Chapter 25

     The storm was closer now, the sky a swirling mass of black and grey, shot through with lightning that cracked against the horizon like fractured glass. The Atlantic raged, the waves rising higher, threatening to swallow the marshland whole, while the earth beneath our feet pulsed with the same dark energy that Ava had been drawing from for hours. The air was thick with the scent of salt and rot, a smell that clung to everything, like the very land itself was decaying from within.

     Ava stood at the shoreline, her back still turned to us, her arms outstretched as though she were holding the storm in her hands. The power radiating from her was almost unbearable now—an intoxicating blend of beauty and destruction, as though she had become a vessel for something older, darker, something that defied the very fabric of the world.

     There was a strange rhythm to her movements, a kind of elegance in the way she swayed with the rising tide, her voice blending with the sound of the wind and the crashing waves. But there was something else, too—something beneath the surface that felt wrong. The warmth she had been drawing from the land was no longer steady. It flickered, like a candle guttering in the wind, as though the power she was channeling had begun to slip through her grasp.

     For a moment, she stopped chanting, her arms lowering as she let out a long, slow breath—a soft yawn that seemed to echo across the shore. It was the first sign of fatigue, of strain, that I had seen in her since this whole ordeal had begun. And in that moment, something changed. The ground beneath us trembled, but it wasn’t the violent tremor of before. This was different—subtle, insidious. I looked down and saw the earth moving in tiny, almost imperceptible shifts, as though the very soil was teeming with life.

     Ants.

     They crawled from the ground in swarms, their small bodies writhing and twisting as they spread across the wet earth. It wasn’t just a few ants—there were thousands of them, maybe more, all moving with a kind of frantic energy, as if something deep beneath the soil had disturbed them, driven them out of their hidden tunnels. I watched, mesmerized, as the ants moved in waves, their tiny legs churning through the rot that had begun to seep from the land, the decay that Ava had unwittingly unleashed.

     Tony saw them too, his face pale in the fading light. “What the hell is happening?” he muttered, his voice shaking.

     I didn’t have an answer. The ants—like everything else in this place—were a symptom of the deeper forces at work, the decay that had been building beneath the surface for centuries. Ava’s power had stirred it up, had unleashed something primal, and now even the smallest creatures were being pulled into the storm.

     Ava turned then, slowly, her eyes wide and gleaming with a strange, feverish light. Her mouth curled into a smile—a smile that was both foul and beautiful at once. There was a madness in her gaze, but also something more—a kind of joy, as though she had finally become one with the power she had been seeking.

     “Do you see it?” she said, her voice soft but filled with an unsettling reverence. “Do you feel it? The land is alive, it’s always been alive.”

     Her words hung in the air, thick with meaning. There was no longer any doubt in my mind—Ava wasn’t just drawing power from the land. She was becoming it. She had fused herself with the decay, with the rot that had been festering beneath the surface for centuries. And now, as the storm raged around us, she had become the living embodiment of that decay—both foul and beautiful, destructive and alive.

     “The ants,” she whispered, her eyes flickering down to the swarming mass at her feet. “They’ve always known. They’ve been here, beneath us, waiting. Just like the land. They thrive on the rot, on the death that feeds the soil. And now, they cheer it. They welcome it.”

     I felt a chill crawl up my spine as I watched her, the madness in her voice growing with every word. There was something almost tender in the way she spoke, as though she believed the decay she had unleashed was something to be celebrated, something that could bring new life. But I knew better. This wasn’t about life—it was about destruction. Ava’s connection to the land had gone too far, and now the forces she had awakened were beginning to consume her.

     “We have to stop her,” Tony said, his voice low and urgent. “She’s losing control.”

     I nodded, but my eyes stayed on Ava. She was swaying again, her arms moving in slow, deliberate arcs as though she were conducting some invisible orchestra. The storm crackled above, lightning illuminating the sky in brilliant flashes, but Ava seemed to glow from within, her power radiating out in waves. She was beautiful in her madness, but there was something so foul about it too—something that made the air around her thick with the stench of death and rot.

