Author's note: 
Have you ever had a brilliant idea that, in hindsight, was possibly a terrible idea? That’s pretty much Lena’s entire approach to life. She’s stubborn, reckless, and just smart enough to get herself into real trouble—which is exactly what happens in this chapter.  

I’ve always loved urban fantasy because it blends the magical with the everyday, and Lena’s world is one where ancient power hums beneath city streets, just waiting for someone bold (or foolish) enough to tap into it. 

Hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, let me know what you think!  

***

“Damn it!” The curse slipped out as I tightened a bolt on the Resonator, sparks stinging my fingers. I hissed, shaking my hand and smearing grease across the workbench, a mess of discarded tools and half-finished schematics. The bolt resisted, then yielded with a sharp snap.

“Almost there,” I murmured, more a prayer than a promise, my gaze fixed on the Resonator. At its heart pulsed the shard, dim behind a cracked casing. Beautiful. Lethal. It had been thirty days since we acquired it, and I’d worked day and night, fueled by lukewarm tea and stubborn hope, to make it function with my Resonator.

Across the room, in a rare patch of clear space, Karis perched on a stool, her knees tucked to her chest, her gaze intense. “You’re really doing this,” she said, her voice low. She kicked idly at a stray wire. “I kept hoping you’d change your mind.”

“Karis, if I had a history of good decisions, would we even be friends?”

Her lips twitched, but the humor didn’t reach her eyes. She glanced at the overflowing scrap bin, filled with remnants of my past failures. “This isn’t just one of your usual reckless stunts, Lena. This is serious magic.”

I turned back to the Resonator, wiping my hands on my grease-streaked pants to hide my trembling. “If we don’t push back against the Council, who will? You think they’ll just wake up one day and decide to share their power?”

“Probably not,” Karis muttered, watching me work. “But maybe there’s a middle ground that doesn’t involve… that.” She nodded toward the Resonator.

I snorted. “The Council would sooner watch Starbridge burn than give up an ounce of control. They’re terrified of losing it, terrified of us realizing we don’t need them.” I gestured at the machine—at the shard glowing faintly through the dust motes dancing in the lamplight. “This could change everything. A power source that doesn’t require Nexuses to access the Ley Line. No more begging for scraps.”

Her gaze shifted to the shard, fear flickering in her expression. “Or no more Starbridge.”

Her warning hit like a punch to the gut, but I buried it under the stubbornness that had kept me alive this long. “It’s not going to blow up the city.”

“How do you know that? That thing’s Old Arcana, Lena. Unpredictable. Unstable. That’s why the Council sealed it away, why they hunt down anyone who dares touch it.”

“They want us to think that, Karis. They want us scared. It’s easier to rule scared people.”

“Maybe,” Karis conceded, but her voice was doubtful. “But they say it almost tore the Veil itself during the Mage Wars. They say it whispers madness. What if it’s true? Sounds like a big risk to me.”

I clenched my jaw and turned back to the Resonator, wrenching a bolt into place with more force than necessary. “I know the risks, Karis. I know it’s power the Council fears. That’s the point.”

If I were too scared to use power like this, the Council would continue using theirs to control us. They’d keep telling us we were too fragile, too stupid, and too dangerous to handle anything beyond the scraps they deigned to give us. And we’d keep believing them, keep living on our knees.

That wasn't a fate I wanted for myself or anyone else.

“And what if you lose control?” Karis asked.

My grip tightened on the wrench. I didn’t turn around. I couldn't. “Then I’ll figure it out,” I said. “That’s what I do. I figure things out.”

The silence stretched. The Resonator's hum filled the void, its low vibration a second heartbeat. "Promise me one thing," she said, her voice softer now, almost fragile. I glanced at her, disarmed by the vulnerability on her face. It twisted something deep in my chest.

"Promise me you'll stop if it gets too dangerous," she said. "If the lines start to…” She ran a hand through her hair, fingers tangling in the silvery strands. "Just promise me you won't take this too far."

A knot tightened in my stomach, but I forced it down. "I'll be careful," I replied, sidestepping the promise.

Her lips parted, but she exhaled instead, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

"That's why you love me," I said, mustering a grin. She let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-groan, and slid off the stool.

"If this thing explodes, I'm blaming you in the afterlife."

"Deal."

I flipped the final switch. The Resonator hummed to life, the shard flaring as light spilled through its cables. Overhead, the lights dimmed. The air thickened, buzzing. For a moment, the workshop held its breath—and so did I. This was it—exactly what I envisioned.

Then the shard's glow twisted, shifting from soft white to a venomous green. The air soured. The sharp scent of burning wires clawed at my throat, mingling with the lingering smell of old engine oil that always permeated the workshop.

Karis staggered, hands pressed to her head, eyes squeezed shut. Her boots scraped against the floor as she stumbled backward. "They're screaming," she whispered. "The lines—they're screaming."

Panic seized me. I lunged for the control dial, my fingers slipping on the slick metal as static shocks lashed my skin. The gauge slammed into the red, and tools clattered to the floor. The hum turned into a roar. The Resonator shuddered, glowing with an unnatural light.

