Ren yawned as he woke up. He still felt very sleepy. And tired. And hungry. Especially hungry.
"Why do I feel like shit?" he murmured as he sat upright, rubbing his face with one hand.
He turned to look at the time.
6:49 p.m.
He yawned again, tears welling in his eyes. Then he swung his legs off the bed and stood up, stretching his arms above his head before heading to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water, and drank deeply. He cleared his throat. The itch from his affliction faded. Then he ran a hand through his hair—
and then froze.
"Huh?"
He glanced toward the hall leading to Sami's room.
"Why am I only feeling one person's breath in the apartment? Where did everyone go?"
He paused.
Then shrugged.
Maybe the rest were working. Marie usually came home late. And Aika, well… it'd be more surprising if she was home.
He turned toward the snack cabinet—then stopped cold.
"Wait… I'm only feeling one person's breath."
He turned back toward the hallway.
"And it's coming from Sami's room."
A pause.
His voice dropped, and a frown slowly crept across his face.
"Where is Anya?"
He quickly walked to his sister's room, opened the door, and looked around.
Her paintbrushes were still out. Her tea had gone cold.
Her phone… gone.
A cold knot formed in his stomach.
He stepped out of the room and called out, his voice rising.
"Anya?"
No response.
Ren immediately checked all the places Anya usually drew alone: the balcony, the tiny space at the edge of the lounge, the little studio behind the kitchen where she stored her canvases.
She was nowhere to be found.
He pulled out his phone from his pocket, flipped through it, then paused.
No messages from Anya. Not since morning.
Not even the usual emoji or one-word reply she sent when she was too busy painting to talk.
He scrolled up through their messages.
Wait—no messages since four days ago?
His eyes widened, the realization sinking in: it had been four days since he began meditating and entered his resonant state.
"I've been out for four days?" he muttered, blinking in disbelief.
He wanted to figure out exactly how it had happened—whether he'd been in his resonant state for four days or if the whole process to reach resonance had taken that long—but right now, he had other priorities, so he shoved the thought aside.
He quickly checked the location tracker—something he had insisted Anya keep active on her phone after District Six. The dot was still inside the building, but vague. Somewhere deep within.
He turned quickly and marched toward Sami's room, a knot tightening in his chest.
Then raised his hand and knocked—once, twice, again—sharp and urgent.
After a few seconds, the door cracked open. Sami appeared, hair a mess, a faint red mark across his cheek like he'd been sleeping face-down. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion — glasswork fatigue.
"Yeah?"
"Have you seen Anya?" Ren asked, voice neutral, controlled.
Sami blinked slowly, rubbing the back of his head. "Uhmm… isn't she in her room? Or maybe the studio?"
"No," Ren said, shaking his head. "I checked everywhere. She's not in her room or the studio. I can't find her anywhere."
Sami scratched the back of his head.
"Weird… she doesn't usually go anywhere." He paused, thinking.
"Oh, right. She… uh, mentioned something about picking up paints? Yeah, that's it. She went to get some paints she ordered earlier."
He hesitated a moment before adding,
"But she should've been back by now."
He pulled out his phone, checking the time.
"I mean… it's been hours."
Ren said nothing. He simply turned and walked back into the living room.
Sami adjusted his robe, still half-asleep, and followed after him.
"Hey, you think something's wrong?" he asked, voice low.
Ren's heart began to beat a little faster.
"I hope not."
He walked to the elevator panel and pressed his palm to the glass inside as the door shut.
"We're checking the storage room."
The elevator opened into the quiet underlevel of the tower. Soft overhead lights cast a steady glow across the polished concrete floor. It was still. Almost too still. Even the usual hum of the utility systems felt distant, muffled by the silence.
Ren walked ahead, his steps deliberate.
He entered the storage room and checked the cabinet.
She'd come here. That much was clear.
Inside, the paint delivery was gone.
"She did take them," Sami muttered, scanning the room. "But…"
Ren looked slowly around the room.
No dropped brushes. No signs of struggle. Nothing broken. But no sign of her heading back, either.
'Anya isn't the type to go off anywhere without letting me know.'
Ren's thoughts began to spin.
"Where next?" Sami asked.
Ren didn't answer. He pulled out his phone again, thumbed through recent calls, and hit Anya's number.
It rang.
And somewhere—
—he heard it.
A soft vrrrrt. The sound came from far away, barely reaching the storage room where they stood. It bounced faintly against the cold concrete walls of the corridor, carried on a quiet vibration that seemed to hum just beneath the usual silence. It wasn't loud or clear enough to locate exactly, but it was there, unmistakable.
Ren turned toward the hallway.
They followed the sound down the corridor toward the parking level. As they stepped in, it grew louder. Sharper. Jarringly out of place in the stillness.