     “Ava!” I called out, stepping forward. “You have to stop! You’re tearing the land apart!”

     She laughed—a soft, almost melodic sound that was carried away by the wind. “Tearing it apart?” she repeated, her voice lilting with amusement. “No, I’m not tearing it apart. I’m making it whole. I’m bringing the land back to life, feeding it, giving it what it needs.”

     Her words sent a wave of nausea through me. I knew what she meant—the rot, the decay, the ants swarming beneath the soil. She wasn’t just pulling power from the land. She was feeding it with death, with the destruction of everything that had come before. And in her madness, she believed she was creating something new, something better.

     But I could see the cracks. I could see the way her power was slipping, the way the warmth she had drawn from the land was no longer steady. She had overreached, and now the forces she had awakened were starting to unravel.

     “We need to act now,” I said to Tony, my voice firm. “Before she loses control completely.”

     Tony nodded, but his face was pale, his hands trembling at his sides. “How?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

     I didn’t have an answer. But I knew one thing—Ava’s power was tied to the land, to the decay she had awakened. If we could sever that connection, if we could stop her from feeding off the rot, we might be able to save what was left.

     Ava turned back to the shoreline, her arms rising once more as she let out another soft yawn. The ants continued to swarm beneath her feet, but they weren’t cheering anymore. They were frantic, confused, as though they too had sensed the shift in the air.

     The storm rumbled overhead, the clouds swirling faster now, and I knew we didn’t have much time.

     “Ava,” I called out again, my voice steady. “You can still stop this. You don’t have to let the land consume you.”

     She didn’t respond. She only smiled, her beautiful, foul mouth curling into a grin as the storm swallowed us whole.

Chapter 24

     The air around us thickened, the warmth radiating from the ground in waves, unsettling and oppressive. Ava stood at the shoreline, her back to us, her chant growing louder and more frenzied as the storm gathered above. The sky had darkened, and the Atlantic roared in response, its waves crashing harder against the rocks, as if the ocean itself had been summoned by her call. But there was something else—a presence that had nothing to do with the storm, something older and more dangerous rising from the depths of the land beneath our feet.

     And then, just as suddenly as before, I felt the world shift again. The ground wavered beneath me, and my vision blurred. I wasn’t in the present anymore. I was somewhere else, pulled back into that vision of Henry, the king of Belgium, as though the past was forcing itself into the present.

     The scene unfolded like a memory.

     Henry stood in a darkened room, his features gaunt and drawn, his eyes blazing with something akin to fury—or maybe fear. He was no longer the regal figure I had seen earlier, carefully jimming open a door. Now, his movements were sharp, agitated. His eyes darted around the room, as though he were searching for something—or someone—who had eluded him.

     And then I heard it—his voice, sharp and biting, cutting through the air like a whip.

     "How do you justify thee, parakeet's whelp, thee demented?!?"

     The words echoed in the space, thick with accusation. They weren’t directed at me—they were aimed at someone else, someone just out of sight. I could feel the weight of his words, the intensity of his anger, but also the madness that flickered beneath the surface. He was unraveling, his grip on whatever power he had sought slipping away.

     The door creaked open, and I saw the figure step into the room. It was the woman from the earlier vision—the one who had taken the vial from Henry’s hands, the one who had smiled that slow, deliberate smile. But now, her expression was colder, harder. She didn’t flinch under Henry’s furious gaze. She stood tall, her dark eyes gleaming with something far more dangerous than his anger.

     “Do you think this was ever yours to control?” she said, her voice calm, measured. “You thought you could take it, twist it to your will. But you never understood what you were holding.”

     Henry’s face contorted in rage, his hands trembling as he clenched them into fists. “I was promised power,” he spat. “I was promised control! You—your kind—led me to believe I could rewrite the world!”