"Shut it down, Lena!" Karis shouted. A wrench ricocheted off the wall, narrowly missing her head as it crashed into a stack of spare parts.

My hands hovered over the controls, shaking, caught between terror and something darker. The Resonator howled, flooding the workshop with crackling energy. Part of me wanted to push it further—to prove I could control it—but her panicked voice shattered that impulse.

“Damn it!” I snarled, slamming the kill switch. An electric jolt surged up my arm, hurling me backward. My back hit the floor, robbing me of air. Sparks erupted from the Resonator's core. A shockwave rolled through the workshop, shaking the walls and scattering tools across the already messy floor.

Then silence. Heavy and absolute. My ears rang, my chest heaved, and each breath tasted of smoke and failure. I stared at the ceiling, dazed. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead seemed to mock my efforts. Nearby, Karis coughed—a raw sound that sliced through the stillness.

The shard remained in its fractured housing, its light flickering feebly. I forced myself upright, each movement a struggle. The workshop lay in ruins—shattered glass, strewn tools, and scorched metal marked the wreckage of my ambition.

“You almost tore the ley lines apart.” Karis's voice trembled with anger. She paced, arms wrapped around herself, her boots crunching on the debris-covered floor. The shard's dim glow caught in her hair, silver streaks gleaming.

Her words stung. My pulse hammered. She wasn't wrong. If I hadn't shut it down…

“They felt that.” She stopped short, spinning to face me, her shadow stretching long and distorted across the cluttered workbench. Her eyes were wide. “Every Nexus user in Starbridge felt it—the Council, the aristocrats, Fane's Sentinels.” Her voice cracked. “Lena, they'll come for you. For us.”

I dragged myself to my feet. My legs shook, but I held my ground. I glanced at the Resonator, now silent yet still radiating a faint, uneasy energy. Smoke curled from its exposed wires, mingling with the dust motes dancing in the dim light.

“I’m not trying to destroy the city,” I said. “You know why I'm doing this. If we can figure out a stable, decentralized power source—”

“Spare me the speech!” She kicked at a stray piece of metal, sending it skittering across the floor. “You think they’ll care about your noble intentions when they’re rounding people up because of you?”

I flinched, but the stubborn fire in my chest refused to die. “I’m not them,” I said, my voice hardening. “I’m not the Council. I’m not Fane. I’m trying to give people a choice.”

She gestured toward the Resonator, its cracked core glowing ominously in the semidarkness. “You’re toying with the same power that wrecked the Promenade. The same power that got your mother killed.”

My chest constricted. “I’m not my mother.”

Her expression softened, but only slightly. “No,” she said, quieter but firm. “You’re not. But you’re making her mistakes.”

“I didn’t ask you to come,” I muttered, my gaze dropping to the floor, to the oil stains and scattered debris. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“No, you didn’t,” she retorted. “But you know you can’t do this alone.”

I opened my mouth to argue but found no words. She was right, and we both knew it. Karis raked a hand through her curls and exhaled sharply. "I need air," she muttered, snatching her coat from the hook near the door.

"Karis—" I began, but she cut me off.

"Don't," she said, her voice brittle. She turned away, her figure silhouetted against the faint light from the street outside. "Just… don’t."

She walked to the door, her uneven gait echoing. She didn’t look back. A sliver of streetlight briefly illuminated the workshop before she slipped into the night. I stared at the closed door, a hollow ache spreading through me. The workshop felt desolate without her, the silence amplifying the weight of my failure.

My hand drifted to the shard. It was cool under my fingertips, smooth and unyielding, its pulse faint but steady. I fought the urge to fling it across the room, to bury my obsession with it. But I couldn't. It was too much. Too dangerous. Too important.

I turned to the mess of notes scattered across the table: ink stains, grease smudges, coffee rings—evidence of sleepless nights and the hours I’d poured into the Resonator. Evidence of the desperate hope that drove me to build it. If the Council got hold of these notes, they wouldn't just come for me.

Dread tightened around my throat. Yet that fear couldn't smother the stubborn ember still burning within me. I sank into my battered chair, the springs protesting with a loud groan. It creaked beneath me. My hands trembled, and my head throbbed with the echo of Karis's warnings.

I ignored it. There was too much left to do. The shard's glow flickered over the crumpled pages as I picked up a pen and scrawled notes on surge levels, anomalies—every misstep that had led me here.

Karis's voice echoed in my mind. You nearly tore open the lines, Lena.

I closed my eyes and let the weight of her words sink in. She was right. I’d been reckless.

If I didn't figure this out, I’d lose more than a friend. But giving up wasn’t an option. I had made a promise—to myself, to my mother's memory, and to everyone who needed this—to see it through. I would prove that magic didn't have to be a weapon of control. Tomorrow, I would fix the Resonator. Tomorrow, I would make it better.

But tonight, all I could do was write, the scratching of the pen lost in the vast emptiness of the workshop, and hope that I wasn’t making the worst mistake of my life.

***

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