Chapter 129: St. Augustine’s

The next morning, the estate buzzed with the kind of energy that felt half like a battle cry and half like a funeral march. No one slept well, not after what we’d done at the river. Anchors weren’t just locations — they were doors, traps, temptations. Closing one felt like plugging a hole in a sinking ship. Necessary, yes. Enough? Never.

Ethan had already spread a new map across the table by the time I walked into the war room. His hair was a mess, his glasses crooked, his eyes glassy from staring at code all night. Elena was perched on the table edge, eating cereal straight from the box, ignoring the spoon resting right next to her.

“Morning, sunshine,” she said as I stepped in. “Or is it afternoon? Hard to tell with all this fog-of-doom vibe.”

I raised a brow. “Are you eating that like popcorn?”

“Yeah. It’s called multitasking. Don’t knock it.”

Ethan didn’t even glance up. “She’s been like this since dawn. I’ve lost count of how many Frosted Flakes she’s consumed.”

Elena pointed at him with the cereal box. “You’re just jealous because you can’t code and eat at the same time.”

“I can,” he said flatly. “I just choose not to risk milk damage to expensive equipment.”

She smirked. “Translation: he can’t.”

I sighed, dropping into the seat opposite Ethan. “Update me before you both drive me insane.”

Ethan tapped the map. A glowing red marker pulsed near the top of the city grid. “Here. St. Augustine’s Cathedral. It lines up with the next pattern Selene’s been threading. Every symbol, every recorded anomaly, it’s all pointing here.”

Rhea, who had slipped in quietly, frowned. “A church?”

“Not just a church,” Echo said from the corner, her arms folded. “It’s one of the oldest in the city. The foundation predates the cathedral itself. There’s something under it — crypts, catacombs, maybe even older chambers.”

Elena leaned back, crunching another mouthful of cereal. “Great. Because basements worked out so well for us last time.”

“Basements hold history,” Echo said simply.

“Basements hold rats and death,” Elena countered. “And occasionally, creepy golden-eyed boys with secrets.”

Aidan entered then, his presence grounding the chaos like it always did. He looked at me first — always at me first — before addressing the room. “We move tonight.”

I blinked. “That soon?”

“The longer we wait, the more Selene weaves,” he said. “If she activates that Anchor, the entire city center will be compromised. She’ll have access to thousands of minds in one sweep.”

Ethan grimaced. “Imagine the Wi-Fi coverage, but, you know, evil.”

I shot him a look. “Not helping.”

He lifted his hands. “Just saying.”

\---

We spent the day preparing.

Mara armed us with charms — thin bands of silver wire woven with something darker, something she didn’t name. “It won’t stop her influence completely,” she admitted, “but it’ll slow the pull.”

“Like spiritual seatbelts,” Elena said, snapping hers around her wrist. “Love it.”

Echo sharpened weapons in silence, the scrape of steel against stone echoing through the hall. Aidan cleaned his blades with careful precision, every movement steady, controlled. Ethan tested his drones twice, then three times, until even Elena rolled her eyes and threatened to throw one out the window.

By sunset, the estate felt tighter, like the walls themselves knew we were walking into something bigger.

Rhea stayed close to me. Too close, maybe. She carried the journal everywhere now, clutching it like a lifeline. At one point, she tugged my sleeve and whispered, “The Harbinger wrote about St. Augustine’s. It wasn’t just a church. It was a doorway.”

“A doorway to what?” I asked.

She shook her head, her voice small. “She didn’t finish the entry. Just three words: Beware the Choir.”

\---

Night fell heavy and thick.

The cathedral rose out of the fog like a giant, its spires clawing at the sky. Stained glass windows glimmered faintly under the moon, throwing fractured colors across the street. The front doors were chained, but light flickered inside — candlelight, warm and wrong at the same time.

We crouched in the alley across from it, hidden in shadow.

“Looks abandoned,” Elena whispered.

“Except for the candles,” Ethan muttered, adjusting the scanner strapped to his arm. “Heat signatures, too. People. A lot of them.”

“How many?” Aidan asked.

Ethan’s jaw tightened. “At least thirty. Maybe more. And they’re not… normal. Readings are off the charts.”

“Hybrids?” I asked.

“No. Something else. Their signatures… hum.”

Echo’s eyes narrowed. “The Choir.”

Rhea hugged the journal closer. “What does that mean?”

Echo didn’t answer.

We crossed fast and quiet, slipping through a side entrance where the wood had rotted. The air inside was thick with incense, smoke curling in patterns that looked like symbols if you stared too long.

And then I heard it.

Voices.

Low. Layered. Dozens of voices humming the same note, perfectly in sync. It wasn’t just singing. It was vibrating through the walls, through the floor, through my bones.

Rhea’s face went pale. “This is the Choir.”

We crept down the aisle. At the far end, in front of the altar, a circle of figures stood cloaked in shadow. Their faces were tilted upward, eyes closed, mouths open in song. The sound was both beautiful and terrible — a harmony that wasn’t meant for human ears.

Elena whispered, “Okay, nope. This is where I leave. I draw the line at creepy chanting cult choirs.”

“Stay low,” Aidan ordered. His voice was steady, but I saw the tension in his shoulders.

The figures kept singing. But as we drew closer, one by one, their eyes opened.

And every single one of them glowed gold.

Rhea gasped. “They’re not hybrids. They’re Anchors.”

Before I could ask what she meant, the Choir stopped singing.

The silence was worse.

One voice broke it — smooth, calm, familiar.

“Welcome, Roxanne.”

From behind the altar, she stepped out.

Selene.

Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight.

“You’ve closed one door,” she said softly. “But this… this is a cathedral. And tonight, it becomes my throne.”