The Denny's parking lot was blessedly empty a little after midnight on a Friday. Zoe had recovered just enough to walk without visibly limping, though her ribs still ached with every breath and her shoulder throbbed where the Chimeric Menagerie's scorpion tail had caught her. Worse than either injury was the hollow throb behind her eyes—the hangover of channeling so much aetheric power through a body that desperately needed sleep.

  Enjoy it. Pain means you're still alive. Everyone survived this clusterfuck. Try to be happy about that. She watched Warren's rigid posture as he walked ahead of her toward the glowing entrance, his shoulders set in that defensive hunch she knew too well. Now we just have to survive each other.

  The harsh fluorescent lights of the chain restaurant spilled through the windows and glass front door, casting everything in that particular shade of institutional yellow that made even healthy people look vaguely ill. The smell hit her as soon as she stepped through the door: industrial coffee, hot grease, and that underlying hint of maple syrup that seemed baked into the very walls. Inside, Zoe could see a scattering of customers—night shift workers hunched over coffee, a couple of insomniacs staring at phones, a cluster of teenagers too young for the bars but too old to be stuck at home. Once upon a time, she’d been one of those teens, and she recognized the usual midnight crowd for the Napa Denny's.

  Behind the front register, a guy about their age with sandy hair and an earnest expression looked up as they entered. As their gazes briefly met, his face lit up just before his cheeks flushed bright pink.

  Zoe experienced a flash of booze-hazed memories. Swaying and grinding against another body as a bar band played something with too much bass. Sloppy kissing mingled with the half-frantic stripping of clothes in a dark apartment that smelled like cheap candles and boy. Gasping. Writhing. The crushing weight of disappointment when it was over too fast, and she'd felt nothing but empty. Fumbling to drag on her clothes by the light of a bedside clock while he snored.

  "Zoe!" His voice cracked slightly. "Hey! I didn't—I mean, wow, you look—uh—"

  Zoe's brain stuttered, then caught up with a sinking sensation in her stomach.

  Oh no.

  His name is... John? No, wait—Jeff? Jake? God, is it Jeremy? She felt almost certain that it started with a J.

  J-something was still talking, words tumbling out in that eager puppy-dog way she vaguely remembered from the night in question. "I'm sorry, I meant to text you. Things just got really busy with midterms and work and—"

  "It's fine. After all, I didn't leave my number, Spiffy," Zoe said in a ruthlessly sardonic tone. Behind her, she heard Warren clear his throat and Sasha's barely suppressed snort.

  Kill me now. Just let me die right here in this fucking Denny's.

  It was only then that her weary brain latched onto the notion of checking his nametag. Jason! Of course, it was Jason.

  Where the hell had Spiffy come from?

  Jason—the poor sod—clocked her checking his nametag and stammered something else, but Zoe was already brushing past him, leading her battered group toward the back of the restaurant. The vinyl booths squeaked as other customers shifted to watch them pass. They probably looked like hell—seven people in various states of dishevelment.

  "We'll grab our own table," she called over her shoulder. "We need coffee ASAP. Thanks, Jason."

  With the quiet efficiency of bone-deep weariness, they slid into a tucked-away corner booth. The vinyl was sticky under Zoe's palms, the table surface slightly tacky from inadequate wiping. She dragged Warren into the corner with her, where he wouldn't be able to easily jump up and run. Sasha slid in on Zoe's right with Pablo next to her. They both still glowed faintly from their tonic backlash, but under the harsh fluorescents, she doubted she would have noticed it if she hadn't been looking for it. Beside Warren, Eden pulled Sam into the booth with her. Sam's transformed square pupils stared at his hands like they belonged to someone else, his yellow irises catching the light in ways that made Zoe's stomach clench with sympathy. Rowan dragged over a chair from a nearby table and slumped into it, looking like he might pass out any second.

  Jason arrived with a rattling tray packed with coffee mugs and a stack of menus, along with a carafe that he set in the center of the table. He distributed his burden while trying very hard not to stare at Sam's eyes after noticing them. "Rough night?"

  "You could say that," Sasha snorted.

  "Bless you, Jason." Eden began dumping sugar into her coffee mug—one packet, two, three, four. The spoon clinked against ceramic as she stirred.

  "Can I get you started with any other drinks?"

  "Water," Pablo added. "Lots of water. For everyone."

  "I'll take the Lumberjack Slam," Sasha said without opening her menu. "Extra everything. And hash browns. Like, a ridiculous amount of hash browns."

  Around the table, everyone started rattling off orders—mostly variations on "the biggest thing on the menu" and "yes, I want extra sides." The metabolic strain of prolonged combat and power use mingled with the tonic backlash had them all ravenous, their bodies screaming desperately for calories. Jason wrote it all down with the slightly dazed expression of someone whose night had just gotten very weird.

  When he got to Zoe, she avoided eye contact completely. "Grand Slam. Extra bacon. And orange juice."

