The Duskborns moved through the shadows of the trees in the forest, shadows clinging to their forms like living smoke. Angelo was carried on the back of the middle one, limp and silent. As the forest ended, there were no more shadows for them to move through with Angelo on their back. Still, the rest of the creatures were already over the horizon, moving steadily toward the Duskborns.
At the front, the Bound Choirmaster stood, its stitched mouth twitching faintly. "I don't think I gave the orders to make contact with the target," it rasped. "And where is the fourth one?"
The Duskborne carrying Angelo set him down gently. Another answered flatly, "We apologize. The fourth one acted on its own, got noticed by the humans, and engaged without permission."
The Duskborne at the back finished, voice low and measured. "It got killed by the two humans and…" It paused, glancing at Angelo's limp form. "…this 'thing' in human flesh."
The Choirmaster clicked its teeth sharply. "Unacceptable."
A Cradle-Eater slithered closer, skeletal fingers twitching as it stared at Angelo's bloodied torso. The gaping hole in his stomach leaked warmth, slow and steady. "Is it even alive?" it hissed.
"Somehow," another Duskborne replied. "That wound should have killed him. But look… he's still breathing."
"Fascinating… an unknown being in human flesh." The Cradle-Eater crouched low. "I want to taste its soul."
It reached for Angelo, but the Choirmaster tugged a cord on its twisted harp. The Cradle-Eater tumbled back two meters, hissing in frustration.
"You know the orders, don't you?" the Choirmaster asked.
"He's to be delivered to master," it said coldly. "Do you wish to face the master's wrath?"
The Cradle-Eater recoiled, sneering. "Fine. I've no desire to be turned into… whatever you are."
The Choirmaster's eye twitched. "Watch your tongue."
It turned to the others, voice like wind through broken bells. "We are returning to the master."
The Choirmaster lifted Angelo, carrying him carefully. The Duskborns melted into the shadows around them, following silently. The Choirmaster led the way, moving steadily toward the castle where Vaelgor waited, the other creatures behind, precise and haunting in their movements.
Far above, hidden in the folds of the sky, the Hollowed Saints moved in silence. Unseen by any eye, invisible to radar, they drifted like ancient phantoms. Watchful. Waiting. They had been there for Pierce's announcement, had seen Olivia speak with Grant, and knew exactly who Angelo's family was.
As the General and his elite team headed toward Angelo's location, two of the Saints followed them, gliding over the narrow mountain roads. Another shadowed a separate search party—the one sent to recover the bodies of Hale and Ryan. The remaining three lingered above the sprawling convoy carrying Angelo's family.
Inside the armored truck, silence hung thick, like fog. Sophia read a book to keep her mind occupied. Alex sat in a corner, tinkering quietly with the gun he'd been given as a last resort. James sat stiffly beside Olivia, hands restless. His knuckles tapped against his knee in an uneven rhythm—four beats, pause, repeat. Olivia held Emma close, the little girl curled against her side, unaware of the heavy air surrounding them. Her breath was slow and soft—a child's peace in a world unraveling.
James leaned forward, voice barely above the hum of the engine. "Can't keep sitting here, not knowing." He tapped on the wall separating them from the soldiers up front. A moment passed before one of the four guards turned around. He was older, face lined with weariness and resolve.
"Yes, sir?"
"We've been heading southeast for three days," James said carefully, worry threading his words. "Can you tell me where we're going? And… anything about my son?"
Alex shifted slightly, silent since hearing the announcement, his eyes dull and drained. The soldier held his gaze for a second before answering.
"We're relocating to a fortified base in the Ravenrock Mountains. Deep underground. High security. We'll be there in two days."
James nodded slowly. The guard hesitated before adding, "As for your son… we've only received fragmented reports. All we know is… he's on the move. We think he's being taken westward."
The words hung in the air, sharp and dry. Sophia closed her book. Olivia wrapped her arms tightly around Emma, holding back the tears. Alex stopped tinkering and turned toward the guards.
West. Where Angelo had said the monsters appeared.
Another guard turned—young, not more than twenty-two. Hope still clung to his eyes like frost that hadn't melted.
"Sir… General Pierce took the best we had. Not just fighters—people who care. They'll bring him back."
James met the young man's gaze and offered a faint smile. It didn't reach his eyes.
"I want to believe that," he said softly. "But ever since that night… it's like something cracked beneath my feet. Like the world shifted, and I've been walking off-balance ever since."
The truck hit a bump. Emma stirred, pressing her head tighter into Olivia's shoulder. Her mother brushed a hand through her hair, though her own eyes remained fixed on the metal wall ahead, glistening with unshed tears.
Alex sat on the floor, forehead against his knees. Sophia knelt beside him, hand on his shoulder. "Hey… it's going to be alright. You know how strong he is. Angelo will be fine."
Alex didn't lift his head. Olivia and James exchanged worried glances.
Outside, the convoy pressed forward across the winding mountain roads, engines rumbling like the pulse of something alive.
And above it all, cloaked in shadow and cloud, the Hollowed Saints drifted—watching. Waiting.