven’t you?”

  Tempus chuckled, a low, easy sound. “I wouldn’t say crossed paths. More like danced around them. They’re not exactly my type.” He turned to me, his mask tilting slightly. “And you, Replica? Expanding your social circle?”

  “Hardly,” I muttered. “Libra and I have… overlapping interests tonight.”

  Tempus’s amusement was palpable, even through the mask. “Fascinating. I do love a good intersection of chaos. And in such good company as you two ladies. Shall we, then?”

  Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the tunnel, his movements fluid and unhurried. Libra and I exchanged a glance—hers wary, mine resigned—before following.

  The air thickened as we approached the mouth of the tunnel, its yawning darkness a stark contrast to the faintly glowing streets behind us. The once vibrant cityscape faded with each step, replaced by the heavy, damp smell of old stone and forgotten spaces.

  Tempus, ever the embodiment of unwarranted cheer, walked a step ahead, his gloved fingers trailing along the rough surface of the tunnel wall. Libra kept to my left, her measured strides betraying no hint of hesitation, though her rigid posture spoke volumes about her distrust of our newest companion.

  “I must say,” Tempus began, his voice breaking the silence like a blade through paper, “this has all the trappings of a delightful mystery. Three Rogues, skulking about in Neo Lyon’s underbelly. I almost feel like I’m in a heist film. Do we have a script, or shall we improvise?”

  Libra’s sharp exhale was the closest thing I’d heard to a scoff from her. “Some of us don’t treat every mission like a joke,” she snapped. “You should take this seriously, Tempus. The Red Hands aren’t a joke.”

  Tempus turned slightly, his mask catching the dim light filtering from above. “And here I thought you’d appreciate a touch of levity, Libra. Perhaps that mask of yours is a little too tight?”

  “Enough,” I interjected, my voice low and firm. “If either of you wants to keep arguing, feel free to do it where the Red Hands aren’t setting traps. Otherwise, save it.”

  Libra stiffened but said nothing more. Tempus chuckled softly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “As you wish, dear Replica. Lead the way.”

  “Lead the way? You are the mapmaker here, Tempus. All those nights skulking around in here makes you our guide in there.”

  “Ah, of course! The blind shall lead the blind, and I, your humble mapmaker, will navigate these treacherous depths. Though, I must say, it’s not often one gets to chart a path for such esteemed company. Shall I add an extra flourish to make this adventure truly unforgettable?”

  The air grew colder as we ventured deeper into the tunnel, the damp stone walls pressing in around us like the weight of a thousand buried secrets. Every step echoed faintly, the sound bouncing through the labyrinthine corridors and amplifying the uneasy silence that seemed to settle over our group. The faint, far-off drip of water punctuated the stillness, like a heartbeat marking the passage of time.

  Tempus led the way, his movements confident and languid, his gloved fingers tracing idle patterns on the walls as though he owned the place. Behind him, Libra’s rigid posture and calculated steps betrayed her suspicion, every movement a study in controlled precision. I walked last, my senses attuned to the shifting echoes and the faint scrape of boots on stone.

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?” Tempus’s voice broke the silence, his tone carrying its usual undercurrent of amusement. “Neo Lyon’s forgotten veins, winding beneath the city like an unspoken history. I wonder how many secrets these walls have seen?”

  “Fewer than the secrets you keep, I’d wager,” Libra shot back, her tone clipped.

  Tempus glanced over his shoulder, the silver accents on his mask glinting faintly in the dim light. “Oh, I assure you, my dear, my secrets are far less interesting than yours. Though I am curious... Have you read about all my exploits, or just the greatest hits?”

  Libra didn’t respond immediately. Her silence felt heavy, but it only seemed to encourage him.

  “Let me guess,” he continued, his tone teasing. “You’ve read about my little spat with the Moon-Eaters? Or was it the Guild incident that caught your eye? Both were terribly exciting, I must admit.”

  Libra exhaled sharply, the sound echoing like a drawn blade. “I read enough to know you’re unreliable.”

  Tempus chuckled, a low, smooth sound. “Unreliable? That’s harsh. I prefer ‘selectively dependable.’ And yet, here we are, venturing into the dark together. Trust is such a peculiar thing, isn’t it?”

  I rolled my eyes, keeping my voice low. “Trust isn’t the word I’d use. Now keep moving.”

  “Always the pragmatic one, Replica,” he replied, his voice practically a purr. “And here I thought you’d appreciate a bit of charm to lighten the mood. Or is it that you’re worried you might actually enjoy my company?”

  “Not likely,” I muttered.

  The tunnel twisted and turned, each intersection branching into paths that looked indistinguishable from one another. Without Tempus’s occasional gestures—pointing left, nudging us right—it would’ve been easy to get lost. The air grew heavier the farther we went, the faint scent of damp metal mingling with the earthy musk of old stone.

  “You know,” Tempus said after a moment, his voice conversational, “it occurs to me that we make quite the trio. Libra, the embodiment of justice. Replica, the face of calculated chaos. And me, the rogue timekeeper caught between it all. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were a story waiting to be written.”

