"I don't like this," Rook growled, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. "Something feels wrong."
I nodded, the new spiral mark on my side throbbing beneath my shirt. Since leaving the apartment, the sensation had intensified, pulsing with a rhythm distinct from my prophetic markings. "Milo's in there. I can feel it."
Fenric consulted his tablet, brow furrowed. "There's unusual magical activity within the structure. Multiple energy signatures, some of which don't match any known classification."
"Great," Zane checked the protective amulets he'd brought along. "Unknown magic in a creepy warehouse. What could possibly go wrong?"
"We stay together," Rook's tone left no room for argument. "No splitting up, no matter what we find."
The warehouse door hung partially open, metal grinding against concrete as Rook pushed it wider. The interior was pitch black, swallowing the beam of Fenric's enchanted flashlight almost immediately.
"That's not natural darkness," Zane observed, creating a small ball of fae light in his palm. Even its usual bright glow seemed dimmed, struggling against the oppressive blackness.
I stepped forward, the blue markings on my arm brightening in response to my unease. Their glow provided better illumination than either Fenric's flashlight or Zane's fae light, casting eerie blue shadows across the warehouse floor.
"Milo?" My voice echoed through the cavernous space. "Horrace?"
No response.
We moved deeper into the warehouse, following the faint trail of magical residue that Fenric's instruments detected. The floor was littered with debris of broken pallets, shattered glass, abandoned machinery rusted beyond recognition. But what caught my attention were the shadows.
They weren't behaving properly.
When I moved, my shadow didn't follow correctly, lagging behind by several seconds. When I raised my arm, the shadow raised its arm too, but with a jerky, unnatural motion, as if it were a puppet controlled by inexperienced hands.
"Do you see that?" I whispered, pointing to our distorted shadows.
Rook nodded grimly. "Time isn't flowing right in here."
As if to confirm his assessment, a drop of water fell from a leaking pipe overhead. Instead of falling straight down, it zigzagged through the air, stopping mid-descent beforecontinuing on a different trajectory. It took nearly thirty seconds to hit the ground.
"The Veil is thin here," Fenric watched the water droplet's strange journey. "Reality is becoming unstable."
We continued forward, moving cautiously through the temporal distortions. Objects would occasionally flicker, appearing in one spot before jumping to another. Sounds reached our ears out of sync with their sources like the crunch of glass beneath our feet echoing before we stepped on it, Zane's whispered curses audible only after his lips had stopped moving.
"Milo!" I called again, louder this time. "Where are you?"
A faint blue glow caught my eye from the far corner of the warehouse. We approached cautiously, finding a door that appeared to lead to a basement level. The glow emanated from beyond it, pulsing with a familiar rhythm. Was..it?
"That's Milo's necromantic energy," Zane confirmed, his expression tightening with concern. "But it's fluctuating. Unstable."
Rook pushed the door open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into more darkness. The blue glow was stronger here, but it flickered erratically, like a dying lightbulb struggling to stay lit.
We descended the stairs, the temporal distortions growing more pronounced with each step. By the time we reached the bottom, I felt like I was moving through molasses, each movement requiring concentrated effort.
The basement opened into a large chamber that might once have been a storage area. Now it was transformed. Complex magical circles had been drawn on the floor in what looked disturbingly like blood. Candles burned at strategic points around the room, their flames frozen in place, neither flickering nor consuming their wax.
And in the center of it all stood a stone altar, ancient and weathered, covered in symbols I recognized from my prophetic markings.
"What is this place?" I breathed, the spiral on my side burning now, responding to whatever magic permeated the chamber.
"A ritual site," Fenric's voice was tight with tension. "Recently used."
"Milo!" Zane suddenly broke away, rushing toward a dark shape huddled against the far wall.
My heart lurched as I recognized Milo's crumpled form. We all ran to him at once, Zane reaching him first and gently turning him over.
Milo was unconscious but breathing, his face unnaturally pale. A thin line of blue energy leaked from his nose and the corners of his eyes, necromantic power escaping his body like blood from a wound.
