Critical Moment
The Prophet's identity. The Badlands's destruction foretold. One man—Adrian Cross—bringing everything down alone.
And we couldn't find Sage.
Cassian Vance's calls went unanswered. His room was empty. No one had seen him.
We drove toward the docks in tense silence. Valerian and Juniper in the back, confused and scared. I couldn't explain—not yet.
Then two explosions shattered the morning.
Flames erupted from both boats at the harbor. Thick black smoke curled skyward from the engines. Our only way off this island, engulfed in fire.
We reached the dock to find Nolan Kane waiting. "Lifeboats are sabotaged too. We're trapped."
"Trapped?" Valerian's voice cracked. "What's happening? Who's doing this?"
"Adrian Cross," I said. "He's here. We don't know where."
"Then shouldn't we warn everyone?" Valerian demanded. "We can't just—"
"More people means more exposure," I said. "The moment they all learn the truth, panic spreads. We stay hidden, we survive."
Valerian's jaw tightened. "That's wrong. We became Sin Hunters knowing this day might come. We can't just abandon our beliefs!"
Cassian Vance snapped at him: "The same people who bullied you daily? Worry about yourself."
"They bullied me, and I still won't abandon them! We took an oath—"
"Nobody said Sin Hunters had to be united," Juniper said softly. "Let's just get out first."
Cassian Vance led us away from the village—not back to the apartments, but into the beach forest. He knelt, felt along the ground, and hauled up a concealed trapdoor. A bunker.
"Only the Four Lords know about this," he said. "Built as a contingency. Has supplies, water, and surveillance monitors."
Inside, bare bulbs flickered over cots and crates. Cassian Vance powered up the monitors. Every key location in Crime Territory appeared on screen—workshops, apartments, hallways, gates.
We scoured every frame. Workers toiled. Sin Hunters patrolled. Cargo was being prepared.
No sign of Adrian Cross anywhere.
"What about blind spots?" I asked.
"Recreation room, offices, private quarters, and my place," Nolan Kane said. "Wish I'd wired those too."
The answer was obvious: Adrian Cross had been hiding somewhere cameras couldn't see.
"Should we issue an emergency protection order?" I asked Cassian Vance. "Get the Sin Hunters to hunt him—"
Before he could answer, the screens erupted.
Detonations. The workshops blasted apart in sequence. Smoke flooded the camera feeds. Chaos swallowed every frame.
Adrian Cross had begun his assault in earnest.
Black smoke billowed on every monitor. We watched in helpless horror as Sin Hunters ran toward the explosions—straight into a worse nightmare.
The criminals' shackles had been cut. All of them.
Four hundred and fifty-five prisoners, freed. Sixty-two Sin Hunters, outnumbered seven to one.
The freed prisoners lunged with pent-up rage. Work tools became weapons. The very people our Sin Hunters had caged now swarmed them—beating, stomping, tearing apart anyone in an orange uniform.
I remembered what Adrian Cross had once said. What we lacked wasn't strength. It was awe. We gave them fear, but never truly killed their hatred. Remove the shackles, and that hatred became revolution.
Nolan Kane trembled with fury. "If I'd known—I should have killed them all—"
"Too late," Cassian Vance said. "And Adrian Cross didn't free them today. He cut their shackles long ago. They were waiting."
The loudspeakers crackled to life.
Adrian Cross's voice.
Calm. Almost bored.
"Murderers: lethal injection. Assault causing serious injury: same penalty. I freed you to go home—not to commit worse crimes."
He addressed the Sin Hunters next: "Your game of house is over. You thought you represented justice. But every person you caged was someone's child, someone's parent, someone's lover. You hated the people who hurt your loved ones—don't you think their loved ones hate you just as fiercely?"
"Surrender. Cooperate. It won't earn you innocence, but it might earn you a reprieved death sentence instead of immediate execution."
Then, almost casually: "My girlfriend was a Sin Hunter fangirl. I loved her. She was reckless and always in trouble. I knew she was wrong—on principle. But my woman, only I get to punish. Anyone else tries, I dismember them. Consider that: Sin Hunters are a child's game. Nothing more."
Finally, to the freed inmates: "Do not attack anyone who surrenders. You've escaped one jail—don't earn yourself a real one."
He signed off. The loudspeakers went dead.
I stared at the screens. Sin Hunters being chased, beaten, broken. Our fearsome enterprise—reduced, in the end, to a child's game of pretend.
Cassian Vance lunged for the exit. "The workshop office. Sage's in there. I'm going."
I grabbed him. "You can't! Look at how many people are out there!"
"Sage is still inside!"
"Look!" Nolan Kane pointed at a monitor.
Sage—hair wild, shirtless—had made it to a car. But the tires were slashed. Crowds swarmed, smashing windows, dragging him—
On screen, his body was pulled through shattered glass. Blood and screams. He staggered up, wrench in hand, fighting toward the east gate, screaming: "Brother! Brother, where are you! Come out!"
Cassian Vance's phone rang. Caller ID: Sage.
He answered on speaker.
"Brother! I'm coming to get you! Tell me where you are!"
"I'm fine. Hide. Don't—"
"In prison you always protected me! Now I protect you! Where are you?"
Cassian Vance looked at the monitor. Pointed a finger at the east gate—the furthest point from us. Then he looked at me.
"I'm at the east gate," he said. "Meet me there."
"Coming, brother!"
The line went dead.
The east gate. The furthest possible point. He was sending Sage away from our position. Protecting me at the cost of Sage's odds.
"I've never told you about him," Cassian Vance said quietly. "But I told him plenty about you. He matters. Not more than you—but not less than me."
He pulled me into his arms. Brief, desperate.
"When I come back, I'm sleeping with you."
Then he was gone, sprinting into the night.