150 THE TRACKING PSYCHIC
Every head turned toward the source.
A figure pushed through the rows of students. It was Eryn Veyran, her expression sharp with defiance.
She marched straight up to Damen, grasped his hand, and declared, "Damen Dark is my partner for this year's Prom!"
Gasps spread across the room like ripples in water.
Cyara's pleasant smile vanished, her eyes flashing with fury as she met Eryn's glare. The air between them crackled with silent hostility—two powerful heirs, each refusing to back down, both claiming the same boy.
Damen looked between them, bewildered and utterly out of his depth.
"What the hell is happening right now?" he muttered under his breath.
The school magazine editor was already crouched near the front row, his camera flashing nonstop. His assistant recorded every angle, grinning ear to ear.
"This is gold," the editor whispered excitedly. "The Veyran and Zetheris families may have declared a truce, but it looks like a new front has opened—between Eryn and Cyara."
He zoomed in for a close shot of the two girls glaring daggers at each other over a very confused Damen Dark.
"Perfect," he muttered. "Front-page material for sure."
-----
The standoff between Cyara and Eryn escalated fast—until the soldiers stepped in, forcing their way between the two furious girls. The crowd murmured as the tension broke, and Principal Misk quickly declared the ceremony "temporarily adjourned."
Amid the chaos, Damen tugged on Zairgid's sleeve. "Let's get out of here."
They slipped quietly through the side exit and down the corridor, away from the crowd.
"I guess the ceremony's not continuing today," Zairgid said dryly.
"No kidding," Damen muttered. "Who the hell even invented this Prom thing?"
Zairgid shrugged. "Beats me. Some leftover tradition from before Armageddon. The school board revived it to make money off ticket sales and decorations. A total scam if you ask me."
"Damn," Damen sighed.
After a beat, Zairgid shot him a sidelong look. "So… who are you going with?"
Damen rubbed his temple. "Well, Eryn mentioned something about it before, and I sort of agreed. I guess that makes me her partner?"
Zairgid smirked. "What about Cyara? She's just as cute as Eryn, maybe cuter. Why not both?"
"I don't even know this Cyara," Damen said, frowning. "And her family's technically our enemy."
"So is Eryn's family," Zairgid pointed out.
Damen sighed again, realizing the irony. "Right. That… could be a problem."
-----
Damen didn't take his usual ride home.
Too many school magazine reporters were already waiting by the gate, cameras ready to ambush him for quotes and pictures. Instead, he slipped out the back and vaulted over the school fence.
He landed lightly on the other side, dusting off his hands. "A year ago, that fence was a mountain to me," he chuckled. "Now… it's just a warm-up."
He started down a quiet street lined with derelict buildings, their windows shattered, and walls tagged with old graffiti. The city was silent here—too silent.
Then he felt it.
That sharp, instinctive pressure at the back of his mind—the sense of danger.
He immediately ducked into the nearest building and cloaked himself, fading into invisibility just as footsteps approached.
Moments later, three figures arrived.
"I'm sure I have his location here," said a woman in a black ninja suit, holding a strange compass-like device that pulsed faintly with light.
"Seven, are you certain?" another voice replied—calm but edged with irritation. "There's no one around."
Damen's eyes narrowed as he peered from the shadows. He recognized them instantly.
They were members of the Rewind assassin sect—each identified by a Roman numeral. The one speaking now was Rewind VIII, and beside her were Rewind VII and Rewind III.
He knew their abilities well.
They could manipulate short intervals of time—rewind their movements, undo mistakes, or reverse an attack. They were much tougher than most assassins, and also exhausting to fight.
He crouched low, scanning the cracked walls and rusted beams in the building. If he could find the weak points in the structure, he wouldn't need to fight them directly.
He already used this method once and it worked.
Inside, the women spread out carefully, their boots crunching against broken glass.
"He should be here," Seven muttered, tapping the glowing device. "This thing doesn't lie."
"Unless he's invisible," Eight snapped. "And last I checked, he wasn't capable of that."
"This tracker comes from Coracle, remember?" Seven replied defensively. "It's imbued with a fragment of his psychic power. If Damen Dark steps within its range, it will detect him."
Damen's mind raced. "Coracle's power… that explains it."
Now he understood how they found him so easily.
The device on the woman's hand didn't track energy signatures like normal sensors—it tracked presence. Once he entered its psychic boundary, it locked onto him, even if he vanished from sight.
He sighed inwardly. "This thing works almost exactly like the proximity tracker in my mining app," he thought wryly. "Only this one's trying to mine me."
Damen wasn't in a rush to finish them. He lingered in the shadows, letting their voices spool out—every word a scrap of information about the Order of Cockerel.
"I'm sure Nine was murdered by that Damen Dark," Seven said, her jaw tight. "She told me she was going after him before she vanished. I should never have let her go alone."
"He's only a student," Three scoffed. "The bounty on his head is tiny. Not worth three of us being tied up over."
Before anyone could respond, a howl of sound ripped through the building.
A concussive shriek so violent it cracked the pillars; the upper concrete floor groaned, then pancaked down, burying the three sisters beneath rubble.
"Sonic Wave"
"What—what happened?" Eight choked out, coughing.
"We're stuck," Seven managed, voice thin with dust and panic.
A calm voice cut through the chaos. "Now, who is this Coracle and where can I find him?"
The sisters froze. "Who are you…where are you?" Eight called, fear edged with the brittle bravado of trained killers.
"Don't bother with your rewinding tricks," Damen said, stepping forward from his hiding place pushing aside pillars and concrete.
His voice was low and controlled. "No matter how you wind time back, you're still under concrete."
"What do you want from us?" Rewind III spat, while gritting her teeth.
"To find the Order of Cockerel… and destroy it," Damen replied.
"Impossible," Eight protested. "None of us has ever met Coracle. We never see him. Orders come through the message board. There is no face, no meeting between us."
Damen studied them.
The Order's methods were clinical: contracts were paid remotely, hits arranged through anonymous menus and bulletin boards.
Their caution matched what he'd suspected.
"And the device?" he pressed. "How did Coracle supply you with that tracker? Did he hand it to you?"
"They sent it," Seven said finally. "Placed in a delivery. That's all. There are no signatures and no contacts."
Damen spotted the Coracle device half-buried beneath a pile of broken concrete. Its surface still pulsed faintly with psychic light, like a dying ember refusing to fade.
He stepped closer and crouched to pick it up…
….when a blur of motion streaked behind him.