The air beneath City Hall Station was thick with dust and secrets. In the wavering beam of Kahmil’s flashlight, the hidden archive revealed itself: rows of moldering ledgers, a tarnished astrolabe, and on the far wall a peeling mural of the zodiac wheel. The team stood in a loose circle around an oak table piled with Vandemeer’s papers. Moments ago, they had pried open a rusted vault and discovered these relics—evidence that the late Alden Vandemeer (Fairport’s turn-of-the-century mayor and secret astrologer) had been guarding something monumental. Kahmil Avery’s heart pounded with the weight of discovery and the aftershock of what they’d just learned: Vandemeer’s archive held clues to the next piece of the Celestial Orrery. And that piece, if his cryptic notes were right, was hidden somewhere in the city above.
Kahmil ran a steady hand over a brittle journal, carefully turning to the page marked by Dante’s gloved finger. Faded ink sketches of planetary gears and star charts filled the margins. At the center of the page, scrawled in elegant cursive, was a riddle:
“Where the keeper of hours
On the lion’s brow towers,
The celestial gear waits in the gloom.
When twelve tongues cry
Midst the starry sky,
The hidden star finds its true home.”
A hush fell as Dante Blackwell read the words aloud, his deep voice echoing off curved tiled walls. The Zodiac Family exchanged glances of puzzlement and excitement. Shiloh Bloom shifted on his feet, silver hair catching the flashlight’s gleam as he murmured, “The keeper of hours… that sounds like a clock.” He traced a finger over a sketch in the margin that resembled a clock face intertwined with constellation patterns. “Lion’s brow towers… lion could mean Leo, or something to do with bravery? Maybe a statue of a lion?”
“Or the Leo in our family,” Ari cut in gruffly, tilting his head toward Kahmil with a half-smile. Ari Marsden’s broad shoulders and fighter’s stance were at odds with the delicate way he held a crumbling map in his callused hands. The Aries-born had little patience for puzzles, but he tried to lighten the mood. “Kahmil, any chance you have a secret tower we don’t know about?” he joked.
Kahmil’s cheeks warmed at being indirectly called a lion. “If I did, I’d tell you,” she replied softly. Her dark eyes were already scanning the scribbled notes around the riddle. In the margins, Vandemeer had added: “Fairport’s sentinel… built 1899… gift from Society.” She underlined those words gently. “Sentinel of Fairport… could that be referring to the old clock tower downtown? It’s one of the oldest structures in the city, built around 1899 I think.”
Sterling King had lectured them once on Fairport’s landmarks (Sterling wasn’t here tonight, but his Capricorn thoroughness lived in Kahmil’s memory). Fairport’s original clock tower—abandoned now—had been erected by a group of astronomers and businessmen at the turn of the century. A plaque on it mentioned the Perinton Astral Society, if she recalled correctly. Society-linked historical site indeed. “Yes,” Dante said, nodding as Kahmil shared that thought. The Scorpio strategist’s ice-blue eyes gleamed with understanding. “The note says ‘gift from Society.’ Vandemeer must mean the old Astral Society. They built the clock tower as a gift to the city. It has to be the place.”
Ari rolled up the map with a triumphant snap. “Then what are we waiting for? We have the location. Let’s go get that gear.” His Aries fire was flaring in his eagerness—already he moved toward the stairwell they’d descended, ready to charge out into the night.
“Hold on,” Marlon Gale interjected, raising a palm. His voice was gravelly, each word measured and cautious. The dim light carved hard shadows on Marlon’s lean face, highlighting a skeptical scowl. “This feels too easy. Vandemeer hid his notes down here for decades. Why would retrieving the gear be as simple as strolling into an old clock tower and plucking it out?”
Ari bristled, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “No one said anything about strolling. But we can’t sit around overthinking it either. Every minute we hesitate is a minute our enemies could beat us to it.” He stepped back toward the table and jabbed a finger at Vandemeer’s journal, as if it were the enemy in question. “Marlon, you saw what was upstairs. The whole station was booby-trapped. We had to fight off those mechanical sentries just to get down here. We can handle a clock tower.”
Marlon crossed his arms over his leather jacket. The Libra-Scorpio cusp in him thrived on doubt. “Famous last words. ‘We can handle it.’ Just like we handled the railyard incident?” His tone dripped dry sarcasm. He was referring to Shadows in the Scrapyard, that disastrous chase in Chapter 3 when Ari’s headstrong rush nearly got Shiloh crushed under a pile of scrap metal. The memory hung in the air. Ari’s tanned cheeks flushed a deeper red.
