They turned down another narrow street, where an old metal sign creaked in the wind:
INVOKE INDUSTRIAL — DECOMMISSIONED PLANT #07.
Merlin froze. His eyes narrowed. "Invoke?"
Elara frowned. "You know them?"
"Yeah," he said after a pause. "They're… a weapons manufacturer. I've had some dealings with them."
He didn't elaborate, and Elara didn't ask. But she caught the way his tone shifted, just slightly. The name seemed to carry weight. History.
The factory's main gates were locked with thick iron chains, rusted but reinforced with faint enchantments. Merlin crouched, pressing his palm against the lock. Mana rippled beneath his skin, a mix of lightning and wind, and the metal vibrated faintly before the chains cracked apart with a soft clatter.
Elara raised an eyebrow. "Subtle."
He gave a small grin. "I can do subtle. Just not tonight."
They stepped inside.
The air changed instantly.
