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Kade held up the cards to her, fanning them out. “These will show us how to fix it,” he assured gently.

“When we figure out how to use them,” Krave muttered.

Kaos held his hand out to Kade, and he placed the cards in them. Cold—thin, smooth. Too quiet. He ran a thread of power through them, subtle and sharp, testing for any reaction. Nothing moved. Nothing opened.

He looked at Jaxi and held them to her. “Try touching them.”

She took them carefully, her fingers brushing along the edges.

“The last time these were delivered,” Kollaborator said, “it took a Nephilim-class courier to get them to Josie—and Krave had to drink her blood just to see what they said.”

Kaos remembered it clearly but there was no emotional attachment to the event. There was only Jaxi, studying the blank surfaces, her brows pulling slightly. “They feel… like they’re waiting.”

Kade pitched, “What if it’s not about opening them directly? What if they respond to action, not contact?”

Krave gave a slow nod. “Like a trigger woven into a behavior or trait. Not touch or will.”

“I think Jaxi’s the key,” Kollaborator said. “Like Josie was.”

Kaos reminded, “She touched them. Nothing happened.”

“Wait,” Kross said suddenly. “One of the cards—look.”

Kaos locked his power on the one with a shimmering surface. Subtle. Brief.

Jaxi leaned forward fast and took the card without warning, looking at the painting on the wall. “It’s the same,” she said, standing.

Kaos stood too, following her gaze to a mirrored pattern, down to the flow of color and line.

“Itisher,” Kollaborator said, something ragged threading through his voice. “She’s the key.”

Krave stared hard. “What does it mean?”

Kollaborator stepped closer to the table, eyes fixed on the card that had reacted. “It means the trigger’s been met. Whatever Raviel encoded into these—the lock required a specific impulse. She gave it. Her action initiated the sequence.”

A faint shimmer crawled across the edge of the second card. Light stitched into its surface, thin and sharp. Kross leaned in. “Another one’s reacting.” The glow built slowly, outlining a shape too complex to name.

Kaos spotted movement in the lower corner. Numbers, descending. “There’s a timer,” he said sharply. “Fifty-nine minutes and dropping.”

Kross leaned in. “All of them have it—except hers.”

Kollaborator released a sharp breath, eyes scanning all the surfaces. “There’s no countdown on my end, I just see visual structure—symbols, embedded overlays. Nothing counting down.”

Kaos’s jaw flexed. “Why areweseeing a clock run out?”

Kollaborator’s head shook as he looked up. “I don’t know.” He moved to the third card, scanning faster now. “Flame signatures—tight spines, branching out from a central origin. This card is Kade’s.” His fingers slid to the fourth. “Fractured geometry… mirrored edges… heat bands. Rage and Lust. That’s Kaos.”

Kaos eyed the timer: 00:58:41.

“Glyph rings,” Kollaborator continued. “Legal recursion. That’s mine.” He regarded the last card. “Deep anchor points… all lines drawn inward. Stabilizer pattern.” He glanced at Kross. “The son of Kaos. The King’s King.”

Kaos felt the race of data while dread thickened in his chest. What exactly happened when the countdown ended?

Krave stepped back from the table with a labored breath. “How exactly do you know what they mean?”

Kollaborator kept his eyes on the surface of the cards. “I don’t know how I know—I just do. It’s like the meaning’s embedded with the structure. I see it, and it clicks.”

Kross gestured toward the first card. “Any idea why hers doesn’t have a countdown?”