Inside the high-tech sanctuary of the AXILE command center, the air was silent, save for the rhythmic hum of the stasis anchors vibrating through the building's foundations. Ian stood by the primary monitor, the crimson glow of the "backup plan" reflecting off his spectacles. He didn't look like a man who had just lost four prisoners; he looked like a grandmaster who had just sacrificed a pawn to trap a queen.
He turned his head slightly as Marielle entered the room, her silken heels clicking rhythmically against the metal floor.
"Marielle," Ian said, his voice smooth and devoid of urgency. "The thermal signatures from the southern gate jump were unique. The dimensional tear leads back to the storage sector. Specifically, the bakery lodge."
Marielle tilted her head, dangerous glint in her eyes. "You think they went back to the flour and sugar? My humble abode."
"Check on them," Ian commanded. "I want to know the physical state of the boy, Vincent, and the delivery runner, Oscar since I don't see him around. If they are exhausted—if they are bleeding out—they are definitely MACE. But if they look steady... if they aren't showing the strain of fighting a stasis field... then MACE has a hidden resource we haven't accounted for or rather someone is disguised as them. Go. Observe, but do not engage yet."
Marielle bowed slightly and walked out of the door appearing at the corridor swiftly, her own specialized stealth field visible contrary to her usual slow and steady self.
***
The Bakery Lodge — Moments Earlier
The air in Yunlin's hotel room was still charged with the ozone of the failed portal. Vincent sat on the floor, his back against the bedframe, coughing violently into a rag. The blood from his nose was thick and dark, a physical manifestation of the price he had paid to rip through Ian's stasis wall.
"You can't stay here," Vincent rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over broken glass. "Ian's scanners... they'll trace the residual rift energy to this room in minutes. I have to get back to the bakery. I have to make it look like we never left."
"You're in no condition to jump again, Vincent!" Sonia cried, reaching for his shoulder. "Your internal pathways are close to being fried."
"I have... one more card," Vincent sighed.
He reached into the hidden inner pocket of his cream-colored bakery vest. His fingers brushed against something cool and vibrating with a soft, golden frequency. He pulled it out: a small, hand-carved jade charm, etched with runes.
It was a gift from Mamma Mia, a grandmother to him whom she adopted. She had warned him that the "New World" tech would eventually try to cage the "Old World" magic.
As Vincent closed his hand around the charm, a surge of warmth flooded his nervous system. It wasn't a full healing at least, it was an artificial surge, a mask. The trembling in his hands stopped. The dull ache in his chest receded into a distant thrum. Most importantly, the pallor of his skin returned to a healthy, sun-kissed glow, hiding the terrifying exhaustion etched into his soul.
"Open," he whispered grabbing the bathroom door handle.
This time, the portal opened silently, effortlessly, as the charm smoothed the wrinkles in reality. He stepped through, appearing in the center of the bakery kitchen just as the ovens began their automatic pre-heat cycle for the morning.
***
Minutes Later
The bell above the bakery door chimed.
Marielle stepped inside, looking every bit the high-society woman lost in a late-night snowstorm. Her eyes immediately swept the room, sharp as a hawk's.
Oscar was behind the counter, calmly wiping down a tray of éclairs. He looked up, offering a tired but polite smile. "We're closed for the night, Madame. The storm has made deliveries... difficult."
"I see," Marielle said, her gaze drifting to the back of the kitchen.
Vincent walked out from the storage room, carrying a heavy crate of flour. He didn't stagger nor show signs of wariness. He moved with the easy, athletic grace of someone who had spent the night kneading dough rather than fighting for his life against high-density stasis anchors.
"Is there a problem, Oscar?" Vincent asked, his voice steady and resonant. He looked directly at Marielle, his eyes clear and bright.
Marielle stared at him, her fingers twitching near her concealed comms unit. She was looking for the blood, the sweat, the labored breathing Ian had predicted. She saw nothing but a hard-working apprentice.
"No problem," Marielle said, her voice laced with a hint of confusion to why he asked. "I simply saw the lights on. I thought perhaps I could buy a macaron for the road."
"On the house," Vincent said, handing her a small rosewater macaron with a steady hand. "Safe travels, Madame. The snow is quite treacherous tonight."
Marielle took the sweet, her eyes narrowing as she stepped back into the night. The moment the door clicked shut, she tapped her earpiece.
"Ian... It's the latter. They aren't exhausted. In fact, they look like they haven't moved all night. Vincent is standing perfectly fine. Whatever power he used to escape... it didn't leave a trace."
Inside the AXILE hub, Ian's grip on his wine glass tightened until the stem snapped. "Impossible. No one fights a Division-grade anchor and walks away clean. If he's not exhausted... then the boy isn't just an operative. He's an anomaly...no no, it must be enchantment."
***
Back in the Bakery
The moment Marielle's signature vanished from his sensory range, Vincent collapsed against the counter. The jade charm in his hand grew cold, its light fading. A fresh, violent spurt of blood hit the floor tiles, and his eyes rolled back as the artificial energy vanished.
"Vincent!" Oscar caught him before he hit the ground.
"She... she bought it," Vincent choked out, his voice fading. "But the charm is spent. Sonia... tell her to not move. The real hunt starts now."