City lights blurred into a whirl of neon and shadow as I pushed the car faster, trying to outrun the creeping dread.

It's Hegemonic Hexcraft, Jack. The kind only the ruling class of the Otherworld use. Dark, potent, and cursed for all but royal blood. And the effects are only going to get worse as we near the Red Solstice.

“Why isn’t it affecting you, Frank?” I asked, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Maybe because I’m already dead, he replied, his voice as cold as the grave. Hegemonic Hexcraft is elite. Upper hierarchy stuff. For the Hexborn, it’s a frenzy trigger just seeing it.

Frank’s tone darkened. You need to be careful, Jack. That key is half of a bad puzzle. The kind that was locked up for a reason.

The effects of Cali’s drink were wearing off faster and faster, temporary relief giving way to that familiar gnawing hunger.

We need to find a rift. I can feel the hunger in you, and soon there’ll be nothing we can do about it. If we’re messing with this level of Hexcraft, people are in serious trouble. And we can’t have you going all rabid before we stop it.

“You really think this is gonna lead somewhere good?” I asked, my voice a rough whisper.

Not likely, Frank admitted. But it’s the only plan we’ve got. Without it, we’re dead in the water.

“Dead in the water,” I echoed, a grim smile tugging at my lips. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

The car tore through the darkened streets, engine growling like a caged beast. The near full moon hung low on the horizon, a silent harbinger of the chaos brewing. Happens twice a year, the Red Solstice, when the fates flip a coin and choose sides, tipping the cosmic scales with her fickle fingers. The decisive night was just two days away.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Whatever's coming, it’s coming then. I’d bet my last dime on it.

The night stretched out before us, an endless expanse of dread. A gut feeling told me we were barreling toward something monstrous, something that should never be set free. It felt like the die was cast, and all we could do was keep driving, keep fighting, hoping that when the moment struck, we’d be ready for whatever was waiting.

Where can we find a rift? I thought.

Rifts were like bad luck—plenty when you didn’t need them, scarce when you did. I recalled the last place I saw one, a grim memory of Frank and the docks. Rifts had a habit of repeating, the fabric of reality thinning in certain spots.

We headed back to the docks where I last saw Jac and Jean. Never did get paid. I shrugged off the thought. The city's labyrinthine streets and alleys felt like a twisted maze designed to trap us, but I knew the way to the docks by heart. Tonight, though, every turn felt like it was leading us straight into the devil’s jaws.

It feels close, Frank said.

I parked the car and stepped out, the night air biting against my sweat-soaked skin. Weapons in hand, I moved quietly. The lapping of the water against the dock kept a steady rhythm in the background.

There’s rift-soot here, Frank noted. Thank the saints for that.

We tracked the black smudges through the dock, faint and clinging to the ground like ash.

A noise. My muscles, already taut, stiffened further. I froze. Out of the shadows, Sarge trotted up casually, like he'd been part of this conversation the whole time.

“How the hell did you get here?” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. “What are you doing by the docks, boy? You know there’s a rift nearby?”

Sarge nuzzled my leg, his fur brushing the edge of Frank—the jacket. Frank shifted uncomfortably, a low rumble vibrating in the leather.

I hate that dog.

“Yeah, well, tough luck,” I mumbled. Funny thing was, Sarge didn’t mind Frank. He trotted beside me as we pressed on, my body teetering between feral and collapse.

The familiar blur in the air came into view ahead, shimmering like heat haze. No beasts nearby. That’s a relief.

I approached the rift cautiously, every dying nerve in my body screaming in protest. Sarge, unfazed, stuck by my side.

“Listen, boy,” I knelt, vision swimming. “You can’t come with me in there. Stay.”

He barked softly in protest.

“I’ll be fine,” I lied. He whined. Sarge knew better.