  "Got it." Jason's voice was crisply professional now, though his ears were still red. "I'll put this in right away."

  The moment he retreated toward the kitchen, Warren leaned over. "Spiffy?"

  "Shut up," Zoe muttered.

  "No, seriously, Spiffy? What does that even—"

  "I said shut up, War."

  Of course, this is what you focus on. Not the fact that you nearly got yourself killed playing vigilante. Not the fact that we needed you in that dungeon. No, let's make fun of Zoe's one-night stand instead.

  The old familiar resentment curled in her chest. Their parents had always expected her to be perfect—perfect grades, perfect manners, perfect daughter. Meanwhile, Warren got to fuck up over and over, got to change majors a dozen times, then drift between jobs and chase whatever impulse seized him, and somehow it was always fine. Warren was "finding himself." Warren was "going through a phase." Warren would "figure it out eventually."

  And now Warren was running around San Francisco fighting crime, ignoring his team, putting his family at risk, and everyone was just supposed to accept it because that's what Warren did.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Pablo pulled out his cell, and Zoe saw that Delta was calling. Pablo answered and set the phone in the center of the table, tapping the speaker button.

  "Good morning, Paladins," Delta's voice emerged, chipper despite the late hour. "I require a comprehensive debrief on recent activities."

  "We'll go first," Pablo said before launching into a summary of their inaugural dungeon dive between sips of coffee.

  Zoe, Sasha, and Eden peppered in relevant details here and there. Rowan and Sam listened with the glazed expressions of people whose worldview had been completely shattered and were still trying to piece together the fragments. As their report unfolded, Jason returned, forcing Pablo to disguise the conversation with some gamer jargon. Jason quietly distributed their mountains of food. The table practically groaned under the weight of so many condensed calories—towers of pancakes, mountains of hash browns glistening with grease, eggs in every preparation, bacon, sausage, and ham. The smell alone made Zoe's stomach clench with desperate hunger.

  The retelling became halting as the ravenous Paladins struggled to continue speaking around mouthfuls of greasy food. Zoe demolished her Grand Slam in record time, barely tasting it, her body demanding fuel with an urgency that overrode everything else. The coffee helped. The food helped more. Slowly, the edge came off everyone's exhaustion.

  From beside her, Warren's face had grown progressively more serious as the story unfolded. When they got to the part about Sam being vivisected while conscious, he went pale. "Fucking hell."

  "That's the condensed version," Eden said quietly. "The unedited version is worse."

  "Yes, yes. All fascinating. I want to know more about the dungeon core," Delta said.

  Pablo pulled a crystalline sphere from his Inventory. Even in the bright restaurant lighting, it pulsed with swirling green and purple energy. The wire cage surrounding it gleamed.

  "What's with the cage?" Warren frowned.

  "I don't know," Delta said, and they were the most ominous three words Zoe had ever heard from the super-intelligent AI with his millennia of galaxy-spanning experiences.

  "Could it be part of the dungeon's design?" Sasha asked. "Like a boss mechanic or something?"

  "Unlikely. At least, I've never heard of such a thing. Dungeon cores are fundamental structures, crystallized aetheric energy. They don't come with...ornamentation. Pablo, can you describe the cage in detail?"

  Pablo picked up the phone in one hand and held the core close to the phone's camera with his other. "The wire feels like platinum. While asymmetrical, the structure of the cage doesn't appear random or accidental. There's intentionality to the design."

  “Yes. I agree. And you sense aetheric energy within the metal itself?"

  "Yeah. It's...slippery. Hard to get a read on. Pretty sure if I tried to use my affinity on it, there would be resistance."

  "Don't do that," Delta said urgently.

  "I wasn't planning on it." Pablo rolled his eyes.

  "This is most concerning," Delta said. "I've never encountered anything like this in my entire existence. You need to bring the core to me immediately. I need to analyze it properly."

  "Tomorrow," Pablo said firmly. "Or rather, later today. After we've all gotten some sleep."

  "I'm afraid sleep may be a luxury you cannot afford," Delta began.

  "Delta." Pablo's voice was flat. "I don't know about the others, but I've been awake for almost twenty-four hours. We've been poisoned, burned, beaten, and nearly killed. We're running on fumes. If we don't sleep, we're going to make mistakes. Bad ones."

  There was a pause. "Very well. But first thing—"

  "First thing." Pablo nodded.

  There was a long pause as everyone just chewed.

  "I don’t know how to put this delicately," Eden said after demurely clearing her throat.

  “And if Eden can’t put something delicately, it must be impossible.” Sasha rolled her eyes but wore a friendly smile.

  Eden gave her roommate a tight smile, then shifted her gaze to Rowan and Sam, who'd been silent through most of the previous conversation. "What do we do about their situation?"

  Both young men looked up, suddenly the focus of attention.