“That’s not fair,” Shiloh spoke up, voice gentle but firm. The Gemini–Cancer prodigy rarely entered arguments, but Kahmil saw the hurt flicker in his gray eyes at the mention of that close call. Shiloh had been the one nearly crushed, after all. “We all made mistakes that night. Ari learned from it. And Marlon—” Shiloh added, looking at the cynic directly, “without your quick thinking, I wouldn’t be here. We need both caution and action.”
Kahmil let out a slow breath, grateful for Shiloh’s attempt at balance. This was her role usually, but right now her mind was racing between Vandemeer’s clues and the group’s rising tempers. Internal conflict was brewing, and she could sense how the stress of their quest was gnawing at each of them. They all cared deeply—about the mission, about each other—but fear expressed itself as anger and impatience.
Dante carefully closed the journal, attempting to bring focus back. “The riddle also mentions ‘when twelve tongues cry.’ That likely means midnight, when the clock strikes twelve.” He glanced at the ornate pocket watch he always carried—11:10 PM. “We have about fifty minutes until midnight. If Vandemeer intended something to happen at the stroke of twelve, we should be in position by then.”
Marlon clicked his tongue. “See? Timetable. Pressure. This screams trap. Or at least, complication.” He cast a sharp look at Ari. “So maybe we don’t sprint in like it’s the 100-meter dash at the fairgrounds. We think it through.”
Ari stepped forward, broad chest squared up to Marlon’s wiry frame. “And maybe we don’t stand around talking until the stars burn out! You always want to pause and calculate, Marlon, but in case you forgot, the last piece we recovered was stolen out from under us because we arrived two hours late.” His voice echoed harshly off the curved ceiling. “I won’t let that happen again. Not when we’re this close.”
Marlon’s stormy grey eyes narrowed. “Watch it, golden boy,” he growled, invoking the nickname he used when Ari’s hero complex showed. “Rushing in blindly will just get someone else hurt. Maybe you want to pay penance for Shiloh’s close call by martyring yourself, but I’m not eager to see anyone smashed to bits by a booby-trapped clock because you couldn’t control your impulses.”
Ari’s face contorted with rising anger. He opened his mouth to fire back, but the words didn’t even get out. “Enough.” Kahmil’s voice cut through the tension like a clear bell. Not loud—she didn’t shout—but there was a firmness that froze both men in place. All eyes turned to her. Kahmil realized her hands were trembling ever so slightly on the edge of the table; she pressed them flat to steady herself. “Arguing won’t get us anywhere,” she said, keeping her tone level though her heart fluttered. “Marlon, you’re right that we need to be careful. Ari, you’re right that we can’t waste time. We need both caution and courage, okay? We go together, and we watch each other’s backs.”
Her gaze moved from Ari’s blazing eyes to Marlon’s scowl and softened. In the dim golden halo of the flashlight, she looked almost maternal despite being younger than either man. “I know you’re both scared of losing someone,” Kahmil said quietly. Ari started to protest (“I’m not—”), but she continued, “I am too. This is high stakes for all of us. But we’re on the same side. We all want to get that piece and get out safe.” She offered a small, earnest smile. “So please. Let’s trust each other. Ari, we’ll be as quick as we can. And Marlon, we’ll be as careful as we can. Deal?”
Ari exhaled through his nose, breaking eye contact first. He ran a hand through his short sandy hair, then gave a single sharp nod. “Deal,” he muttered. Marlon’s chin dipped in a more reluctant nod a moment later. “Fine… deal,” Marlon said, his voice begrudging but no longer combative. The two men stepped back, defusing their stand-off.
Kahmil felt the tension in the room drain a notch. A faint wave of relief washed through her, though she maintained a composed front. Inside, she was far less confident—her heart still thumped and that familiar worry gnawed at her: Did I handle that right? It had been a rare outburst for her, raising her voice like that. She hated conflict, especially among family, but she hated the thought of losing any of them more. If I don’t hold everything together, it will all fall apart. The old fear echoed in her, one she usually kept buried. She quickly pushed it aside and refocused. There was work to do.
“Alright,” she said, briskly now to rally them. “We need to get to the clock tower by midnight. It’s a fifteen-minute walk, ten if we hurry.” Her practical, Virgo side ticked off tasks: “Shiloh, gather up Vandemeer’s notes. Dante, anything in that journal we might need to decipher on-site, snap a photo of it.” They moved with renewed purpose as she spoke. Kahmil turned to the others. “Ari, Marlon—will you two go up first and make sure the coast is clear?” She dared to give them a knowing look. “Together.”
