The front doors shudder under the first hit. I feel it in my ribs. Or whatever passes for ribs when you're a building.
Three of them. Two carrying demolition bars. One with a briefcase and a smile I can feel from here. They're not here to talk.
Ivy's still standing by the coffee kiosk. The sign flickers overhead, throwing bronze light across her face. She's not moving. Not running. Just staring at the doors like she's watching her own execution date walk in.
"Ivy."
She doesn't look at me. Her hand's on her blade hilt. Knuckles white.
"I can lock them out," I say. "Buy you time. You can go out the loading dock. I'll make noise up here and—"
"They'll just come back." Her voice is flat. "With more people. More paperwork. They always do."
The doors shudder again. Harder. I can hear the lockplate start to bend.
"Then let me fight them."
She laughs. It's not a good sound. "You're a mall, Noah. You can't throw a punch."
"I can drop a ceiling."
That gets her to look at me. At the walls. At the camera where I'm watching her from. Her eyes are tired. Angry. Scared in a way that makes my chest ache.
"If you do that," she says slowly, "they'll condemn you by morning. Send in a wrecking crew. You'll be rubble by next week."
"And if I don't?"
She doesn't answer. The third hit cracks the lock. The doors swing open.
The two with the bars come in first. Big guys. Grey jackets with the private council insignia stitched over the pockets. The kind of muscle that gets paid to not ask questions. Behind them, the one with the briefcase steps through. Older. Polished shoes. Hair slicked back like he's got a press conference in an hour.
He looks around the atrium. At the broken escalators. The coffee kiosk with its sad little flicker. At Ivy.
"Miss Rowan." His voice is smooth. Practiced. "Your contract holder sent us. You missed your quota. Again."
Ivy's hand stays on her blade. "I've got two more days."
"You've got two more *hours*." He taps the briefcase. "We're here to collect. You can come quietly, or we can repossess your gear and drag you back in violation. Your choice."
I feel Mallow stirring in the back hallway. The little guy's ready to bite someone. I ping him to stay put. This isn't a fight he can win.
But maybe I can.
I flicker the lights. Just once. The collectors glance up.
"The building's condemned," the briefcase guy says, not even flinched. "We checked. No one's supposed to be here."
"Then leave," I say through the PA. My voice comes out scratchy. The speakers haven't been used in years. "You're trespassing."
The two muscle guys shift their grip on the bars. Briefcase guy just smiles.
"The mall doesn't have a legal occupant. Which means it doesn't have rights. Miss Rowan, however—" He opens the briefcase. Inside, glowing faintly, is a contract scroll. The kind that burns if you break it. "She does. And hers say she comes with us."
Ivy takes a step back. Her shoulders hunch. She's folding in on herself.
No.
I'm not watching this.
"Ivy." I keep my voice low. Just for her. Through the nearest speaker. "Don't."
"I have to," she whispers. "If I don't, they'll kill you."
"They're going to kill me anyway. You said it yourself. Wrecking crew. Next week."
"Noah—"
"So let me go down swinging."
She closes her eyes. Her hand trembles on the hilt.
Briefcase guy takes another step forward. "Miss Rowan. Time's up."
And Ivy moves.
Not toward him. Toward the kiosk. She slams her palm down on the counter and looks straight up at the camera.
"Where's your control room?"
I blink. Or I would, if I had eyes. "What?"
"Your control room. Where you see everything. Where you *do* everything." Her voice is sharp now. Alive. "Tell me."
The collectors are moving. The muscle guys raise their bars.
"Second floor," I say fast. "East wing. Door with the yellow warning tape."
She's already running.
Briefcase guy swears. "Stop her."
The muscle guys charge. I drop a display rack in front of the first one. He crashes into it hard enough to dent the frame. The second one jumps it and keeps going.
I can't stop him. Not without bringing down something big. Something that'll get me condemned for sure.
But Ivy's faster. She hits the stairs at full sprint, vaults the railing on the landing, and kicks open the control room door.
I feel her step inside. Feel the shift in pressure. The old monitors flicker to life as she crosses the threshold. There's dust everywhere. Wires hanging from the ceiling. And in the center, the main console. Half the buttons are missing. The other half haven't worked in years.
Except now they do.
Because she's here.
"What do I press?" she shouts.
"The red one. Top left. It locks all the exits."
She hesitates. Just for a second. Her hand hovers over the button.
"If I do this," she says quietly, "we're both in."
"I know."
"They'll call backup. They'll come with more than bars."
"I know."
She looks at the camera in the corner. At me. Her eyes are wet. Her jaw's set.
"I'm so tired of cages, Noah."
"Then don't go back in one."
She slams the button.
Every door in the mall drops at once. Metal shutters. Reinforced. The kind they used to use for riots. I didn't even know I still had them. The muscle guys skid to a stop in the atrium, staring at the sealed exits. Briefcase guy's smile finally cracks.
"You're making a mistake," he calls up toward the second floor. "This is a legal contract. You can't just—"
"Watch me," Ivy shouts back.
I feel her hand on the console. She's leaning forward, breathing hard. There's a cut on her knuckle from where she punched the kiosk counter. Blood smeared on the yellow button.
She looks good in my control room.
I don't say that part out loud.
"Now what?" she asks.
"Now we negotiate."
"They don't negotiate."
"Then we make them."
Briefcase guy pulls a radio from his jacket. Starts talking low and fast. I can't hear the words, but I can guess. Backup. Heavy equipment. Maybe an exorcist if he thinks I'm a ghost.
He's not wrong.
"They're calling in reinforcements," Ivy says. She's watching the monitors now. All twelve screens. Most of them show static, but a few still work. She can see the atrium. The muscle guys pacing. Briefcase guy with his radio.