  Libra scoffed audibly this time, her irritation palpable. “If you spent half as much energy on the mission as you do on spouting nonsense, we’d already be done.”

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  “Who says I can’t multitask?” Tempus shot back smoothly. He turned his head slightly, directing his next words at me. “What about you, Replica? Surely you see the appeal of a little banter to break the tension?”

  I didn’t look at him, keeping my gaze fixed ahead. “The only appeal I see is getting out of here alive. Save your banter for someone who cares.”

  Tempus sighed dramatically, as though deeply wounded. “You’re both terribly serious, you know. It’s almost endearing.”

  The air in the tunnel seemed to press heavier with each step, the damp stone walls gleaming faintly with moisture. It was as if the place itself exhaled the weight of ages, carrying the whispers of every secret it had ever swallowed. Ahead, Tempus moved with infuriating ease, his gloved hands tracing patterns on the wall as though he were a tourist admiring ancient ruins.

  “Selective dependability,” Libra muttered under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

  Tempus turned his head slightly, catching her words despite the low volume. “It’s a gift, really,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “You should try it sometime, Libra. Being selectively approachable might do wonders for your charm.”

  “I don’t need charm to deal with people like you,” she snapped.

  “Touché,” Tempus replied, unbothered. He glanced back at me, the silver motifs on his mask catching the faint glow of our portable light. “What about you, Replica? Ever feel the urge to break out of that brooding persona and indulge in a bit of lighthearted fun?”

  “I think I left ‘lighthearted fun’ back with my patience,” I said flatly.

  Tempus chuckled, his laugh echoing faintly down the tunnel. “So serious, both of you. I swear, it’s like I’m trapped with the sternest book club in Neo Lyon.”

  “You can leave anytime,” Libra snapped.

  “And miss the chance to witness justice incarnate in action? Perish the thought,” Tempus replied, his voice dripping with theatricality.

  “Talking about justice incarnate… With such a name and costume, why are you not a hero or vigilante, Libra? Why are you okay with acting with such a shady character and a nobody like me?”

  “And now our dear Replica is asking the questions!” Tempus added with a dramatic flair, glancing over his shoulder at me. “You’re not usually one to show curiosity, my dear. I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t be,” I replied flatly. “I’m just trying to figure out how someone like Libra ended up here, of all places. You’ve got the whole ‘righteous avenger’ aesthetic down. So why slum it with rogues like us?”

  Libra slowed her pace slightly, turning her head just enough to let me know she was considering my question. When she spoke, her voice was measured, as though she’d anticipated this line of inquiry.

  “Justice isn’t bound by rules,” she said. “The system is broken. Heroes and vigilantes play by laws written to protect the powerful, not the innocent. Sometimes, to do what’s right, you have to step outside the lines.”

  Tempus let out a low whistle. “Impressive. So you’re a philosopher as well as a fighter. I’d wager you’ve got a bookshelf full of dusty tomes about ethics and morality.”

  Libra ignored him, her focus shifting back to the path ahead. I could hear the conviction in her voice, the kind of unwavering belief that could turn dangerous if left unchecked.

  “And you think stomping through Neo Lyon’s tunnels with a time-bending flirt and someone like me is justice?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.

  Libra stopped abruptly, turning to face me. Her masked gaze was unreadable, but her posture radiated a quiet intensity. “You have your reasons for being here, just as I have mine. I’m not interested in justifying myself to you or anyone else. We’re here to deal with the Red Hands. That’s all that matters.”

  Before I could respond, Tempus interjected, his voice light and teasing as ever. “Oh, the drama! I do love a good philosophical debate, but perhaps we could save it for after we’ve dealt with whatever nastiness awaits us in this lovely maze?”

  Libra shot him a withering glare, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she turned and resumed walking, her movements as precise as ever. I followed without a word, my thoughts swirling.

  Tempus, seemingly oblivious to the tension, continued his attempts to fill the silence. “You know, Replica, I think you and Libra have more in common than you realize. Both of you have that delightful air of mystery, that alluring sense of purpose. It’s positively riveting.”

  “Do you ever shut up?” I muttered.

  “Rarely,” he replied with a grin evident in his tone. “But you’d miss me if I did.”

  Libra muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse, but she kept walking.

  We turned a corner, and the tunnel opened into a small chamber, the walls lined with old, rusted pipes. In the center of the room were several wooden crates, their surfaces marked with a familiar symbol that sent a chill down my spine—the same emblem I’d seen associated with the Genesis Serum.

  “And behold! My treasure trove!” Tempus exclaimed in his usual cheerful tone, “Found this place 2 days ago, the crates weren’t there, though, just some bloke with red gloves and a pirate hat ordering around some red gloved goons!”

  I approached the closest crate, half-ignoring Tempus’ unnerving demeanour.

  “Empty,” I muttered, kneeling to pry open one of the crates. The wooden lid gave way with a hollow creak, revealing nothing but dust and the faint outline of long-removed contents. “Of course.”

  “Careful, dear Replica,” Tempus drawled, leaning casually against a nearby pipe, his mask tilted in amusement. “You sound almost disappointed.”

  Libra crouched beside me, running her gloved fingers over the edge of the crate. “They’ve been moved recently,” she said, her tone clipped. “The marks here are fresh.”