Ari managed a sheepish half-grin. “You got it,” he said. Marlon simply grunted, already climbing the stairs with catlike silence, Ari close behind. Shiloh offered Kahmil a proud little nod as he tucked the bundled notes into his satchel. She knew he was silently commending her for her leadership just now, and that warmed her more than any nod of Sterling’s ever had. Dante finished capturing photos of the riddle page with his phone and slid it into his coat.
One by one, they ascended from the archive into the disused subway station above. Kahmil was last up the narrow stairs, and she paused at the threshold to glance back at Vandemeer’s hidden lair. The beam of her flashlight danced over the zodiac mural—the twelve signs circling a sun faded by time. We won’t let your secret be in vain, she promised silently to the long-dead mayor. Then she pulled the lever to shut the heavy archive door. It closed with a resounding thunk, sealing the chamber once more in darkness and memory.
They emerged into the night on a side street behind the old City Hall. The city of Fairport sprawled quietly around them under a cloudy sky. It was past 11 PM on a weeknight; downtown was largely deserted, save for the flicker of streetlamps and the distant hum of traffic from the interstate. A mist off the Erie Canal hung in the autumn air, softening the glow of neon signs and traffic lights. Kahmil took a deep breath of the crisp air, glad to be out of the musty underground. The cool night immediately began to soothe nerves. Overhead, the nearly-full moon wove in and out of fast-moving clouds, painting the wet pavement silver whenever it appeared. Atmospheric detail settled the scene: the clatter of their footsteps on sidewalk, a shuttered bakery exhaling the day’s last scent of bread, the distant toll of a church bell marking the quarter hour.
The team moved as a unit through the sleeping city. Ari and Marlon naturally fell to the front, scouting ahead. They were keeping their strides short so the others could keep up—Ari’s impatience checked by Kahmil’s earlier admonition. A fragile peace existed between the two now; they walked in tense silence rather than bickering. Dante strode in the middle, eyes darting to every alley and rooftop, ever vigilant for threats. Though they expected no enemy agents in this quiet town, none of them forgot the mysterious adversaries who had dogged them since they’d started gathering the Orrery pieces. Trust within was paramount, because dangers lurked without.
Shiloh stayed at Kahmil’s side toward the back of the group. He noticed her quietude and how she rubbed absently at a spot on her temple. Gently, he bumped his arm against hers. “You okay?” he asked under his breath. His voice was laced with concern that only she could hear.
Kahmil mustered a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Just thinking.” She didn’t like to complain about the stress—it never felt fair when everyone was carrying their own burdens. But with Shiloh, honesty came easier. In a lower voice she added, “Confrontation is never my favorite thing.”
Shiloh gave a sympathetic half-smile. “Mine either. But you handled it. I… I really admire how you did that, Kahmil.” He glanced forward at Ari and Marlon’s backs. “They listened. You have a way of making people listen without making them feel judged.” There was a soft glow in his eyes as he looked at her, pride and something deeper. “You kept us together.”
She felt a flutter of gratitude in her chest. Shiloh’s faith in her always bolstered her spirit. “I just hope I made the right call, pushing us to go tonight,” she confessed quietly. “What if Marlon’s right and we’re walking into a trap? What if someone does get hurt?”
Shiloh stopped, gently catching her elbow so the others would gain a few steps on them and they could have a private moment. Behind them a lone car hissed by on the damp road, headlights sweeping their silhouettes. “Hey,” Shiloh said, searching her face. “We chose this together. If it’s dangerous, we’ll face it together. That’s not all on you.”
Kahmil lowered her eyes, nodding. He always knew her tendency to shoulder too much. “I know. You’re right.” She managed a more genuine smile this time. “And I’m not alone. Thank you.” On impulse, she reached out and squeezed Shiloh’s hand—just a quick, grateful press. He squeezed back, and for a heartbeat Kahmil felt the comforting pulse of his energy, a bright steady rhythm that told her he was there, unafraid, because of her.
Ahead, Marlon cleared his throat pointedly. The others had noticed the two lagging behind. Ari arched an eyebrow and teased under his breath, “Come on lovebirds, save it for after we save the world.” Kahmil flushed and Shiloh coughed in embarrassment as they hurried to catch up. Ari smirked, apparently back to his usual brash humor, and even Marlon’s lips twitched like he was amused. Kahmil rolled her eyes but was secretly glad—they were joking again, not fighting. A good sign, she thought.
At last they arrived at Fairport’s old clock tower. The structure loomed at the corner of Monument Park, a slender four-story brick tower crowned with a giant iron clock face on each side. It stood apart from any other building, encircled by a small fenced yard overgrown with weeds. By day it was a picturesque historical landmark; by night, it had a foreboding air. The clock faces were dark now—long stopped since the tower was decommissioned decades ago—but in the moonlight the roman numerals were still visible. At the top, just below the clock, was a stone carving of a lion’s head cresting the arch of the belfry windows. The lion’s brow.
