The Ninth Compact

The undergate seals at your back. Cool air. Machine hum. City boards updating in quiet ticks through the twelfth of Highspring, just before the third bell.

This is the underground watch-room of Compact Cell Nine. Your first day in the post. The dry pocket-slate is already read. The Compact slate still shows the member list you had been scanning. On the wall, the public-mirror is carrying citizen crystal-feed.

The picture is a Lumenreach street with a hole torn through the stones. A Hollowborn fills the lane. People are still in the open.

A pale cloak sheds light as she flies. Copper hair, caught in a high knot. A glass-bright ward goes up over the civilians who have not cleared.

The mirror's chatter stacks over itself.

— Warden in the street —
— move, move —
— she's covering them —

The speaking-stone array spatters with crackle.

Sera Vell: "Cell Nine, Brightlane. Hollowborn in the lane. Civilians still out. Handler, I need support—"

She does not wait. The ward widens. The beast hits the light.

Sera Vell: "Handler—!"

A scream. The stone strikes paving. Then dead air.

The public-mirror still holds the street. The speaking-stone does not. Cell Nine has no voice. The boards keep updating. The watch-room is waiting on you.