The air felt wrong.

  Kaelen stood on the roof of an old tenement building, six stories above cracked concrete and the sound of late-night traffic. The city hummed beneath him—horns, distant sirens, the grind of life refusing to stop. But underneath it all, there was… something else.

  A rhythm. A pulse. Off-beat. Faint.

  He closed his eyes.

  And there it was again.

  Boom…

  Boom…

  Like a drum being struck deep underground.

  He hadn’t heard that sound in centuries.

  Below, a transformer flickered and burst in a shower of sparks. The neighborhood block dimmed into partial darkness. Windows opened. Voices cursed. But Kaelen didn’t move.

  The beat kept going.

  This wasn’t mortal.

  Not yet divine.

  Something in between.

  ?

  Across the city, in an underground metro tunnel long abandoned, a boy screamed.

  His voice never reached the surface.

  But Kaelen heard it anyway.

  ?

  He dropped from the roof, landing silently in the alley below. His boots hit the wet pavement with a slap. No cape. No flash of light. Just a man in a hoodie moving through rain like a shadow that chose to care.

  He didn’t know what was waking beneath the city.

  But he knew it remembered him.

  And it was calling.

  Elsewhere — Lira

  Lira Mendez hated subway calls.

  They always meant tight spaces, too much metal, not enough light—and tonight, static.

  Her radio had gone haywire five minutes after the power flickered across three downtown blocks. The dispatcher’s voice turned to garbled nonsense, and now she was following a vague call about a “collapsed commuter” in a part of the tunnel no one should’ve been near.

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  She adjusted her helmet light and stepped carefully along the edge of the rusted track.

  “EMS, anyone here?” Her voice echoed too far.

  Nothing answered.

  No patient. No fellow first responders.

  Just damp air, the stench of mildew—and that sound.

  A low hum. A vibration in her chest, like standing too close to a giant engine.

  She paused. Raised her light.

  Graffiti sprawled across the curved wall ahead. Fresh. Wet. But it wasn’t paint—it shimmered faintly, pulsing in rhythm with the air. And the language…

  Not Spanish. Not English.

  Not anything.

  She took a cautious step back.

  And that’s when she heard footsteps behind her.

  Fast. Heavy. Human—or close enough.

  She turned, heart in her throat, hand on the flashlight strapped to her belt. “Hey! This is a restricted area! Show me your hands!”

  No answer.

  Just more footsteps, then nothing.

  The hum stopped.

  The tunnel fell into perfect silence.

  And in that silence, something moved.

  Not seen—felt.

  Lira didn’t run.

  She didn’t scream.

  She squared her stance, flashlight out, and said aloud, more to herself than anyone else:

  “I swear to God, if this is another junkie dressed like a cryptid, I’m not in the mood.”

  And somewhere—not far enough away—a whisper answered.

  Not in words.

  In knowing.

  She wasn’t alone down here.

  The tunnel grew colder.

  Not from temperature—but from presence. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

  Lira took another step back. Her light flickered once, then—

  A figure stepped into the beam.

  Tall. Still. Hood pulled up, rain-soaked clothes clinging to him like he’d walked through hell to get here.

  Lira’s breath caught in her throat.

  “Jesus—Kaelen?”

  He said nothing at first.

  His eyes scanned the tunnel behind her, not her. Looking through the dark like it owed him answers.

  “You shouldn’t be down here,” he said, voice low, even.

  “No one should,” she snapped, more out of reflex than anger. “Got a call. Supposedly a guy passed out in this tunnel.”

  “There’s no one else here,” Kaelen said.

  He didn’t move toward her—but somehow, he closed the space anyway. Just being there made the air shift. Like the tunnel had been waiting for him.

  “What was that sound?” she asked. “It started before I even got here. Some kind of—vibration.”

  Kaelen’s jaw tightened.

  “You heard it too, then.”

  “Yeah. And something else. I think someone—or something—was behind me. You didn’t see anyone?”

  “I did,” he said.

  He let it hang there a beat too long.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You gonna explain that, or just keep speaking in riddles?”

  Kaelen almost smiled. Almost. “Whatever it was—it’s not human. Not anymore.”

  Lira took a shaky breath. “Okay. Good. Great. Fantastic. Add that to the list of terrifying things I’ve seen this year.”

  She turned, ready to head back.

  Then paused.

  “…Why do you always show up right before things go sideways?”

  Kaelen met her gaze. His voice barely more than a whisper.

  “Because I never leave.”

  Lira didn’t answer right away. His words landed heavy—too honest, too close to something she didn’t know how to name.

  She looked away, muttered, “Well, maybe leave once in a while. Give a girl a break.”

  Kaelen didn’t smile.

  But something in him eased.

  They moved together through the tunnel, boots splashing through shallow puddles. Her flashlight cut a cone through the dark, but she didn’t need it—not really. Kaelen walked like he already knew the way out.

  “You ever gonna tell me who taught you to move like that?” she asked.

  “No one you’d know.”

  “Try me.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She sighed, then added, quieter, “You’re not just a guy with a savior complex, are you?”

  Kaelen looked at her.

  Not with surprise—but with stillness. Like she’d gotten too close to a wound he hadn’t realized was showing.

  Lira kept walking.

  Behind them, the tunnel walls pulsed once.

  Barely noticeable. But Kaelen turned, sharp.

  He could feel it now—the Hollow.

  Not fully awakened, but brushing the edges of this world like a sleeper turning in bed.

  It had sensed him.

  And it would come again.

  ?

  They emerged into the night.

  Rain still fell in soft sheets, painting the streets in reflections. Lira looked back at the tunnel entrance—nothing behind them but dripping stone and darkness.

  “You feel it too, don’t you?” she asked.

  Kaelen nodded. “Something’s waking. And it remembers what I was.”

  “…What were you?”

  Kaelen looked at her. For a moment, his face was carved in silence. Not evasion. Not fear.

  Just time.

  “Someone I swore I’d never be again.”

  He turned and walked into the rain.

  Lira watched him go.

  She didn’t follow.

  But she didn’t forget.