“There’s our lion,” Dante whispered, pointing out the weathered stone feline that gazed sightlessly over the sleeping city. Vandemeer’s riddle was literal: on the lion’s brow towers—the clock tower with a lion motif. This was surely the place.
The wrought iron gate to the yard was chained and padlocked, but that posed little challenge. Marlon knelt and pulled a small leather pouch from inside his jacket, producing lockpick tools that glinted. “I’ve got it,” he muttered. Ari looked like he was about to suggest simply vaulting the fence, but at Kahmil’s subtle shake of the head, he relented and stood guard instead.
Within a minute, the padlock clicked open. “Handy,” Ari commented. Marlon shrugged, stowing his tools. “Perks of a misspent youth.” He pushed the gate inward with a drawn-out creak that made everyone wince. They slipped through, one by one, and approached the tower’s wooden double-door. It was locked as well, but older and simpler. Ari this time took the initiative: bracing a shoulder against the crack, he gave a gentle but firm shove. The old wood around the latch splintered and the door popped open. Not exactly subtle, but effective. Ari shot a small apologetic glance to Kahmil at the noise, and she gave him a pass with a nod—time was short, and at least no alarms sounded.
Inside, the tower was dark as a tomb and smelled of aged wood and pigeon droppings. Dante used his phone flashlight now, a cool white beam cutting through motes of dust. The ground floor was a single square room with stone walls. A spiral staircase of wrought iron hugged the wall, leading upward into blackness. Around them lay detritus of city history: a broken display case, perhaps from when the Historical Society gave tours; framed photographs cracked on the floor (Kahmil’s light passed over one showing Victorian gentlemen in front of this very tower’s dedication ceremony). Indeed, on the wall they could just make out a bronze plaque: “Erected 1899 – Gift of the Perinton Astral Society”.
Jackpot. Vandemeer’s Society. It sent a chill of validation and foreboding through Kahmil. If the Society had hidden something here, they wouldn’t have left it totally unprotected.
“Let’s head up,” she whispered. “Carefully. One step at a time. The structure is old.” As if to confirm her warning, a water droplet plinked from the ceiling into a puddle by her feet. The roof must leak; rot was a risk.
Ari took the lead on the spiral stairs, testing each step’s strength before putting full weight. The iron treads groaned but held. They ascended slowly, single file—Ari, then Dante, Kahmil in the middle, Shiloh, and Marlon guarding the rear. The clang of their steps echoed. At the second floor, they passed through what looked like an old mechanism room with giant weights and pulleys—shadows of disused clockwork that loomed like skeletal shoulders in the dark. Kahmil’s breath hitched at the eerie shapes, but Dante’s steady light guided them onward, up another flight toward the third level where the bells and main gear assembly would be.
As they neared the top, Marlon hissed from the back, “Hold up.” Everyone froze. “What is it?” Kahmil whispered over her shoulder. Marlon’s narrowed eyes were fixed below. “Thought I heard something… outside.” They all listened. Through the open doorway slits in the tower’s brick, the sounds of the night trickled in. A distant police siren wailing, probably across town. The rustle of wind through the trees in the park. Nothing immediate.
“False alarm,” Marlon muttered, though clearly uneasy. The group pressed on until they emerged into the clock chamber. Here, the moonlight filtered in through the four great clock faces, giving the space a ghostly silvery illumination. The room was dominated by the massive central mechanism: a turn-of-the-century iron clockwork the size of a tractor’s engine, all gears and rods. A ladder ran up one wall to the belfry above, where the outline of a gigantic cast-iron bell hung silently.
Kahmil felt her chest tighten at the sight. Vandemeer’s clue had led them true. If a piece of the Celestial Orrery was here, it must be integrated into this machinery somehow. “Spread out,” she whispered. “Look for anything that might be our piece. Something that doesn’t belong in a normal clock.”
They split, circling the mechanism with care. Ari ran a light hand along a series of interlocking gears taller than he was. Shiloh peered at an array of levers, his engineer’s mind ticking. Dante consulted Vandemeer’s notes again on his phone screen, looking for any diagram that might hint at the piece’s appearance or placement. Marlon kept watch by the staircase, arms folded and eyes flicking between the windows.
“Wait,” Shiloh said softly after a minute. He knelt by a section of the clockwork near the floor. “This gear here… see the engraving on the center?” Kahmil and Dante crouched beside him. In the dim light, they could just make out markings on a small brass gear within the larger assembly. Dante held his phone closer, illuminating an etching of tiny astrological symbols around the gear’s hub. Mercury, Venus, Earth… all the planets. And zodiac signs interspersed between them. This was no ordinary clock part.