  Her observation sent a spike of unease through me. If these crates were part of the Red Hands’ operation, then they had much more resources than I expected.

  “We need to figure out where they’ve taken it,” I said, straightening. “The serum alone is dangerous enough, but if they’re storing that much…” I let the thought trail off, the weight of what we might be facing settling over me like a shroud.

  “Serum..?” Libra echoed me.

  "...The Genesis Serum," I clarified, my voice lower than I intended. "A substance that can create metas—but at a cost. It’s unstable, unpredictable, and turns most of its subjects into mindless husks or worse." My words hung in the air, the gravity of them darkening the already oppressive chamber.

  Libra’s head snapped toward me, her masked face unreadable. “And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

  “I didn’t think it was relevant until now,” I shot back, unwilling to let her scolding tone unnerve me. “As you mentioned, everyone has their own goals with tonight’s raid.”

  The dim chamber’s silence thickened as Libra processed my words. Her hands, still resting on the edge of the crate, curled into fists. The sharp crackle of her leather gloves breaking the silence felt louder than it should in the oppressive stillness.

  “So,” she said, her voice cutting through the air, “we’re not just dealing with a gang. We’re dealing with a group with the means to weaponize a serum that creates metas.” Her words carried a dangerous calm that made me meet her masked gaze despite myself.

  “We don’t know how far they’ve gone with it,” I replied, keeping my voice measured. “These crates might have been a temporary stash. For all we know, they’ve already moved whatever they had.”

  Tempus chuckled softly from his perch against the rusted pipe. “Ah, Replica, ever the pragmatist. Always looking at the dark side of things. Though, I must admit, the stakes have certainly spiced up this little venture.”

  Libra ignored him, standing abruptly. “If you knew about this serum, why haven’t you done anything about it?” Her accusation hit like a slap, but I’d expected it.

  “Because I didn’t have the luxury of diving headfirst into danger,” I shot back, my tone sharper than intended. “And because it wasn’t my priority—until now.”

  Her shoulders stiffened, and I knew my answer hadn’t satisfied her. Before she could press further, a sound cut through the chamber—the faint echo of voices carried by the tunnel’s twisting corridors.

  Tempus straightened instantly, his playful demeanor vanishing like a mask dropped at the end of a performance. “Oh, how delightful. Company.” His voice was a whisper, his tone laced with curiosity rather than fear.

  I shot him a glare before motioning for silence. The voices grew louder, their words still indistinct but their cadence unmistakable. Two people. One voice, low and furious, reverberated with authority; the other, higher-pitched and defensive, carried an edge of panic.

  Libra moved without hesitation, ducking behind the shadow of a column of pipes. I followed, keeping close to the wall, every movement deliberate and silent. Tempus, to his credit, melted into the shadows with a fluidity that reminded me why he was so dangerous.

  The voices became clearer as their owners approached.

  “I told you to keep your mouth shut!” the deeper voice snapped, his words echoing with venom. “Do you have any idea how close you’ve brought them to finding us?”

  “I didn’t mean to!” the second voice stammered. “I didn’t think they’d actually—”

  “You didn’t think, period,” the first voice snarled. “Now we’ve got to clean this up before it spirals out of control.”

  They were closer now, just on the other side of the chamber’s narrow entrance. I crouched lower, my breath shallow, as I caught sight of them. Two figures emerged into the faint light of the chamber: one tall and broad-shouldered, his face obscured by his pompous pirate hat—Corsair—and the other wiry and twitchy, clutching a clipboard as though it might shield him from the larger man’s wrath.

  Tempus, hidden in the shadows nearby, made no sound, but I could feel his presence. His gaze seemed to flick between the two men and the crates we’d been investigating moments before.

  “Do you know how much this serum is worth?” the larger man hissed, jabbing a finger into the smaller man’s chest. “If this operation gets exposed, we’re done. Do you understand that? Done.”

  The smaller man flinched but managed a shaky nod. “I know, I know. I’ll fix it. I’ll—”

  “You’ll do nothing but follow orders,” the larger man cut in. He turned abruptly, his gaze sweeping the chamber, and I pressed myself deeper into the shadows. “And you’ll pray no one else finds their way down here. If they do…” He left the threat hanging, but the sharp glint of a blade at his belt completed the unspoken sentence.

  Libra’s hand moved slightly, her fingers brushing the hilt of the weapon at her side. I reached out, barely brushing her arm, signaling for her to wait. There was too much we didn’t know yet.

  The smaller man hesitated, then nodded rapidly. “Got it. No one comes down here. I’ll…I’ll double-check the outer perimeter before the next shipment.”

  “Good,” the larger man growled. “And get those crates loaded onto the transport. We’re moving them to a more secure location tonight.”

  My chest tightened. Tonight. If we didn’t act soon, this lead—and the serum—would vanish into the labyrinth of Neo Lyon’s underworld.

  As the two men turned to leave, Tempus’s voice broke the silence, low and silky, a predator testing its prey. “Leaving so soon?”

  The effect was immediate. Both men froze, their heads snapping toward the shadows where Tempus stood.