Genesis. Volume 3.

January 12, 1989. Scotland. Edinburgh. 6:00 p.m. They drove into Edinburgh as the sun was dipping toward the horizon and the city wrapped itself in fog. Not the light, silvery kind that hangs over the hills in the morning—a different kind. Thick, viscous, it crept out of the cracks between the cobblestones, rose from storm drains, clung to spires and cornices like gray cotton wool in which the lights drowned. The streetlamps burned as yellow smudges, blurred like watercolor on wet paper. Arthur drove slowly—too slowly for someone used to racing down highways. But here, in these narrow, steep streets that twisted between stone buildings like rivers through canyons, speed was the enemy. Every turn could be a dead end, every intersection a trap. The map Eleanor had given them was old, with frayed edges, and the street names on it didn't match the ones on the signs. The city lived its own life, refusing to obey paper. "We're almost there," Lisa said, sitting beside him, peering into the fog. She gripped the piece of metal in her hand—the one Jack had given her in New York. It was warm, almost hot, and she could feel it pulsing in time with something invisible, something lying beneath this city, deep in its ancient bones. "I can feel it. The artifact. It's here." "Me too," Jack said from the back seat. He sat between Emma and Jenny, his eyes burning with that same strange, unfamiliar light that came over him when he touched the metal. "It's calling. But not loudly. As if... waiting." They fell silent. The van crept along a street that seemed to rise straight into the sky—so steep was the incline. On both sides loomed gray stone buildings, dilapidated, with dark windows behind which no one lived. Or perhaps someone did, but hid from the light. "An ancient city," Max said, staring out the window. "Looks like it's stuck in time." "It is stuck," Sasha said. She sat beside Max, holding Eleanor's map. "Everything here is the same as it was hundreds of years ago. The streets, the houses, the underground passages. People say there's a whole other city beneath this one—old, abandoned, where no one lives." "Mary King's Close," Jenny said. "I read about it in the letters. My mother wrote that the Guardians used those underground spaces as a refuge. And as a prison." "For whom?" Emma asked. "For those who couldn't be killed," Jenny replied. "For beings too dangerous to leave on the surface." She looked at the ring on her finger. It pulsed steadily, calmly, as if it felt at home in this city. "We'll find it," Arthur said. "We'll find the artifact. And we'll stop them." He turned a corner, and the street suddenly widened, opening onto a small square. In the center of the square stood an old Gothic hotel—tall, narrow, with sharp spires and stained-glass windows that burned a dark crimson in the light of the setting sun. Above the entrance hung a sign with faded gold lettering: "The Greyfriars Inn." "This is it," Sasha said, checking the map. "The hotel we were looking for." Arthur cut the engine. In the silence, they could hear a crow cawing somewhere on the hill. And the wind rustling over the wet cobblestones. They got out of the van. The cold was sharp, cutting—not like in Brookfield, where snow softened the air, but different, damp, seeping into the bones. The fog settled on their faces, leaving a fine, cold dew on their skin. "Get inside quickly," Sophia said, already opening the hotel door. "This is no place to stand around. I feel this city doesn't like being stared at for too long." She stepped inside, and the others followed. The lobby of the Greyfriars was exactly as one might imagine from a Victorian novel: high ceilings with molding, heavy velvet curtains, an old fireplace with a fire burning, and furniture upholstered in dark wood. It smelled of wax, old wood, and something else—sweet, spicy, like cloves. Behind the counter stood an old man in a waistcoat and thin-rimmed glasses. He looked up when they entered, and his eyes—pale gray, like a winter sky—slowly swept over each of them. "You have a reservation," he said. It wasn't a question. "Yes," Arthur replied. "Under the name Walker." The old man nodded without smiling and took an old, worn registration book from a drawer. He ran his finger down the pages, stopped at one, and looked up. "Six rooms. Second and third floors. Overlooking the square. Breakfast from eight to ten. Dinner upon request." He handed over the keys—heavy, iron, with forged nameplates. Arthur took them, and the old man lowered his eyes again, as if they had ceased to interest him. "If you need anything, I'll be downstairs," he said. "Don't go into the basements. Old wiring and floors that give way." He didn't say what else might be found down there. Didn't mention that the basements of this hotel, like many other Edinburgh underground spaces, held more than just old pipes. They went up to the second floor. The staircase was old, with carved banisters that creaked under their hands. The corridors were long, narrow, with tall windows looking out onto the inner courtyard, shrouded in fog. Underfoot, a thick red carpet with a worn pattern seemed to absorb sound, making their footsteps nearly silent. Lisa stopped at a window on the landing and looked out. The city spread below her—gray, foggy, with countless roofs and spires rising into the sky like the fingers of a dead hand. Somewhere below, in the fog, lights flickered—sparse, pale, like fireflies in the night. "Do you feel anything?" Jack asked, coming up to her. "Yes," Lisa answered. "I feel it. The artifact. It's close. But not here." "Where?" "Underground. Deep." Jack nodded. He felt the same—the metal in his hand pulled him