“That’s it,” Kahmil breathed. The Celestial Orrery piece—likely one of the planetary gear rings. It was the size of a saucer, nested amid the aged cogs of the clock’s timekeeping guts. “They hid it in plain sight, as part of the clock’s mechanism.”
Ari bent down next to Shiloh, grin flashing. “Well I’ll be damned. Sneaky old Vandemeer actually bolted it in here.” He clapped Shiloh’s shoulder. “Good eye, bro.” Shiloh smiled at the praise, a little bashfully.
Dante examined the gear’s configuration. It was interlocked with a driving gear above it and another piece below. “If we try to yank it out now, we might jam the whole thing… or damage it,” he warned.
“Or set off a trap,” Marlon added grimly from his post.
Kahmil chewed her lip, thinking. Vandemeer’s riddle implying midnight might be key. She looked up at the frozen clock face on the eastern wall. The hands were stopped at roughly 11:53. Possibly the clock had died at that time years ago. But what if— “Dante, Vandemeer said ‘when twelve tongues cry.’ The bell at midnight. Maybe something happens when the bell tolls?”
Ari frowned. “The clock’s not operational, though. It hasn’t tolled in ages.”
Shiloh’s face lit with an idea. “We could manually trigger it. The mechanism may be rusted, but if I wind it or push it toward midnight… if Vandemeer set a mechanism to release the gear at midnight, maybe it still works.”
Marlon sighed. “Or maybe forcing it will bring this whole tower down on our heads. But hey, who am I to stop the genius at work?” His sarcasm was gentle this time—he trusted Shiloh enough when it came to gadgets.
They deferred to Shiloh’s expertise. The group prepared: Ari and Marlon found a crank wheel on the side that likely wound the clock’s weight; Shiloh guided them on how much to turn. Dante climbed halfway up the ladder toward the bell with a mallet he’d found—ready to strike the bell at the right moment if needed to simulate the toll. Kahmil hovered near Shiloh, ready to help however she could, heart thudding with nerves.
“Alright,” Shiloh whispered, bracing a lever connected to the gear train. “On three, Ari gently crank, Marlon help him. We’ll try to advance the time to 12.” He took a breath. “One… two… three.”
The men heaved on the wheel. At first it resisted with a groan, then suddenly lurched. The whole mechanism shuddered and a cascade of metallic clicks and clanks echoed as gears began to turn for the first time in decades. Dust rained from the ceiling with each vibration. Kahmil coughed, waving it away. The clock hands crept toward the XII on the faces.
“Keep going,” Shiloh urged, eyes darting between the gear with the Orrery piece and the upper works. Dante watched the great bell above; it remained still, but he poised the mallet.
As the aligned gears brought the celestial gear into a certain position, Kahmil heard a faint click. A small latch next to the gear popped open—a release! Vandemeer must have engineered a release catch that would trigger at midnight to free the piece. Almost there.
Suddenly, CRACK! The wood platform under Ari’s feet gave a horrendous creak—one of the support beams, weakened by years of rot and now rattled by the revived machinery, split in two. “Watch out!” Ari yelled, diving back. The entire tower lurched as that portion of floor sagged. Marlon lunged and grabbed Ari’s arm, yanking him away from the collapsing section just in time. With a thunderous crash, a hundred-pound section of wooden planks and an iron pulley came loose and plunged down the tower’s hollow center, smashing through the lower levels.
The tower swayed. A flock of sleeping pigeons in the rafters exploded into flight, wings battering the air. Dante lost his grip on the ladder as it shook and slid down hard, landing awkwardly on the new gap in the floor. A hiss of pain escaped him—his ankle.
Kahmil’s heart leapt into her throat. “Everyone hold on!” she cried. The mechanism was still winding; Ari had released the wheel, but the counterweights were now unwinding unchecked, driving the gears faster and faster. The clock was essentially unfrozen and out of control. Metal screamed against metal as the ancient gears ground on. The great bell above, stirred by the movement, suddenly swung on its own and BOOOOM—struck a deafening peal.
The first toll of midnight in decades reverberated through the confined space. It was as if thunder had been unleashed inside the tower. The shockwave of sound made Kahmil’s ears ring and threw her balance off. She fell to one knee, palms pressing against the vibrating floor. Shiloh doubled over, covering his ears with a cry; his sound-sensitivity turning the noise into agony. Ari, still sprawled where Marlon dragged him, was wide-eyed, momentarily dazed by the cacophony. Marlon grit his teeth, scrambling toward Dante, who was clutching his ankle and struggling to get clear of the sagging edge.
