The journey to Kevin's apartment was a masterclass in paranoia. Every shadow seemed to stretch towards me, every pair of headlights that swept past felt like a searchlight. I imagined the bone-white, scratching thing scuttling across the rooftops, following me from above. I imagined a sorcerer in a dark room somewhere, staring into a scrying bowl, watching my panicked progress through the city. I felt naked, exposed, a target lit by a supernatural spotlight. Jessica's fear was a constant, cold thrum against my ribs, a silent scream that urged me to run faster, to disappear into the anonymity of the crowd.
When I finally reached the lobby of Kevin's sleek, modern high-rise, I felt a small measure of relief. It was a place of bright lights, polished marble, and a bored-looking concierge. It was a fortress of normalcy. Kevin was waiting for me by the elevators, his expression grim. He didn't say a word, just gave me a sharp nod and led me inside.
The moment the door to his apartment closed behind me, the feeling was instantaneous and profound. It was like stepping out of a hurricane and into a soundproof room. The oppressive weight of being watched, the psychic static of the city's underbelly, all of it just… stopped. The air inside was still, calm, and clean. It wasn't just the quiet of a well-insulated apartment; it was a deeper, more fundamental silence. It was the feeling of safety.
"What is this place?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly as the adrenaline began to recede, leaving me shaky and exhausted.
"A safe house," Kevin said, walking over to his window and peering down at the glittering street below. "The building itself is nothing special, but this apartment… let's just say my family has owned this unit for a long time. It's layered with generations of protective work." He gestured to the walls. "The paint is mixed with blessed ash. The window seals are lined with inscribed silver thread. The ventilation system has filters made of consecrated charcoal. To any normal person, it's just a nice condo. To anything like what's hunting you, it's a fortress. It can't get in here without announcing itself in a very big, very loud way."
I sank onto his couch, the simple act of sitting down feeling like a luxury. I finally felt like I could breathe. I recounted the night's events in a frantic, stumbling whisper—the amber alert from the app, the name "Thaumaturgic Tracking Sigil," the dry scratching sound, the bone-white appendage snaking through my door.
Kevin listened, his expression growing more serious with every word. "Okay," he said when I finished. "First, the good news: you're not crazy. Second, the bad news: you're being hunted by a professional."
"A professional what?"
"A practitioner. A sorcerer-for-hire," Kevin clarified. "The thing you saw, the bone-white branch? It was likely a fetish. A constructed probe. Think of it as a magical drone. It's not alive. It's a tool, animated and guided by its creator to seek out a target. That's why it was scratching, sniffing. It was looking for your specific spiritual scent."
"But how did it find me at my apartment?"
"The Tracking Sigil," Kevin explained, pacing the room. "That's the real weapon. It's a magical mark. It could have been placed on you anytime. During your first encounter with Jessica's ghost—the ash cloud was a perfect delivery system. Or even before. That strange date you told me about? With the woman who ate a month's worth of groceries? A simple touch, a brush of her hand, could have been enough to place the mark. The practitioner just had to 'activate' it to get your location. Finch must have hired him and given him your name. The sorcerer did the rest."
The implications were staggering. I had been walking around with a supernatural GPS tracker on my soul for weeks, completely unaware. Harold Finch hadn't just reacted; he had prepared. He had anticipated that his victim's spirit might not rest easy, and he had hired magical muscle as an insurance policy. My amateurish attempts at psychological warfare had prodded him into activating that policy.
"This changes everything, Alex," Kevin said, his voice grave. "We're not just cleaning up random supernatural messes anymore. We are being actively, intelligently hunted by one of my own kind. And believe me, there's nothing more dangerous than a human who knows how to break the rules of reality for a paycheck."
We were under siege. My apartment was compromised. The hunter knew my name and what I looked like. Hiding in Kevin's fortress was a temporary solution, not a permanent one.
"We can't just wait him out," Kevin continued, as if reading my thoughts. "A determined practitioner can wear down these defenses over time. They can lay their own traps, try to lure you out. Hiding is a losing game. We have to fortify, and we have to plan our next move."
For the next hour, Kevin transformed his apartment from a safe house into a command bunker. He pulled more items from his duffel bag, things I hadn't seen before. He handed me a stack of thin, yellow paper squares covered in intricate red calligraphy.
"Paper talismans," he explained. "Written charms. This one"—he pointed to a specific character—"is a ward of misdirection. This one is for spiritual alarms. We're putting them on every possible entry point. Doors, windows, vents, even the water pipes."
He gave me a roll of special adhesive tape. "Your turn. You put them up. While you do it, focus on what we're trying to achieve. Protection. Safety. Security. Your intent adds power to the charm. Use that mental shield we've been practicing."
I did as he said, moving through the apartment with a new sense of purpose. As I placed each talisman, I focused my will, picturing a wall of solid steel, a shield of impenetrable light. I could feel Jessica's energy aligning with my own, her fear now channeled into a desperate desire for sanctuary. It felt like we were building our own defenses, contributing to the fight instead of just hiding.
When we were finished, the apartment felt different. The air was denser, humming with a quiet, protective energy. It felt like the calm in the eye of a storm.
Exhausted, we collapsed in the living room. The view of the city skyline, usually a symbol of opportunity and life, now looked like a hostile hunting ground.
"Before all this," I said quietly, staring out at the millions of lights, "my biggest worry was making my student loan payments on time. I'd give anything to go back to that being my biggest problem."
Kevin was quiet for a moment. "I know what you mean," he said. "When I was a kid, all I wanted was to play baseball. But my grandfather started my training when I was seven. He said our family had a duty. A responsibility. I used to hate it. Now…" He shrugged. "It's just what I am. Sometimes you don't choose the life. It chooses you."
His words hung in the air between us. We were two young men from completely different worlds, now trapped in the same impossible situation, our fates bound together.
"Hiding here won't solve the problem," Kevin said, his voice hard again. "The only way to call off the hunter is to get rid of the man who holds his contract. We have to finish Finch. And we have to do it now."
The urgency was back, sharper than ever. This was no longer just about justice for Jessica. It was about my own survival.
I grabbed the black phone. Our defensive measures were in place. It was time to think about offense. I opened the Rewards Catalog. Twenty-five Merit Points. It wasn't much, but it wasn't zero.
"What are you looking for?" Kevin asked, leaning over to look at the screen.
"I don't know," I admitted. "A weapon? A shield? Something that can help us fight a sorcerer?"
My eyes scanned the list of items, past the longevity elixirs and lottery tickets. I was looking for something tactical. And then I saw it. It wasn't a weapon. It was a piece of intelligence equipment.
Item: Talisman of Obfuscation (Single Use)
Description: A powerful, one-time-use charm that will completely scramble your ectoplasmic and physical signature for a period of one hour, rendering you effectively invisible to most forms of magical and mundane tracking.
Cost: 20 MP.
Invisible. For one hour. It was a get-out-of-jail-free card. A chance to move through the city without being hunted. A chance to act.
"Kevin," I said, my voice filled with a new, desperate hope. "I think I just found our way to go on the offensive."