     The woman’s smile returned, but it was colder now, sharper. “You were promised nothing but madness,” she said softly. “The power you sought was never yours to claim. It’s been here long before you, long before your ancestors carved their kingdoms from the earth. And it will be here long after you are dust.”

     Henry staggered back, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and terror. The madness that had been simmering beneath the surface began to spill over, his movements growing erratic. He reached for something—a dagger, perhaps—but his hand faltered, trembling as though he no longer trusted his own strength.

     “How do you justify this?” he shouted, his voice cracking. “How do you justify your madness?!”

     The woman stepped forward, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t need to justify anything,” she said quietly. “The land justifies itself.”

     And with that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Henry standing there, his face twisted in confusion and rage. The door closed softly behind her, and for a moment, the room was silent. But then Henry let out a scream—a sound that echoed through the building, through the walls, through time itself.

     The vision faded, and I was back on the shoreline.

     Ava’s chant had grown louder now, her voice rising in pitch, the air around her thick with heat and power. The ground trembled beneath us, the warmth intensifying until it was almost unbearable. I could feel the same sense of unraveling that I had seen in Henry’s eyes, the madness that came from trying to control something far older and more powerful than any one person could ever hope to understand.

     Tony stood beside me, his face pale, his eyes fixed on Ava. “What did you see?” he asked, his voice tight with tension.

     I shook my head, still trying to process the vision. “Henry,” I said quietly. “He... he was promised power, control. But he couldn’t handle it. The land—it was too much for him. He thought he could control it, but it drove him mad.”

     Tony’s jaw tightened. “And now Ava’s doing the same thing.”

     I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. “She’s drawing from the same power, the same force that’s been buried here for centuries. But she doesn’t understand what she’s unleashing.”

     Ava’s voice rang out again, her chant turning into something more primal, more urgent. The storm above us rumbled, the clouds swirling as if the very sky was being torn open. The Atlantic surged, the waves crashing harder against the rocks, and the ground beneath our feet buckled, as though the earth itself was groaning under the weight of what Ava was trying to pull from it.

     “She’s going to destroy everything,” Tony muttered, his voice shaking with fear.

     I glanced at him, seeing the fear in his eyes, but also the determination. “We have to stop her,” I said, my voice firm. “Before she loses control completely.”

     But as I spoke, I could feel something else—a presence, a memory, stirring in the back of my mind. The woman in the vision, the one who had spoken to Henry—there was something familiar about her, something that felt tied to Ava’s actions now. She had been the real power behind Henry, the one who had understood the cost of tapping into the land’s hidden forces.

     And now, as Ava stood on the precipice of that same madness, I realized that the woman’s legacy hadn’t been forgotten. It had been passed down, buried deep within the land, waiting for someone like Ava to awaken it.

     But Ava wasn’t the heir to that power.

     She was the pawn.

     “Tony,” I said, my voice urgent. “There’s something else going on. Ava—she’s not the one controlling this. She’s just following the same path Henry did.”

     Tony frowned. “What do you mean?”

     “I mean someone else is pulling the strings,” I said. “Someone who’s been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

     Ava’s chant reached a fever pitch, and the air around us crackled with energy. The storm was almost upon us, and I could feel the ground buckling beneath my feet, the warmth surging through the earth like a tidal wave.

     “We don’t have much time,” I said. “We need to act now.”

     Tony nodded, his face grim. “What’s the plan?”

     I glanced back at Ava, her figure silhouetted against the storm, and I knew that whatever happened next would determine the fate of the land, of the city, of everything that had been buried for centuries.

     “We stop her,” I said, my voice steady. “And then we find out who’s really behind all of this.”

Chapter 23

     The storm had gathered at the edges of the sky, thickening in dark clouds that seemed to swirl around a central point far out over the Atlantic. The ground beneath our feet was trembling now, the warmth that Ava had drawn from the land radiating up through the marsh, a slow, steady pulse like a heartbeat. But as the tide turned, I could sense that something else was stirring—something that wasn’t tied to Ava, but to the land itself.