Ren stepped fully onto the parking floor, eyes narrowing.
It wasn't completely dark. Overhead lights flickered coldly, triggered by motion sensors. The obsidian tiles beneath their feet reflected the pale glow, casting long, distorted shadows across the floor.
Then he saw them.
First: her pink paint box, sitting on the ground near the far column. The handle broken, half-smashed from what looked like a fall.
Then—just a few steps further—her phone.
Still buzzing on the floor.
The screen cracked right across the middle, faint blue light flickering weakly through the spiderwebbed glass as his call went to voicemail again.
Ren stood still for a long moment.
Then slowly, he crouched and picked it up.
His heart began to beat wildly now. His worry shifted to panic. Then almost immediately, it began to slow down. Until it returned to a slow, calm rhythm. His affliction muted that panic.
Ren rubbed a hand through his hair, thinking what could have happened to his little sister.
"The cameras," Sami said suddenly, pointing. "Look."
Ren followed his gaze.
The parking floor's wall-mounted security cameras hung loosely from their brackets. The wires were cut or snapped, some dangling freely. The lenses were shattered, glass fragments scattered on the floor below. It looked like someone knew exactly where to strike—and had done so with surgical precision.
Sami's jaw tensed. "They were taken out."
Ren's voice was steady but low.
"What do we do?"
Sami ran a hand through his hair, pacing once, thinking. Then—snap. His fingers clicked together as something came to him.
"Do you remember the two pendants I gave you? Back at the hospital?"
Ren nodded slowly.
"Do you both still wear them?" Sami asked.
Ren hesitated.
"I don't take mine around. Never really believed in good luck charms."
Sami looked at him sharply. "What about Anya?"
Ren's brow furrowed. "She thought it was a gift from me. She's worn it ever since."
Sami's eyes lit with urgency.
"Then we might have something. Virans can store Vira in certain objects for later use. When I first met you both—back at the hospital—I infused those glass pendants with a trace of mine.
Marie asked me to find you, and it took a lot—favors, digging—just to figure out which hospital had admitted two survivors matching her description.
I didn't give them to you because I didn't trust you. I gave them to you in case you didn't trust me. In case you disappeared before I had a chance to explain anything.
As long as one of you kept it on you… I'd be able to find you."
He paused. "If she's wearing it... I might be able to trace it."
Ren's voice was flat, cold—but the weight behind it was unmistakable.
"Then we have to hurry. We don't know who took her. Or why."
Sami nodded once, then closed his eyes.
The air around him shifted—barely perceptible, but Ren could feel it. Like a thousand threads tightening. Sami's breath slowed, his fingers twitching faintly as he began to listen.
He tuned himself to the hum of glass: the reflections in windshields, the polished headlight casings, the halogen bulbs above. All of it shimmered faintly with residual Vira. But he was looking for his own. A whisper in the din. A fingerprint in smoke.
Then, after a long breath, Sami's eyes opened.
"I've got something. Wait here—I'll grab the keys."
He turned and sprinted for the elevator.
Ren stood alone beneath the broken cameras, staring at Anya's cracked phone still glowing weakly in his palm. Her paint box lay open beside it, as if dropped mid-motion.
He bit his lower lip. He could not panic. But his affliction did not dull worry. Something beneath his skin itched. It ached.
The Vira in him stirred—not like a current, but like pressure. Deep and crushing.
Minutes later, the elevator opened again. Sami returned, holding a flat key fob in his hand.
"Let's go."
They crossed to the secondary lift and took it down—lower than before.
The underground lot was bigger—and colder.
Rows of sleek motorbikes and high-end cars stood in neat lines along the tiled floor—silent, polished, and waiting.
Sami walked briskly to a matte-black SUV. A Novus Caldera LX. It shimmered in the dim light—obsidian-finished, wide-bodied, brutal.
Before unlocking the door, Sami knelt beside the vehicle and pulled off his shoes. He tossed them carelessly into the trunk.
Ren gave him a glance.
"Why barefoot?"
Sami didn't answer directly. Just closed the trunk and muttered, "We need to hurry."
Ren let it go.
They climbed in.
The vehicle turned on with a whisper—smart ignition syncing instantly with Sami's Vira signature. The cabin lights blinked to life in a soft crimson hue, like the inside of a vein.
Sami flicked the drive mode to Sport.
The hum of the engine deepened.
And without another word, they tore out of the lot—tires catching slightly on the polished floor before gripping—and launched into the dark pulse of the city evening.
The lights above flashed past in streaks.
Ren stared forward.
The seat beneath him vibrated faintly with speed, but nothing inside him stirred.
Because this was no longer about fear.
This was about finding her. Before the trail vanished.