Elara jammed the last Spark Crystal into her satchel, its surface still warm and thrumming with residual energy. She brushed stray ash from her fingers, the gritty flakes clinging to her skin before she zipped the bag closed.

Her apartment still reeked faintly of burnt hair, and a sharp, electric tang clawed at the back of her throat, the last reminder of the Sparkjaws she’d gutted during last night’s Raid.

Z had a talent for making her life harder than it needed to be. Forget the Brass Doomwing feathers—he’d just squeezed this Raid into her schedule, citing he needed Spark Crystals now.

Sparkjaws were easy enough to kill, but the Spark Crystals were a pain in the ass to extract.

She slung the satchel over her shoulder, the strap digging into her shoulder.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket, and she fished it out with a sigh. Unknown number. Never a good sign.

“Elara Max,” she answered, her voice clipped.

“Miss Max,” came a voice as smooth as poured oil. “This is Giovanni Malanov, Guild Leader of the Crystal Guild. I’d like to discuss an—”

She rolled her eyes and almost hung up. “Not interested.”

“Wait.” His voice sharpened, cutting clean through her irritation. “Before you hang up, you’ll want to hear what I’m offering for the limited contract request.”

Elara paused mid-step. She needed Guild clearance to join the next Raid. The Crystal Guild was loaded–overloaded.

She frowned, instincts prickling. “I’m listening.”

“A $15,000 commission,” Gio said, confident. “No tracker, no leash. Solo Raid freedom. You keep all monster spoils.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Sounds like a scam.”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “You think I’d risk insulting you with one?”

She didn’t answer.

“There’s one prerequisite,” he continued, calm as ever. “A representative will meet with you for vetting.”

She descended the stairwell, boots thudding against metal. “Vetting?”

“You’ll know them when you see them.”

Of course. Evasive nonsense. Probably another half-baked test.

“Miss Max?” There was a note of anticipation threaded beneath his usual cool.

She drummed her fingers against her thigh, calculating. The offer was too clean. Too lucrative. But deals like this didn’t come with some strings attached. Still…

“Send me the meeting details,” she said. “And this rep better not be that spineless blockhead you sent last time.”

Gio laughed. “He’s not.”

She hung up and slipped the phone into her coat pocket, unease crawling beneath her skin. He’d sounded far too amused for comfort.

—-

Z’s lab hit her senses like a slap–burnt metal and singed hair blended into a signature scent that made her nose twitch. The faint pop of electricity crackled through the air as sparks flew from a workbench crowded with cables, coils, and odd mechanical trinkets. Steam hissed from a cracked vent near the ceiling. The chaos was signature Z.

“Ah, my favorite Raider!” Z called out, bounding toward her with his usual chaotic charm. His light brown hair was tousled, goggles pushed up to reveal bright, mischievous eyes that always looked like they were one idea away from blowing up a city block. His lab coat was smudged with something iridescent and possibly flammable.

She shoved him aside before he could sling an arm around her. “I’ve got your crystals.”

“Bless the void, woman.” He grabbed the satchel with reverence, eyes gleaming as he tore it open. “You even extracted whole shards. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

“Just tell me the Brass Doomwing feathers are the last thing you need,” she said, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Z shot her a toothy grin. “Cross my heart.”

“I’m serious. One more surprise errand, and I swear I’ll use your own prototype blades on you.”

He held up both hands with mock innocence. “Always a thorny angel.”

He ducked under the bench and reemerged with a sleek black weapon. It thrummed in her hand like a sleeping predator, its edges etched with runes that pulsed faintly blue.

“It won’t kill the Doomwings,” he said, stepping back, “but it’ll short out their synapses long enough for you to snap their necks.”

She gave it a testing swing, letting it whistle through the air. “Weird way of apologizing for the Sparkjaw sludge I had to wade through.”

He leaned against the bench, smirking. “Who said I was apologizing?”

She slid the weapon into her belt and turned toward the exit. “Try not to blow yourself up before I get back.”

The lab’s hum swallowed the silence as the door hissed shut behind her. Z leaned back in his creaking chair, fingers drumming against the metal edge of the workbench. The bag of crystals glimmered in the low light.

“It wasn’t an apology,” he murmured, more to the air than himself, hand drifting up to rub the back of his neck.

But he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince after so long.