     I blinked, and for a brief moment, I wasn’t standing on the shore anymore. I was somewhere else—somewhere older, darker, a place thick with history and the scent of iron and dust.

     A door creaked open.

     The image snapped into my mind without warning: a tall man, his features gaunt and sharp, dressed in the stiff, regal uniform of another era. He moved with purpose, but there was something furtive in his movements, something that suggested he wasn’t supposed to be there.

     I watched as he jimmied the lock, his fingers deft and quick, his movements practiced. The door groaned open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with the smell of oil and sweat. Inside, the air was heavy with anticipation, the kind of tension that came when something important was about to happen—something dangerous, something that could change everything.

     The man stepped inside, his eyes darting around the room as though he expected to find someone there waiting for him. But the room was empty, save for a few scattered objects—a table, a chair, a lantern flickering weakly in the corner. And on the table, something small but significant gleamed in the low light.

     He approached it slowly, cautiously, his breath catching in his throat as he reached for the object. His fingers wrapped around it—a small vial, no bigger than a thumb, filled with a strange, silvery liquid that seemed to shimmer and shift with every movement of the light.

     A twist, a swab—he tested the liquid, his hands moving with precision as he examined it. There was something unsettling about the way it moved, like it was alive, like it had a will of its own. And then he paused, a strange expression flickering across his face as though he had just realized the weight of what he was holding.

     He muttered something under his breath—something I couldn’t quite make out. But I caught enough: *"newness."* He wasn’t just here to take something. He was here to create something new. This wasn’t about the past. It was about reshaping the future.

     The image shifted again, and I saw him leave the room, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click. He moved quickly now, his steps more confident as he left the building, stepping out into the cold night air. The wind picked up around him, carrying with it the scent of metal—sharp and biting, like the air just before a storm.

     And then I saw the figure who had been waiting for him—a woman, her face half-hidden in shadow, but her eyes gleaming with recognition. She stepped forward, her hand outstretched, and he handed her the vial without hesitation. She smiled, a slow, deliberate smile that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

     The king of Belgium—Henry, they called him—had done his part. He had jimmied the door, twisted the swab, paid the price for a new future. But this wasn’t his game. It was hers. And the gleam in her eyes told me that she had been waiting for this moment far longer than he had.

     I blinked again, and the image faded, the room dissolving into the present as I found myself standing once more on the marshy shoreline, the Atlantic roaring in the distance. Ava was still there, her back to us, but the energy around her had shifted, growing more erratic, more dangerous. The warmth she had drawn from the land was no longer steady—it pulsed in fits and starts, like a heart struggling to beat.

     “What did you see?” Tony’s voice cut through the fog of my thoughts, and I shook my head, trying to make sense of the vision.

     “I’m not sure,” I said, my voice unsteady. “But it felt... old. Something about the past. Someone—Henry, a king—jimmied a door, opened something he wasn’t supposed to. He handed off a vial, something... important. And there was a woman. She was the real power.”

     Tony frowned, but he didn’t press me. “Ava’s not the only one playing this game,” he muttered, half to himself.

     “No,” I agreed. “She’s part of something bigger.”

     I turned my gaze back to Ava, watching the way her figure swayed slightly in the wind, her hands still outstretched as though she was holding the very air in her grasp. I could feel it now—this wasn’t just about Ava. It wasn’t just about Achilles. This was about the city itself, the land, the history that had been buried and twisted and corrupted over centuries.

     Ava was tapping into something ancient, something that had been there long before she had arrived. But she wasn’t the first to try. The vision of Henry, the king of Belgium, jimming open that door—it was a reminder that others had come before her, that others had sought to control the power of the land. And just like Ava, they had paid a price for it.

     The wind shifted, and I caught the faintest scent of metal in the air—a sharp, cold smell that sent a shiver down my spine. It was the same scent I had smelled in the vision, the same metallic tang that had clung to the air around Henry as he handed over the vial.

     “Ava’s drawing from the same place,” I said quietly. “The same power that’s been buried here for centuries. She’s not the first.”