BOOOOM, the bell’s second toll rang out, shaking loose an avalanche of dust and debris from the rafters. Long-dormant clock hands outside likely jumped forward. Through the ringing in her ears, Kahmil realized with dread that the bell would strike twelve times and likely bring the whole tower down if this kept up.
Panic started to well inside her like a rising tide. She could feel it in the others too—Shiloh’s normally calm face contorted in pain and fear, Ari trying to get up but stumbling from the shock, Dante gasping as he tried to pull himself away from the hole, Marlon coughing in the dust, shouting something that was drowned out by the third BOOOOM.
They needed to stop the bell, stop the mechanism—stop the chaos. Now.
Kahmil forced herself upright, fighting the quiver in her legs. She took one deep breath, then another, summoning the core of calm she’d cultivated over years of weathering storms. Eye of the storm… breathe. The familiar mantra steadied her racing heart. She stretched out her hands, fingers splayed, and closed her eyes for a second as the fourth BOOOOM crashed around them.
From Kahmil’s body radiated a gentle pulse of energy, invisible to the eye but palpable in effect. Equilibrium Field — her gift. She poured all her focus into it, imagining a bubble of stillness expanding from her center. It spread through the room like a warm breeze. The dust in the air seemed to hang, the trembling of the floor dulled. The next toll of the bell came, but muted, as if heard from far away. Inside Kahmil’s field, the sound’s sharp edges blunted to a manageable volume.
Gradually, the whirring gears slowed to a less frenetic clatter. The frantic gasps and cries around her softened into clearer, calmer tones. Ari, who had been cursing under his breath, suddenly found his hands stop shaking. He was able to stand and move to help Dante without stumbling. Marlon’s wide, alarmed eyes regained focus; he nodded sharply at Kahmil, wordlessly acknowledging the calming force enveloping them.
Kahmil stepped carefully across a beam to reach Shiloh, who was on his knees, hands over his ears. She knelt and gently pulled his hands down, looking into his eyes. “It’s okay,” she said, and within her field, her voice was audible and reassuring despite the continuing bell strikes overhead. Shiloh blinked, tears of shock in his eyes, but he took a deep breath in sync with her and found his bearings. The synesthetic chaos of the bell’s noise was no longer incapacitating him.
By the sixth toll, the team was moving efficiently despite the ongoing danger—each guided by a surprising clarity of mind granted by Kahmil’s calming aura. Dante, face pale but determined, braced himself against Ari as the Aries hauled him up from the broken floor section. Marlon clambered back to the mechanism. “The latch is open!” he shouted to Kahmil over the diminished gonging. “Get the piece, I’ll try to jam the bell!”
Marlon threw himself toward a lever connected to the bell’s hammer. With brute effort and zero regard for his own safety, he wedged his body against it just as the hammer tried to swing for the seventh toll. The impact knocked the wind out of him, but he managed to hold it enough that the bell’s next notes came out in dull, curtailed clangs. He grunted in pain, but shot a strained grin at Ari: “Tch… figures I’d be hugging a bell tonight,” he coughed.
Ari flashed a quick grin back and nodded in respect, then moved swiftly with Kahmil and Shiloh. Together they reached into the heart of the machinery where the celestial gear gleamed. Kahmil’s equilibrium field flickered at the edges of her consciousness—maintaining it while moving was taxing, but she held it as best she could, teeth clenched with effort. The whole tower still rumbled, but inside her bubble of calm they worked with steady hands.
Shiloh carefully pried at the released latch with a screwdriver from his pocket multi-tool. Ari braced the adjacent gear to prevent it from spinning and catching Shiloh’s fingers. On the eighth toll (muffled by Marlon’s intercession), the Orrery gear finally came loose. “I have it!” Shiloh gasped as the circular brass piece slid free into his hands. Intricate planetary symbols and starburst etchings glinted on its surface. The Celestial Orrery’s next piece… obtained.
A collective relief swept them, nearly breaking Kahmil’s concentration. She wavered, a sudden dizziness washing over her as the strain of maintaining the field hit her like a wave. “Kahmil, I got you,” Dante said, limping to her side and grasping her arm. She hadn’t even noticed him approach; the normally stoic Dante’s face held genuine concern. She must have looked as drained as she felt. Kahmil mustered a grateful nod, breathing hard. She began to ease off the Equilibrium Field—her job was done, they had what they came for and needed to get out now.
“We’re clear! Time to go!” Ari shouted. He scooped Shiloh’s elbow to guide him toward the stairs as the ninth bell peal shuddered through the structure (Marlon couldn’t hold it fully forever). Dante wrapped Kahmil’s arm over his shoulders, supporting her weight as they rushed to follow. Marlon, last to leave, released the hammer lever and stumbled back, ears ringing in full force again as he staggered after them.
