Radio Silence (Abandoned industrial district)

[Giovanni]

Giovanni watched as the victim approached the dreykan with an amount of glee. His lip curled slightly as he searched through the drawers, and even if he didn’t actually smile, Giovanni felt a wave of satisfaction as the man went to work on the dreykan.

Chaos - he had awakened this. With no more than a click of lockpick. Giovanni didn’t look away as he worked. He didn’t revel in the violence. He just watched it happen. The man was a hunter. Not an actual sportsman by the look of it. He was a trophy hunter. The kill was for nothing more than something he could put on his wall. The thought of it hadn’t even registered in the man’s mind that even if someone deserved a trophy - it wasn’t him.

Then he approached Giovanni, a question of who he was coming to the man’s lips. Giovanni looked at him, his eyes hard as steel and calculating. Giovanni assessed, looking at the man’s hands, covered in dreykan blood. Then Giovanni released the weaves holding the creature in the air and fell to the ground with a wet splat.

”Me,” Giovanni said, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips. ”Im just a fucking Boy Scout.”

Giovanni turned around, completely intent on leaving. Giovanni made his decisions in the moment and this one was done. He got closer to the woman and looked at her. He stopped. The hardness in his eyes softened then, the feeling that he had when she had grabbed his coat returned.

And he flinched.

It was an odd feeling. The satisfaction of the chaos was gone replaced by…what? Suddenly he felt like he had been chastised - as if he was a child who hadn’t finished his chores. Giovanni looked at her for a moment, confusion on his face before he turned back and began to remove the bonds on the other gopniks.

[Grym]

Grym had known fear. Controlled it. Weaponized it. But nothing in her years of hunting prepared her for what happened next.

One moment, he was calm—an observer, silent and unreadable. The next, the glass of the control booth exploded in a violent cascade, and the Dreyken shrieked as invisible hands snatched it from its nest of warmth and shadows. Air itself wrapped around the creature’s throat and limbs, pulling it aloft like a marionette. Giovanni stood beneath it, as serene as a statue, conjuring fire with a thought.

The realization struck her cold: He was channeling. A sick weight settled in her gut. She hadn’t even sensed it. Not once during the time they’d walked side by side. She’d let him in, trusted his presence, his silence. And all the while, he’d been hiding a weapon more dangerous than anything they’d faced tonight. A channeler, cloaked and steady, calm as a corpse.

Her body remained still, every muscle coiled in tension, but inside, her thoughts roiled. She had walked beside him, trusted him, and he’d never once let on. It wasn’t the power itself that disturbed her. It was the lie of his calm. Regarding the Russian, she had expected vengeance. Rage, even. A shot to the head. A clean kill. What she saw instead rooted her to the floor like ice.

The creature wasn't simply killed, the Russian enjoyed it. He stalked the control booth like a butcher choosing the right blade, rummaging through drawers until he found what he was looking for: a pair of rusted pliers. Then, with the same calm as the stranger, but with none of the restraint, he began pulling the Dreyken’s teeth one by one, savoring every sound, every twitch of pain. He spoke to it as he worked, grinning as if he were making art. It wasn’t efficient. It wasn’t necessary. It was cruelty, pure and gleaming.

Grym stood in silence and watched. She made herself watch. The Dreyken was a monster—yes. It had stalked its prey, fed on their blood, planned to keep them as a larder for weeks. But even for something like this, she believed in a clean death. A bullet. A blade. Over and done. This wasn’t just killing it. He was feeding something else; something inside himself.

When it was over and the Dreyken hit the floor with a wet thud, Grym faced them both. She didn't speak. She didn’t have to. Her gaze said everything. Disappointment. Disgust. A quiet condemnation.

Not because the Power was used, but because he had handed the kill over to him. A man who would treat a living creature, even a monstrous one, like a trophy to be mounted, its pain part of the sport. She saw understanding flash in Giovanni’s expression, followed by something uncertain, like guilt. He looked away.

The Dreyken was dead. That mattered. But Grym pushed the emotions down. No time for lectures. No time for fights. She stepped into the heat of the chamber and made her way to the others. The men were still bound, sagging in their chains, faces drawn, eyes unfocused. One moaned, another coughed, barely conscious.

She moved fast, efficient, drawing her knife and slicing bonds. Chains rattled to the floor. Some of the zip ties had cut into flesh, leaving red welts or bruises. She spoke quietly when she had to, checking pulses, rolling men onto their feet when they could stand. Alistair stirred under her hand and met her gaze. She gave him a nod, brief and calm.

“No talking yet,” she murmured. “Just breathe.”

Behind her, the Russian paced like a lion in his cage, bloody pliers still in hand, wearing his satisfaction like a second skin. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t want to see his pride. There were still men to free. Still work to be done.

She moved forward.