     Tony nodded grimly. “But she might be the last.”

     Ava’s voice rose again, a strange, melodic chant that seemed to ripple through the air, twisting and distorting as it traveled. The warmth around her was intensifying, the very ground beneath us vibrating with the force of it.

     I stepped forward, my heart pounding in my chest. We were close now—closer than ever to the heart of the mystery that had been haunting us since the beginning. And I knew, deep down, that whatever Ava was drawing out of the land, whatever force she was unleashing, it wasn’t just hers. It belonged to the city, to the land, to the forgotten histories that had been buried beneath the surface for centuries.

     And just like Henry, just like all those who had come before, she was about to discover the cost of trying to control it.

 

Chapter 22

     The wind howled across the marshland, pulling at our coats and stirring the mist into twisting shapes that seemed to dance just out of reach. Ava stood at the shoreline, her back to us, but her power filled the air, making the very earth beneath our feet pulse with heat and the promise of something ancient awakening from its long slumber. Tony was tense beside me, his eyes locked on her, his fingers twitching toward the knife he always kept at his side.

     “She’s close to finishing,” Tony muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “If we don’t stop her now, we won’t get another chance.”

     I nodded, but the weight of what we were facing was growing heavier by the second. Ava wasn’t just drawing power from the land—she was shaping it, twisting it into something dark and uncontrolled. And Achilles, for all his cunning and manipulation, hadn’t counted on her being this strong. I wondered, briefly, if even he knew what Ava was truly capable of.

     She was the "fathom bawd"—a manipulator of the depths, a figure who thrived on the hidden rot and decay that had festered beneath the surface for centuries. She wasn’t fighting for control of the city in the same way Achilles was; she was embracing the chaos, using it to bring something even older to the surface.

     Tony shifted beside me, his frustration boiling over. “She’s not invincible,” he growled. “We just have to get close enough—”

     “Wait,” I said, grabbing his arm before he could rush forward. “We can’t just attack her. She’s feeding off the land, off the warmth. If we go in without a plan, we’ll only make her stronger.”

     Tony’s eyes flashed with anger, but there was something else in his expression—something I hadn’t seen before. Fear. For all his bravado, he was afraid of what Ava could do. And I couldn’t blame him.

     “We need to cut her off,” I said, my voice low and steady. “She’s not invulnerable, not yet. She’s drawing power from the land, but that’s also her weakness. If we can sever her connection—”

     “How?” Tony snapped. “She’s buried herself in this place, and it’s not like we have an army to dig her out.”

     I thought of Achilles, the "wounded regent," who had been orchestrating this game from the beginning, using us as pawns in his twisted bid for control. He had positioned himself as a ruler of sorts, manipulating the city’s past and present to secure his future. But now, he was losing—Ava’s power was something even he hadn’t predicted.

     “Achilles doesn’t have the upper hand anymore,” I said, my eyes still on Ava. “But that doesn’t mean he’s out of the game. He’s wounded, yes, but he’s still playing.”

     Tony’s expression twisted in frustration. “So what? We wait for him to swoop in and fix this?”

     “No,” I said firmly. “Achilles won’t help us. But we can use what we know about him. He was never about brute strength or power—he was about authorship, about controlling the narrative, shaping events from the shadows. If we can disrupt the story Ava’s trying to tell, we might stand a chance.”

     Tony frowned, his frustration giving way to a glimmer of understanding. “So, what? We rewrite her story?”

     “Something like that,” I said, glancing toward the horizon where the Atlantic roared just beyond the marsh. “We make her lose her footing. She’s drawing power from this land, from the rot she’s cultivated. But if we can force her into a position where she has to act, where she has to rely on something she doesn’t fully control... she might make a mistake.”

     Tony’s eyes narrowed. “How do we force her hand?”

     Before I could answer, the air around us grew even heavier, and Ava’s chant shifted. Her voice rose, no longer a low, rhythmic hum, but something sharp, commanding. The heat in the air spiked, and I could feel the ground beneath us trembling, as though something deep within the earth was beginning to stir.