The five of them half-ran, half-climbed down the spiral stairs, chased by the final tolls of the bell and the sound of wood timbers above cracking ominously. The moment they hit the ground floor, Ari yelled “Out out out!” They dashed through the doors into the yard, not a second before a final shattering crash came from above. The bell, freed from Marlon’s restraint and with no one winding it down properly, had broken loose. It plummeted through the clock room floor, dragging gears and beams with it in a cacophony that splintered the night.
They all ducked instinctively as a plume of dust and debris belched from the tower’s windows. The clock tower stood, but only just—its top floor now a gaping wound, loose bricks tumbling. The lion’s head carving cracked and fell, landing with a thud in the overgrown yard only a few yards away from where they stood. After that, silence. No bell, no machinery, just the faint car alarm set off blocks away by the tremor, and the distant approach of what sounded like emergency sirens.
For a long moment, the Zodiac team simply stood in the moonlit grass, gasping for breath and staring at the wreckage they had escaped. Kahmil’s head swam. She let go of Dante and braced herself on a bent iron fence post. The world tilted, her energy nearly spent. Emotionally and physically, she was drained: fear, adrenaline, the exertion of her power… it all caught up at once. But as she looked around and saw everyone alive and in one piece, a swell of relief and quiet triumph filled her chest.
Shiloh stepped to her first, concern etched on his face. He gently placed a hand on her back. “Kahmil… are you alright?” She managed a tired smile. “I will be. Just… catching my breath.” In truth, her limbs felt like lead, and a headache throbbed behind her eyes from the exertion of the Equilibrium Field. Shiloh seemed to sense her pain; he closed his eyes a moment, and Kahmil heard the faintest hum—Shiloh humming a calming note under his breath. A soothing warmth rippled through her as he subtly used his own ability to dampen her discomfort, turning pain into a gentle chord of music only he could hear. She exhaled gratefully.
Ari, meanwhile, was helping Dante sit on a patch of grass. “That ankle needs wrapping,” Ari said. The Aries’ face was smudged with dust and sweat, but his eyes were lit with concern for his teammate. Dante waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a sprain.” Still, he didn’t protest when Ari knelt and, with surprising gentleness, began inspecting the injury.
Marlon ambled over, coughing into his sleeve. He had a bruise blossoming on his cheek and looked even grimmer than usual, but there was a spark of adrenaline-fueled mirth in his eyes. “Well,” he drawled, “that went about as elegantly as a drunk elephant on roller skates.”
Despite everything, a laugh burst out from Kahmil. It was probably the absurd accuracy of the statement, or maybe just the sheer relief. Soon Shiloh was laughing too, a musical sound in the dark, and Ari cracked a grin. Even Dante chuckled under his breath. Marlon spread his hands in mock defeat. “I aim for sarcasm, get comedy… as long as you’re all laughing and not crying.” He gave Kahmil a nod. “Glad you’re okay, Saint Kahmil.”
She tilted her head, hearing the old half-joking nickname Marlon had bestowed on her after she’d once patched him up emotionally. Saint Kahmil—she certainly didn’t feel saintly right now, more like an exhausted mess. But coming from Marlon, it was as good as a sincere thanks. “I’m glad you’re okay too, Marlon. All of you,” she said, earnestness in her voice. She looked at each of them, eyes shining in the moonlight: Ari with a tear in his sleeve and dirt in his hair, Dante wincing as he rotated his ankle, Shiloh clutching the precious Orrery gear to his chest, and Marlon dusting off his jacket. They were bruised and battered and utterly disheveled. But together.
Ari got to his feet and stepped over to Marlon. The two men regarded each other in a brief, unreadable silence. Then Ari stuck out his hand. “You saved my hide up there. Twice, I think,” he said. There was humility in the Aries’ tone, which didn’t come easily for him. “Thank you.”
Marlon raised an eyebrow as if surprised that Ari acknowledged it so directly. But he didn’t leave him hanging. He clasped Ari’s forearm in a firm shake. “You’d do the same, hothead,” Marlon replied gruffly. That was as close to you’re welcome as Marlon could manage, and it was enough. In that handshake was a hard-won respect.
Kahmil watched, a soft smile tugging her lips. The internal fractures in their family weren’t healed in one night, but moments like this were the glue that would keep them from breaking. They had clashed, yes, even come literally crashing through a trial by fire (or rather, by falling bell). Yet here they stood, alive and victorious, however messy the process. She felt proud of them—and for the first time that night, a bit proud of herself too. Her strategic call to proceed, her intervention in the fight, her calming field at the climax—all had contributed to this outcome. Maybe, just maybe, she could shoulder this leadership mantle when needed.