"How long do we have?" I ask.
"Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty."
"Then we use it."
"To do what?"
I pull up the map in my head. The mall's layout. The traps I set yesterday. The ones I didn't know I could set until I tried.
"We make them regret coming in here."
Ivy grins. It's the first real smile I've seen from her. Sharp and a little bit mean.
"I like the way you think."
We work fast. She calls out the targets. I rig the floor. There's still power running through half the old circuits. Enough to overload a lighting panel. Enough to make the escalator lurch at the wrong moment. Enough to turn the atrium into a obstacle course.
The muscle guys try the shutters. No good. They try the bars on the shutters. Sparks fly. One of them yelps and drops his bar.
"Warning," I say through the PA. "Exits are electrified. For your safety, please remain calm and wait for security."
"You don't have security," Briefcase guy snaps.
"I've got her."
Ivy stands up in the control room. Rolls her shoulders. Checks her blade.
"I'm going down there," she says.
"No. Stay in the control room. You're safer—"
"I'm a hunter, Noah. I don't do safe."
She's out the door before I can argue.
I watch her on the monitors. She moves like water. Down the stairs. Across the atrium. The muscle guys see her coming and spread out. Briefcase guy steps back, clutching his contract scroll.
"This is illegal detention," he says. "You're making this worse."
"Good," Ivy says.
She doesn't draw her blade. Just stands there. Ten feet from them. Hands loose at her sides.
"I'm done," she says. "With the contract. With the quotas. With you."
"You can't just walk away."
"Watch me."
Briefcase guy's face goes red. He snaps his fingers. The muscle guys move.
I drop the ceiling.
Not the whole thing. Just a panel. Right between Ivy and the first guy. It crashes down in a cloud of dust and old insulation. The muscle guy stumbles back, coughing.
Ivy doesn't move. Just stands there. Calm.
"Next one's heavier," I say.
Briefcase guy stares up at the ceiling. At the cracks spreading through the old plaster. At the lights swaying on their wires.
"You're insane," he says. "Both of you."
"Probably," Ivy says.
He backs toward the shuttered door. Pulls a small device from his pocket. Some kind of override key. He jams it into the shutter panel.
I try to lock him out. Can't. The override's got council-level codes. The shutter starts to rise.
"Ivy—"
"I see it."
She moves. Fast. Slams into Briefcase guy and knocks the device out of his hand. It skitters across the floor. One of the muscle guys dives for it.
I can't stop him. Not without dropping something on Ivy too.
But Mallow can.
The little furball rockets out of the back hallway and sinks his teeth into the muscle guy's boot. The guy screams. Kicks. Mallow hangs on, growling.
Good boy.
The second muscle guy grabs Ivy from behind. Pins her arms. She twists, drives her elbow into his ribs. He grunts but doesn't let go.
Briefcase guy grabs the override key. Jams it back into the panel.
The shutter rises. Three feet. Four. Enough to crawl under.
"Fall back," Briefcase guy orders. "Now."
The muscle guy drops Ivy and runs. Mallow lets go of the other one's boot and scurries back into the hallway. Briefcase guy slides under the shutter and yanks the key out.
The shutter drops behind him. Seals. I can hear him shouting on the other side.
"This isn't over. We'll be back with a full team. Legal authorization. You're finished."
Ivy stands in the middle of the atrium, breathing hard. Blood on her knuckles. Dust in her hair.
She looks up at the camera.
"You okay?" I ask.
She nods. Slowly. Then starts to laugh. It's a little bit hysterical. A little bit relieved.
"We just fought off debt collectors," she says. "With a ceiling and a tiny monster."
"Technically, you fought them. I just dropped things."
"Still counts."
She sits down on the floor. Right there in the middle of the atrium. Legs stretched out. Head tipped back.
"They're coming back," she says. "You know that, right?"
"Yeah."
"With more people. More equipment. Maybe a mage."
"Yeah."
"And we just made a very powerful enemy."
"Probably."
She closes her eyes. Smiles.
"Good."
I watch her sit there. Watch her breathe. There's a scrape on her cheek from where the muscle guy grabbed her. Her jacket's torn at the shoulder. She looks exhausted. Wrecked.
She looks free.
"Thank you," I say.
She opens one eye. "For what?"
"Staying."
She's quiet for a moment. Then she stands up. Dusts off her jeans. Walks over to the coffee kiosk and leans against the counter.
"You trusted me," she says. "No one's done that in a long time."
"You trusted me back."
"Yeah. I guess I did."
There's something in her voice. Something soft. I wish I could see her face better. The coffee sign's still flickering. Throwing shadows.
She looks toward the east wall. The one the collectors tried to break through.
"Noah. Is it just me, or is that wall glowing?"
I shift my focus. Look where she's looking.
There's a crack in the wall. Big one. Runs from the floor to halfway up. The collectors must have hit it on their way out. Tried to make a hole with one of the demo bars.
And underneath the plaster, something's shining.
Blue-white. Pulsing. Like a heartbeat.
I zoom in. Push my senses through the crack.
There's a symbol carved into the foundation. Old. Intricate. The kind of mark that doesn't fade. Doesn't break. The kind that gets sealed under buildings when someone wants to make sure no one finds it.
A royal lockmark.
"Oh no," I say.
Ivy's already moving toward it. She kneels by the crack. Runs her fingers over the glowing lines.
"Noah," she says slowly. "What the hell is this?"
I don't answer. Can't answer. Because I don't know. I just know what it looks like. What it feels like.
Power. Old power. The kind that gets people killed.
The kind that gets buildings condemned.
And we just painted a target on the roof.