     “She’s calling something up,” Tony said, his voice tight with dread.

     “We need to move,” I said, my heart racing. “Now.”

     We moved toward Ava, cautiously but quickly, keeping low as we approached the shoreline. The air was thick with power, a raw, untamed energy that made my skin prickle. Ava’s chant grew louder, her hands raised toward the sky, and I could see the faint shimmer of something gathering around her—something ancient, something deep.

     She was drawing on the very heart of the land, pulling from the depths, the "fathom bawd" at the center of it all. But in her focus, in her arrogance, she didn’t see us coming.

     Tony moved before I could stop him. He darted toward Ava, knife in hand, his expression set with determination. I knew it was reckless, but there was no stopping him now. He was driven by something deeper—anger, fear, maybe even guilt.

     He was halfway to her when the ground beneath him shifted. The earth rippled like water, and suddenly, Tony was thrown back, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. I rushed toward him, my heart pounding, but before I could reach him, Ava turned.

     Her eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw the full force of her power. She was no longer just a woman standing at the edge of the Atlantic—she was something more, something primal and untethered. The heat around her radiated like a furnace, and the air shimmered with the weight of the forces she had unleashed.

     “You think you can stop this?” she said, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You’re too late. The story’s already written.”

     I stood my ground, my mind racing. Achilles had always been about control, about shaping events to suit his needs. But Ava—Ava was about chaos, about embracing the rot and decay that had been festering for centuries. She didn’t want control. She wanted to tear everything apart.

     But in that desire, in her need for destruction, there was weakness.

     “The story isn’t over yet,” I said, my voice steady.

     Ava’s smile widened, but there was something sharp in her gaze. “You’re a fool if you think you can change this.”

     Behind her, the Atlantic surged, the waves crashing against the rocks with a force that made the ground tremble. But I wasn’t focused on the water—I was focused on the land beneath her feet, the warmth that was fueling her, the very rot she was drawing on.

     And then it hit me. The warmth wasn’t just power. It was history. It was everything that had been buried beneath the city—the stories, the lives, the forgotten legacies. Ava was feeding on it, yes, but in doing so, she had made herself part of it. She wasn’t above the decay. She was *in* it.

     I took a step forward, my eyes locked on hers. “You’re not as untouchable as you think,” I said.

     Ava’s smile faltered, just for a moment.

     “You’ve tied yourself to this land, to the rot and decay,” I continued. “But that means you’re part of it now. And like everything else that rots, you can be undone.”

     The ground beneath her feet trembled, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She was powerful, yes, but she wasn’t invincible. She had made herself part of the story, and that meant she could be rewritten.

     Tony groaned from where he lay on the ground, but I didn’t take my eyes off Ava. The tide was turning, and for the first time, I felt like we had a chance.

     Ava’s eyes narrowed, and I could see the storm gathering behind them. But the ground was shifting beneath her, the warmth she had been drawing on beginning to falter.

     “You’re wrong,” she hissed. “This land belongs to me.”

     But I knew the truth now. She had made herself vulnerable, tied to the very thing she sought to control.

     And that was her undoing.

Chapter 21

     The wind was picking up, carrying with it the taste of salt and something darker—something that clung to the air like smoke. Ava’s chant still echoed across the marsh, a low hum that seemed to rise from the earth itself. I could feel the tension building, the storm brewing just beyond the horizon, ready to unleash whatever ancient forces Ava had called forth.

     Tony was restless. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his gaze flickering between Ava and the dark waters of the Atlantic. The weight of everything was pressing down on him, and I could see it in the way he moved, the way he couldn’t stand still. There was an energy building inside him, something that didn’t sit right, something that made him more dangerous now than he had ever been before.

     “She’s going to rip this place apart,” Tony muttered, his voice sharp with frustration.

