Waldstein Palace looked different in daylight.

  Tourists filled the gardens—families with children, couples taking photos, guides explaining the baroque architecture. Normal people living normal lives, unaware that monsters walked among them.

  Viktor and Mira entered through the same side entrance. Down the marble stairs. Into the private gallery.

  Bishop was waiting.

  But this time, she wasn't alone.

  Three others stood with her. All Collectors, judging by their timers:

  14,847:22:08 (forty years, approximately—man, fifties, scarred face)

  22,394:14:08 (sixty-one years—woman, thirties, cold eyes)

  18,847:08:22 (fifty-one years—man, forties, military bearing)

  All of them older. Stronger. More experienced than Viktor.

  Mira's hand moved toward her knife. Viktor caught her wrist, shook his head.

  Not yet.

  "Viktor Krause," Bishop said. "Twenty-four hours have passed. Have you made your decision?"

  "I have."

  "And?"

  Viktor met her eyes. "I decline your offer. I'm going independent."

  The room went silent.

  Then Bishop laughed. "Independent. How refreshing. Do you know the last person who tried going rogue in Prague?"

  "No."

  "Neither does anyone else. Because he dissolved within a week." Bishop's smile faded. "The System doesn't permit independence, Viktor. You're either with us or against us. And against us... well."

  She gestured.

  The three Collectors moved. Spread out. Surrounding Viktor and Mira.

  "This is your final chance," Bishop said. "Join the Collectors. Right now. Or we drain you both. Take your combined forty-seven years and call it a recruitment failure."

  Viktor's timer: 7,826:00:14. Twenty-one years.

  Mira's timer: 2,920:08:14. Eight years.

  Combined: forty-seven years.

  Enough to make four Collectors significantly stronger.

  "You're going to kill us?" Viktor asked. "In Waldstein Palace? In the middle of the day?"

  "This gallery is soundproofed. Sealed. No one will hear you scream. And when we're done, there'll be no bodies. Just ash." Bishop pulled out a tablet. "I've already filed the paperwork. Two rogue Keepers eliminated for refusing Collector recruitment. Perfectly legal under System law."

  Mira whispered to Viktor: "We can't fight four Collectors. Run. I'll hold them—"

  "No."

  "Viktor—"

  "No one's holding anyone. We both walk out. Or neither of us does."

  The scarred Collector laughed. "Romantic. Stupid, but romantic."

  He moved.

  Time Dash—crossed the ten-meter gap in a blur, hand shooting toward Viktor's wrist.

  Viktor activated Temporal Bubble.

  Time slowed.

  The Collector's Time Dash reduced to normal speed inside the bubble. Viktor sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, started draining.

  14,847:22:08 → 14,847:20:14 → 14,847:18:08

  Two minutes. Four minutes.

  The Collector reversed the drain—his forty years of willpower crushing Viktor's twenty-one.

  7,826:00:14 → 7,825:22:08 → 7,825:18:14

  Viktor lost two hours in seconds.

  The bubble collapsed. Viktor's timer dropped: 7,825:18:14 → 7,825:17:14

  One hour to maintain it.

  The other two Collectors moved.

  The woman attacked Mira—grabbed her wrist, started draining. Mira fought back, but sixty-one years versus eight was overwhelming.

  2,920:08:14 → 2,920:04:22 → 2,919:22:14

  Mira was losing.

  The military-bearing Collector came at Viktor from the right. Viktor used Echo Strike—double-impact punch to the man's jaw.

  Stunned him for half a second.

  Viktor tried to run. Get to the exit.

  Bishop blocked the door.

  "Going somewhere?" She grabbed Viktor's wrist.

  And drained.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Ninety years of power slammed into Viktor like a tidal wave. His twenty-one years meant nothing. Bishop's will was absolute.

  7,825:17:14 → 7,825:08:14 → 7,824:22:08 → 7,824:08:14

  Days evaporating. Weeks.

  Viktor's vision blurred. His Keeper-tier strength fading as time poured out.

  7,824:08:14 → 7,820:14:08 → 7,810:22:14

  Two weeks gone.

  Mira screamed. Viktor turned his head, saw her timer plummeting:

  2,919:22:14 → 2,918:08:14 → 2,915:14:08

  Four days. Five days.

  They were losing.