  "I've been considering the same thing," Delta said. "Their situations are uncommon but not unique. Rowan appears to have properly integrated with the Nexus. Sam's case is slightly more concerning—the Vivisectionist's experiments combined with the aetheric saturation effects have created a randomized integration."

  "Meaning what, exactly?" Sam asked, his voice tight.

  "Meaning I don't know exactly what’s happening to you at the moment," Delta said bluntly. "And I need to scan you properly to find out. There are benign possibilities and...less benign possibilities."

  Sam's hands clenched on the table. "What does ‘less benign’ mean?"

  "Like uncontrolled mutations. Organ rejection. Cellular instability. Madness." Delta paused. "Or you could simply be adapting to a new stable form. But I can't tell without proper examination."

  "Fantastic," Sam muttered.

  "What about me?" Rowan asked quietly.

  "Your case is more straightforward," Delta said. "While unplanned, you've connected to the Nexus system. You have access to a natural flora affinity. You're not in immediate danger like Sam might be. In fact, with a flora affinity, you might be well suited—”

  “We’ll discuss that later,” Pablo jumped into the exchange. “There’s a lot for these two to absorb.”

  “But the talon is—” Delta objected.

  “Later, Delta,” Pablo pronounced with an uncompromising edge.

  Zoe had already put the pieces together. Mark’s Revenant had had a flora affinity. Had he survived to say the Oath, Delta said there would have been a 98.73% likelihood that in life, Mark would have unlocked the appropriate flora affinity. The flora affinity was the missing sixth element in their talon’s traditional line-up of powers. The incomplete configuration had been maddening to Delta over the last several months. Delta wanted them to fill Mark’s slot with Rowan.

  It’s not like Mark is ever going to fill it. Zoe bit down on her lower lip and choked back the wetness at the corner of her eyes.

  There was a pause. "Very well. I suppose you, Paladins, are equipped to provide a basic overview. But you really should bring them both to me today for thorough scans. Particularly Sam. I need to ensure he still has all of his organs in the correct places."

  "That's comforting," Sam said flatly.

  Another heavy silence settled over the table for a long moment as the expectant gazes of the Paladins slowly shifted to Warren.

  Beside her, Warren shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "My turn, I guess."

  The searing heat of his earlier indignation had faded, and Warren was almost sheepish as he proceeded to describe what he'd been up to. He managed to gloss over weeks of vigilante activity with hurried and sparsely detailed sentences—of course he did, of course he made it sound like no big deal—before arriving at the pattern of disappearances across San Francisco's rave and club scene. Seven missing people over two weeks. Always young, always from the nightlife.

  Zoe watched her brother as he spoke, noting the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. Part of her wanted to shake him. Part of her wanted to hug him. Most of her just wanted to understand why he couldn't just talk to them, why he always had to prove he could handle things alone.

  Because that's how you cope too, whispered a treacherous voice in the back of her mind. Flying off to dive bars in other towns. Hooking up with strangers whose names you can't remember. Running from anything that feels too real.

  She shoved the thought away.

  Warren recounted how he'd spotted her at multiple clubs—the woman with powder blue hair and impossible beauty.

  "...I tracked her to a warehouse rave in Hunter's Point," Warren continued around a mouthful from his second stack of pancakes. "She was working the floor, just like the other times. I hooked her attention with my sick dance moves, and she led me outside to a loading dock."

  "And?" Pablo prompted when Warren paused.

  "And her hair turned into snakes," Warren said flatly. "Inspect tagged her as 'Winter Medusa.' She hit like a freight train, the snakes had venom, she could use ice powers, and regenerated at least as fast as us. Without my armor, we were fairly evenly matched. Worst of all, she mentioned having a Mistress. So, I'm pretty sure she's just a goon or a hench-person for a much bigger bad."

  "Fucking marvelous," Pablo sighed.

  "Ease up. We'll handle it." Sasha reached over and squeezed his fist where it rested clenched on the tabletop.

  "Honestly, I thought I was just after a run-of-the-mill serial killer. If I'd suspected for one second it was a Corrupted, I would have called you all in."

  "You see how that's not the point, right?" Zoe scowled at her brother.

  The point is that you should have told us. The point is that we're supposed to be a team. The point is that you could have died alone in some San Francisco alley, and we wouldn't have known until Delta tracked your body to the morgue. But she didn't say any of that. Not here. Not now. Not with Rowan and Sam watching them with exhausted, bewildered eyes.

  "I don't understand," Rowan chimed in for the first time. "Don't you guys deal with this sort of thing all the time?"

  "We're still..." Eden paused to consider her words before shrugging. "We're still pretty new at all of this."

  "What else, Warren?" Pablo asked, but before Warren could reply, Pablo stiffened in his seat, and his head snapped around toward the entrance of the restaurant. The sudden shift in Pablo's entire demeanor caused Zoe's recently filled stomach to clench with sudden anxiety.

  "Pablo? What is it?" Sasha asked, her tone laden with concern.