     I nodded, but my eyes stayed on Ava. She was still at the shoreline, her back to us, her voice rising and falling with the rhythm of the waves. I didn’t know what kind of power she was pulling from the land, from the decay, but I could feel it—something warm and dark, something that surged like the tide.

     Tony took a step forward, his jaw tight. “We can’t just stand here and let her do this,” he snapped. “We’ve got to stop her.”

     I grabbed his arm, pulling him back before he could do something reckless. “We can’t rush in,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “Not yet.”

     Tony shot me a glare, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “Not yet? She’s about to tear this whole place apart, and you’re telling me to wait?”

     “She’s stronger than us right now,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “If we charge in without a plan, she’ll destroy us both before we get anywhere near her.”

     Tony yanked his arm free, his eyes flashing with frustration. “I’m not waiting for her to bring down the storm,” he growled. “I’ve seen what she can do. I’ve watched her rot everything she touches, and if we don’t stop her now—”

     “She wants you to rush in,” I interrupted, cutting him off before his anger could spiral out of control. “Don’t you see that? She’s counting on you to lose your head, to charge in like some hero, and when you do, she’ll take you down. She’s stronger when you’re angry, Tony. She *feeds* off it.”

     Tony’s lips curled in frustration, but he didn’t deny it. He knew I was right, but the tension between us was thickening, making it hard for him to think straight. He wanted action—he wanted to *do* something—but Ava’s game wasn’t about speed or strength. It was about control.

     I turned my attention back to Ava, watching the way her figure moved against the mist. The storm hadn’t broken yet, but it was coming. And when it did, there would be no turning back.

     “We need to predict her next move,” I said quietly, trying to shift Tony’s focus. “If we know what she’s planning, we can stay ahead of her.”

     Tony let out a bitter laugh. “Predict her next move? Good luck with that. She’s been ten steps ahead of us this whole time.”

     I didn’t respond right away, my mind racing as I watched Ava. She was moving with purpose, her chant growing louder, more intense. She was calling something, but it wasn’t just the storm. There was warmth in the air, a strange heat that seemed to pulse through the ground beneath us, radiating from the earth like a heartbeat.

     “She’s not just after the storm,” I said slowly, piecing it together. “She’s pulling something else out—something deeper.”

     Tony’s gaze snapped to me. “What are you talking about?”

     I stepped forward, my eyes locked on Ava’s figure. “She’s using the storm to cover her real goal. She wants us to think the storm is the threat, but it’s not. It’s the *warmth* she’s drawing up from the land—the same rot she’s been feeding off of. The storm is just a distraction.”

     Tony frowned, his anger giving way to confusion. “The warmth?”

     I nodded. “She’s been rotting the city from within, but that’s not all. There’s something buried here—something old, something that’s been festering beneath the surface for centuries. She’s using the storm to unleash it.”

     Tony’s face darkened, the realization dawning on him. “So what do we do?”

     “We stop her from drawing that warmth out,” I said firmly. “If we can cut her off before she fully taps into it, we can weaken her.”

     Tony hesitated, his gaze flickering back to Ava. “And how do we do that?”

     I was silent for a moment, my mind racing. Ava’s power was growing, and we were running out of time. But I knew one thing—Tony’s anger, his impulsiveness, would only make things worse.

     I turned to him, my voice low and deliberate. “You need to stay calm,” I said. “If we go in guns blazing, she’ll win. But if we can distract her, throw her off, we might have a chance.”

     Tony clenched his jaw, clearly struggling to rein in his frustration. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if this goes sideways, I’m not holding back.”

     I nodded, knowing that was the best I could hope for. We had a plan—however fragile it was—and now we had to execute it.

     We moved closer to the shoreline, our steps slow and deliberate. Ava’s chant was louder now, the warmth radiating from the ground like a furnace. The Atlantic loomed just beyond her, the waves crashing against the rocks, but it wasn’t the storm we had to worry about.

     It was the heat.

     Tony shot me a glance, his expression hard. “This better work.”

     I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure it would.