  Viktor stopped fighting the drain. Let Bishop pull freely.

  She smiled. "Finally giving up? Smart. This won't hurt much longer—"

  Viktor activated Time Dash.

  Cost: ten minutes.

  But inside Bishop's drain, those ten minutes were negligible. And the burst of speed—

  He headbutted her.

  Broke her nose. Broke the drain.

  Stumbled back, bleeding, timer at 7,810:12:08—seventeen days lost, but alive.

  Bishop clutched her face. "You little—"

  The scarred Collector grabbed Viktor from behind. Full drain. Both hands.

  7,810:12:08 → 7,810:04:22 → 7,809:18:14

  Half a day. One day.

  Viktor couldn't break free. Forty years of strength held him like steel.

  Across the room, Mira was on her knees. Timer at 2,914:08:14. The female Collector draining her, smiling.

  They were going to die here.

  Viktor's mind raced. Four Collectors. Combined over two hundred years. Him and Mira—barely fifty years total.

  No way to fight.

  No way to escape.

  Only one option.

  "Mira!" Viktor shouted. "The window!"

  She looked at him. Confused.

  Then understood.

  Mira broke away from the female Collector—cost her another day, but she made it—and ran toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the garden.

  Viktor did the same. Tore free from the scarred Collector—lost two more days, timer dropping to 7,807:14:08—and sprinted.

  Bishop realized what they were doing. "Stop them!"

  Too late.

  Mira hit the window full-speed. Echo Strike on impact.

  The glass shattered.

  She went through. Fell twenty feet into the garden below.

  Viktor followed. Jumped through the broken window, glass shredding his jacket, and fell.

  Landed hard. Rolled. Keeper-tier body absorbed most of the impact, but his ankle twisted.

  Mira was already up, running.

  Viktor limped after her.

  Behind them, Collectors poured through the window. No Time Dash yet—they were conserving time, confident they'd catch up.

  Wrong.

  Viktor and Mira ran through Waldstein Gardens. Tourists screamed, scattering. Security shouted. Cameras swiveled.

  Collectors couldn't kill them publicly. Too many witnesses. Too much exposure.

  They made it to the street. Mira grabbed Viktor, dragged him into an alley.

  "Metro," she gasped. "Get underground. Lose them in the tunnels."

  They ran.

  Malostranská Metro station was crowded—commuters, students, tourists. Viktor and Mira pushed through, heading for the deepest platforms.

  Viktor's timer: 7,807:10:22. Twenty-one years minus nineteen days. Still Keeper-tier, but weakened.

  Mira's timer: 2,913:22:14. Eight years minus six days.

  They'd lost a combined twenty-five days in five minutes.

  And the Collectors were coming.

  "There!" Mira pointed to a maintenance tunnel. "Locked, but I can—"

  She picked the lock in ten seconds. They slipped inside. Dark. Narrow. Smelling like oil and electricity.

  They ran deeper into the tunnels.

  Behind them, footsteps echoed.

  The Collectors had found them.

  Viktor and Mira kept running. Turned corners. Squeezed through gaps. Descended into older, abandoned sections of Prague's underground.

  Finally, they stopped in a dead-end chamber. Brick walls. No exits except the way they came.

  Trapped.

  "Fuck," Mira breathed. "Fuck fuck fuck."

  Viktor looked at his timer. 7,807:08:14.

  They'd bought themselves maybe five minutes.

  "There's another way out," he said.

  "Where?"

  "Through them."

  Mira stared. "You want to fight four Collectors? With our combined fifty years against their two hundred?"

  "I want to survive. And running isn't working."

  "Fighting isn't going to work either—"

  Footsteps approached.

  The four Collectors entered the chamber. Bishop in front. The others flanking.

  "Impressive," Bishop said. "You made it farther than expected. But this is over. Surrender your time peacefully, or we take it violently. Your choice."

  Viktor stepped forward. "Third option. You leave. Now. Or I make this very expensive for you."

  The scarred Collector laughed. "You'll make it expensive? Boy, you've got nineteen days less than when we started. We'll drain you dry and—"

  Viktor interrupted. "You know what I learned this week? The Chronos System rewards desperation. And I'm very desperate right now."

  He activated Temporal Bubble.

  Time slowed in the ten-meter radius. The four Collectors—caught inside—moved like they were underwater.

