He knew. He always knew. “Pipo!” she hissed into her hidden comm unit, the urgency a raw edge to her voice. “Are you there?” Silence. Then a faint crackle. “Barely, Ljeska. He just scrambled the entire network. Lost my backdoors, my side entrances, even my decoy servers. The Guild’s digital defenses just went nova. What did you *do*?” His voice was a strained whisper, devoid of its usual mirth. “I saw his files. Project Lycanthrope,” Ljeska responded, her gaze sweeping the inky blackness. The air itself felt thick with unseen surveillance. “He plans to weaponize us. To merge us into a single asset. He’s been experimenting on Stribor since he was a child.” Pipo let out a low whistle, a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the dead air. “Figures. The man’s a monster. Listen, I managed to snatch one more thing before the net went dark. The Apex’s full structural schematics. Every pipe, every wire, every hidden passage.” “Send them,” Ljeska commanded, already moving. The gloom was thick, but her eyes, accustomed to the dim light of captivity, adjusted quickly. She reached toward the nearest perimeter grid, her fingers hovering inches from the invisible barrier. “And tell me what you see here. The barriers, the glass, the collar—they’re all connected. Resonance Dampener, you called it? It’s more than that. It’s a symphony of suppression.” “On their way. Check your wrist-comms. And don’t touch that, Ljeska, you don’t know what voltage Kresnik’s running through those things now. He won’t hesitate to fry you.” Ljeska ignored him. Her new understanding of Kresnik’s plan, of her own weaponized song, had sharpened her focus. This wasn’t about escape anymore. It was about dismantling. She closed her eyes, humming the soft, wordless melody she had used to calm Stribor, but with a different intent. She pushed her healing gift inward rather than out, probing the unseen currents of the air, seeking the subtle frequencies that animated the perimeter mesh. Her goal was not to mend the barrier; she aimed to fracture its cadence. A faint, almost imperceptible *hum* began in the air around her, a high, thin note that seemed to echo her own internal vibration. The partition before her wavered, a tiny spark jumping from its invisible surface. She intensified her pitch, channeling more resonance, feeling the unfamiliar strain on her lungs. Another pulse flared, bright as magnesium. Then, with a soft *pop*, the section directly in front of her vanished, leaving a gaping breach. It returned a second later, but the momentary gap was enough. “Did you see that, Pipo?” she whispered, a surge of triumph, cold and satisfying, filling her. “I can resonate with it. Short it out.” “I… I saw a power surge, then a temporary grid collapse in your sector,” Pipo’s voice was filled with a new kind of awe. “Ljeska, you’re not just a healer. You’re a living EMP. The blueprints are downloaded. Look for a maintenance conduit under the biodome’s sub-flooring. It’s the only access point not tied directly into the main security grid.” Ljeska nodded, though he could not see it. She looked toward Stribor, still shrouded in the black perimeter. His low growl had subsided, replaced by an attentive, watchful posture. She could sense his focus on her, questioning without words. “Stribor,” she said, her voice soft but clear, “I’m going to need your help.” Just then, the private lift at the far end of the suite whirred to life, its doors sliding open with a soft hiss. Three operatives, clad in Vodyan Guild tactical gear, stepped out, their visors down, their weapons aimed directly at Ljeska. They carried specialized collection cases. “Subject Nightingale, stand down,” a synthesized voice commanded. “Surrender the medical canister.” They were here for the glowing blue syringe. Ljeska had tucked it into a hidden pocket in her tunic. She took a step back, feigning fear, her mind already calculating angles, timing, and vulnerabilities. The darkness was her ally, and Stribor, her silent weapon. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ljeska replied, her voice shaky. She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender, but her left hand subtly moved, her fingers brushing the comm unit. “Pipo, on my mark. I need a localized power surge, a distraction, right behind them.” The enforcers advanced, their boots soundless on the plush carpet. “Do not resist. This is for your own protection.” “My protection?” Ljeska scoffed, genuine disdain cutting through her submissive facade. “You mean Kresnik’s property.” As the lead operative reached for her, Ljeska struck a sharp, rising tone. This time, she focused not on disabling, but on diverting. The mesh closest to the lift entrance flared erratically, then solidified, sealing off the path between the squad and their retreat. The leader stumbled back, startled. “Pipo, now!” “Got it!” Pipo’s voice crackled. A wall panel behind the squad, near the shaft, erupted in violent blue sparks, the sharp crack snapping across the suite. The operatives flinched, turning toward the sudden blast. In that split second, Ljeska sang a low, guttural note that resonated deep within the suite, a cadence only Stribor understood. Not a lullaby, but a command. From the deep shadows, Stribor lunged. He materialized behind the distracted men, a hulking silhouette against the amber emergency strips that had just activated. His form remained half-veiled in gloom, but the monstrous width of his shoulders and the feral curve of his horns sufficed. A rumbling snarl ripped through the air, vibrating the floorboards. The operatives froze, rifles dipping. They had orders to secure the syringe, not to confront a mutated beast of Stribor’s scale. Ljeska kept humming, sustaining a rapid, sharp cadence that pressured the perimeter array. Light pulsed along the floorplates, creating an erratic labyrinth. One barrier flared to cut off an aisle, snapped shut, and reformed behind them, herding the disoriented squad. Stribor matched her tempo with quiet, predatory grace. He neither clawed nor struck; he simply advanced, cutting off angles, his shadow engulfing them while his golden irises burned in the dark. Trapped between erratic force lines and the towering beast, the squad broke formation. One tried to sprint past Stribor, only for a blue wall to snap into place, driving him back toward the beast's talons. Another spun and fired a wild shot; the round glanced off the reinforced outer glass with a dull ping. Stribor never flinched. He simply took another slow, heavy step forward. “Secure it!” the lead operative shouted, his composure snapping. “Take the syringe!” Too late. Ljeska had already re-routed the frequencies, opening an unobstructed corridor straight into the lift. The men scrambled into the carriage without looking back. As the doors hissed shut, Ljeska dropped the harmonics, allowing the barriers to collapse back into inert air. The suite was plunged back into relative quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the biodome. Ljeska walked towards Stribor, whose monstrous form now seemed less threatening, more like a protective shadow. She reached out, her hand hesitant, then placed it flat against the coarse, matted fur of his chest. Beneath her palm, she felt the deep, steady rhythm of his heart, a powerful, unwavering thump that echoed through her own bones.

Echoes on Glass