downward, into the very darkness Eleanor had spoken of. They dispersed to their rooms. Arthur and Max took one room, Jenny and Emma another, Lisa and Jack a third, Sasha and Sophia a fourth, and the remaining two were left for anyone who might join later. The rooms were small but cozy: high four-poster beds, heavy curtains, windows overlooking the square where the lamps were already being lit. Sophia, as always, took charge of the domestic details. She checked each room, made sure there was hot water, that the heaters worked, that no drafts came through the windows. She adjusted the curtains, pulled extra blankets closer to the beds from the wardrobes, and made sure everyone had a towel. "You're freezing," she said, entering Lisa and Jack's room. "I can see it in your faces. This cold gets into your bones." "We're used to it," Jack said. "You can't get used to this," Sophia replied. "You can only warm up." She turned and left, but returned a few minutes later with a tray bearing two steaming mugs of tea. "Drink," she said, setting the tray on the old lacquered table by the window. "I brewed it with honey and ginger. It warms you." Lisa took a mug. Steam rose, smelling of honey and ginger—the same smell as in the Genesis mansion when Sophia made tea on cold evenings. "Thank you," she said. "You're welcome," Sophia replied. "You are my children. I will always take care of you." She left, and Lisa stayed with Jack. They sat by the window, looking out at the foggy city, drinking tea in silence. The metal in Lisa's pocket pulsed steadily, calmly, like a second heart. "Are you thinking about what we'll find?" Jack asked. "I'm thinking about what we have to find," Lisa replied. "The artifact that can stop all of this." "And after that?" "After that, we can live." Jack looked at her for a long moment. In his eyes burned the same light as in hers—a mixture of fatigue and hope. "Do you believe that?" he asked. "I have to," Lisa said. "If I stop believing, I'll break." "You won't break," Jack said. "You're stronger than you think." She didn't answer. She just stared out the window at the fog enveloping Edinburgh, thinking about what they had to do. Sophia entered Sasha's room while she stood by the window, looking down at the foggy square. Sasha turned at the sound of footsteps, and a shadow crossed her face—not fear, but something more complex. Shame? Gratitude? She couldn't quite tell. "I don't want to distract you," Sophia said, stopping in the doorway. "I'm just checking if you need anything." "I have everything I need," Sasha said. "Thank you." "I know you're used to handling things on your own," Sophia said softly, taking a step forward. "But sometimes you can let someone help. It's not weakness." Sasha wanted to object—to say something sharp, the way she always did when someone tried to get close. But the words caught in her throat. Instead, she just nodded. Sophia stepped closer and took her hand. Her palm was warm, soft, smelling of honey and baked goods. Like a mother. Like someone Sasha had never had. "You're not alone," Sophia said. "You've never been alone. You have us. And I'll be here until you believe it." Sasha squeezed her hand in return. The tears didn't fall, but something inside her shifted—like ice beginning to thaw. "Thank you," she whispered. "You're welcome," Sophia said. "You are my daughter. Like all of them." She left, leaving Sasha alone. She stood at the window, looking out at the square, but there was less fog in her gaze now. That evening, everyone gathered in the common sitting room—the room on the second floor with a fireplace and several old armchairs upholstered in worn plush. Sophia brought tea and cookies she'd bought from a small bakery near the hotel. She arranged everyone so they'd be warm and comfortable, and when they were all settled, she began to speak. "I don't know what awaits us," she said, looking around at them. "But I know one thing: you'll manage. You managed Crowley, you managed London, you managed everything that came before. You'll manage this too." "Mom," Arthur said, lifting his head. "We don't know what's down there, underground." "I know," Sophia said. "But I also know that you are my children. And I will always be with you, even if I can't go with you into that place." She looked at Arthur with a long, warm gaze. Something flickered in his eyes—not pain, not fear, but something deeper. He thought of his father. The one he'd lost. The one who had given himself to protect him. "Dad would be proud of you," she said quietly. "He always knew you'd become a leader. Not because you're the strongest or the smartest, but because you care about others. You don't lead them ahead of yourself—you lead them together." Arthur didn't answer. He just clutched his mug and felt the warmth spread through his palms. After dinner, when everyone had gone to their rooms, Lisa and Jack stayed sitting by the fire in the sitting room. The metal in their pockets pulsed in time with each other, and they could feel their power joining, growing stronger together. "Do you know what tomorrow will bring?" Jack asked. "No," Lisa said. "But I know we'll be together." "That matters," Jack said. "It's the only thing that matters." They sat by the fire, watching the flames, listening to the wind howl outside, the fog wrap around the city, something waiting for them below in the underground. They were ready. Not because they knew what was coming. But because they were together. Tomorrow they would descend into the underground. Tomorrow they would find the artifact. Tomorrow they would face what awaited them in the darkness. But tonight, they could simply sit by the fire and be together. That was enough.