  Viktor didn't attack.

  He ran.

  Straight at Bishop. Grabbed her wrist. And transferred time.

  Not drained. Gave.

  7,807:08:14 → 7,806:08:14 → 7,805:08:14

  Two days. Flowing from Viktor to Bishop.

  She stared at him, confused.

  Then Viktor whispered: "Mira. Now."

  Mira understood.

  While Bishop was distracted—flooded with unexpected time, her defenses down—Mira attacked from behind.

  Grabbed Bishop's other wrist.

  And drained.

  32,847:19:42 (Bishop) + 2 days (Viktor's gift) → 32,849:19:42

  Then Mira's drain:

  32,849:19:42 → 32,849:14:08 → 32,849:04:22

  Half a day. One day. Two days.

  Bishop realized the trap. Tried to reverse it.

  But Viktor was still holding her wrist. Still feeding her time.

  Creating a loop.

  Viktor gives → Bishop receives → Mira drains → Bishop loses → Viktor gives again

  The other three Collectors tried to intervene. But they were moving in slow-motion, trapped in the Temporal Bubble.

  32,849:04:22 → 32,847:14:08 → 32,844:22:14

  Five days drained.

  Bishop screamed. "STOP!"

  Viktor let go.

  The bubble collapsed.

  Viktor's timer: 7,805:07:14 (lost one hour maintaining bubble, plus two days gifted)

  Mira's timer: 2,918:22:14 (gained five days from Bishop)

  Bishop's timer: 32,844:22:14 (lost five days total)

  Not much. But enough to shock her.

  "Next time," Viktor said quietly, "we drain you to zero. All four of you. We'll die doing it. But you'll die first. Is recruiting us worth that risk?"

  Bishop clutched her wrist. Stared at Viktor with new understanding.

  "You're insane," she said.

  "I'm desperate. There's a difference." Viktor backed toward the exit, pulling Mira with him. "We're going independent. Chase us if you want. But know that we'll fight dirty. Sacrifice everything. Make it so expensive that you'll regret it."

  The scarred Collector started forward. "We should—"

  Bishop raised a hand. "Let them go."

  "But—"

  "Let. Them. Go." Bishop's voice was ice. "Report to the Architect. Tell him Viktor Krause declined recruitment. And tell him the boy's more dangerous than we thought."

  She turned and walked away.

  The other Collectors followed.

  Viktor and Mira stood alone in the underground chamber.

  They'd survived.

  Barely.

  They emerged from the metro an hour later. Across the river. In a district neither of them knew well.

  Safe. For now.

  Mira collapsed against a wall. "We're so fucked."

  "I know."

  "We just made enemies of the Collectors. The Rebels won't trust us. We have no guild affiliation. No protection. No allies."

  "I know."

  "And you still think going rogue was the right choice?"

  Viktor looked at his timer. 7,805:04:14. Twenty-one years minus twenty-two days.

  Still Keeper-tier. Still alive.

  "Yes," he said.

  Mira laughed. Exhausted. Borderline hysterical.

  "You're insane."

  "Probably." Viktor sat beside her. "But we're free."

  "Free and hunted."

  "Better than safe and owned."

  Mira leaned her head on his shoulder. "I hate that you're right."

  They sat in silence. Two rogue Keepers. Fifty years combined. Against the world.

  Viktor's phone buzzed.

  Message from unknown number:

  Bold move with Bishop. Stupid, but bold. If you survive the next week, contact me. I might have work for you. - A.P.

  Alexandr Petrov. Vienna Syndicate.

  Another faction. Another offer.

  Viktor deleted the message.

  "No more factions," he said. "No more offers. Just us."

  "Just us," Mira agreed.

  They stood. Started walking.

  Prague stretched around them—beautiful, ancient, indifferent.

  And somewhere in the shadows, the Architect watched.

  "Fascinating," he murmured. "He chose freedom over power. Over survival. Over everything." He smiled. "I chose him well."

  He made a call.

  "Bishop failed. As expected. Proceed to Phase Two."

  "Understood," a voice replied. "When?"

  "Soon. Let him taste freedom first. Let him think he won. Then we show him the cost of independence."

  The Architect hung up.

  Viktor Krause had three days of peace left.

  Then the real hunt would begin.