The sound came back first.

  A high, needling ring that sat somewhere behind Toussaint’s eyes and refused to fade. It pulsed with his heartbeat, stretched thin by distance and pressure, then snapped back into place as the world lurched.

  He staggered, caught himself on a railing that was no longer straight, and forced his breathing to slow.

  Smoke poured from the rear cars. Not the passenger section. The cargo. Panels had buckled outward, seams split, metal peeled like it had been softened and pulled apart rather than blasted. Fire burned inside the compartment, bright but contained, licking at warped supports and exposed wiring.

  People were shouting. Alarms were sounding. Emergency lights flickered and held.

  Toussaint keyed his comm.

  “Cargo breach,” he said, voice low, controlled. “Localized. Heat-driven.”

  A beat.

  “Source?” Ives asked.

  Toussaint watched the fire shift.

  It withdrew.

  Flames bent inward as a figure stepped through them, coat untouched, hair tied back, heat warping the air around his outline like a mirage. Metal glowed where his boots touched the platform, sagging under its own weight.

  Toussaint felt it then.

  Not fear, but a pressure.

  Like standing too close to something that had already decided it wouldn’t move for you.

  “Unknown,” he said. “But this isn’t incidental. He’s walking through it.”

  Another pause.

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  “Capability?” Ives asked.

  Toussaint exhaled slowly. “High. Uncontained.”

  The figure stopped at the edge of the smoke, fire retreating from him as if it knew better.

  Toussaint’s gaze slid to the far end of the platform, where smoke thinned just enough to reveal two figures standing where the fire should have made it impossible.

  “One more,” he said. “Unknown. Calm. Holding the item.”

  “Get eyes if you can,” Ives replied.

  Toussaint didn’t answer. He was already moving.

  The heat intensified, not outward, but inward, drawing back toward a single point.

  “I think you have something of mine,” the man in the fire said.

  His voice carried without effort.

  The other man stood opposite him, case in hand, posture relaxed as if this were an inconvenience rather than a confrontation. Firelight stretched his shadow long and wrong across the platform, the darkness pooling where scorched metal met concrete.

  He smiled.

  “That’s an interesting way to open a conversation,” he said. “Especially when you’re late.”

  Heat surged. The rail behind the first man glowed, then sagged.

  Toussaint didn’t wait.

  While the two of them squared off, while heat climbed and shadows deepened, he slipped sideways into the chaos. Close enough to the case. Close enough to matter.

  The man with the case turned slightly, angling his body, attention fixed on the heat in front of him.

  That was enough.

  Toussaint took the case.

  It was heavier than it looked. He adjusted his grip and moved, fast and low, back into the smoke before either of them noticed the absence.

  Behind him. Metal screamed. Heat spiked.

  A shout followed. Furious. Raw.

  Not his problem.

  Toussaint ran.

  He cut through a service corridor, boots slapping against concrete slick with condensation and soot. The case thudded against his ribs with every stride.

  “Item secured,” he said into the comm. “Moving.”

  “I’m losing you,” Ives replied. “Signal’s—”

  The connection snapped.

  Ahead, the lights flickered.

  The shadows moved before he did.

  They peeled off the walls, stretching forward, gathering shape where firelight cast too many angles at once. Low to the ground. Fast.

  A wolf, or something that wanted to be one.

  It slid into the corridor ahead of him, blocking his path, eyes nothing but negative space against the glow behind it.

  Toussaint skidded to a stop, breath steady, grip tightening on the case.

  The shadow crouched.

  Waiting.