The wail of sirens grew louder. Red and blue lights were flickering down the street now—someone must have reported the commotion or the partial collapse. They had to leave before authorities arrived; the last thing they needed was hard questions about why a bunch of strangers were trespassing in an old tower that just happened to implode.
“Time to ghost,” Marlon urged, already moving to gather any dropped equipment. Shiloh secured the Orrery gear safely in his satchel, wrapping it in his scarf for protection. Ari helped Dante up and offered to support him, but Dante shook his head and managed to hobble on his own with just a slight grimace—pride intact. They slipped back out the gate (leaving it conspicuously open—no time to re-chain it) and vanished into the shadowed side streets just as a firetruck’s headlights swept around the far corner toward the tower.
A few blocks away, under the awning of a closed café, the five regrouped briefly. All of them were dusty and looked like they’d been through hell, which wasn’t far from the truth. Kahmil’s hair had escaped its braid and stray coils framed her face, which Ari pointed out with a teasing smile. “You look like you fought a hurricane, Kahmil.” She laughed lightly, patting at the wild strands. “I feel like it too.” Shiloh brushed a smudge of soot from her cheek with his thumb, an affectionate gesture that made her stomach flutter. “A hurricane that we created,” he quipped softly, and they shared a knowing glance.
Dante cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to the gleaming piece Shiloh had just extracted from his bag. “Let’s see it,” Dante said. Under the streetlight, they examined the Orrery gear properly. It was beautiful—craftsmanship beyond any of the team’s modern tech. Concentric rings of etched planets and zodiac signs interlocked within the brass gear. Tiny jeweled insets marked points that likely aligned with other pieces. Kahmil felt a strange reverence holding it; it was heavy and cool, humming faintly with a latent cosmic energy.
“One more star in our pocket,” Shiloh murmured in awe. He looked up at the sky, where the clouds were clearing to reveal Orion’s belt twinkling. “Vandemeer hid this for decades. We actually found it.” His tone was equal parts astonishment and pride.
Ari threw an arm casually around Shiloh’s shoulder, giving him a light jostle. “We did. And not a minute past midnight,” he chuckled. “Talk about cutting it close.”
Marlon snorted. “You nearly got cut in half by that trap, is what you mean.” But he smirked. “Still… you’re right. We did it.” There was a glint of real satisfaction in the cynic’s eyes as he regarded the gear. For once, even Marlon couldn’t dampen the moment with gloom.
“How many does that make now? Three pieces?” Kahmil asked. She knew they’d recovered at least one prior (from that scrapyard) and another (maybe from a museum raid back in Chapter 2). Dante nodded. “This is the third, yes. According to Vandemeer’s archive, the Orrery has seven major components. We have at least the primary gear now. Four more to go.” The prospect of further quests, further dangers, hung unspoken. Four more trials like tonight—or worse.
Kahmil saw shoulders stiffen at the thought. Ari exhaled, rolling out the tension in his neck as if already preparing for the next battle. Shiloh absentmindedly tapped a rhythm on the gear’s edge, his mind likely churning with puzzle-solving for what lay ahead. Marlon lit a clove cigarette—he only did that after particularly harrowing missions, as a way to steady himself. Dante looked to the distance, eyes narrowed in calculation of what Vandemeer’s other notes might reveal.
Feeling the weight returning, Kahmil decided to strike a hopeful note. “Hey.” She waited until each of her companions met her gaze. “Tonight was rough.” A chuckle rose at the understatement. “But we made it because we did it together. I know we bicker and we all have our… styles,” she smiled fondly at Ari and Marlon especially, who exchanged a rueful glance. “But I trust each of you with my life. And I’m proud to be on this crazy journey with you.”
There was a beat of silence. Ari was the first to respond, reaching over to squeeze Kahmil’s shoulder. “Right back at you, Kahmil. Couldn’t ask for a better second-in-command.” He gave her a playful wink. “Or, hell, maybe first-in-command next time.” That earned him an eye-roll and laugh from her, but also a warm glow in her chest.
Dante stepped forward and inclined his head politely, a gesture of respect. “Your field saved us. And your guidance got us here in time. Thank you.” The Scorpionic intensity in his eyes softened; coming from the usually secretive Dante, that was high praise.
Marlon took a drag of his clove, blew a thin stream of smoke, and spoke around it gruffly. “Hear, hear. Our Saint Kahmil earned her sainthood tonight.” He gave a half-smile that was almost affectionate. “Just… try not to have to pull off miracles every mission, alright? You’ll spoil us.”
Kahmil laughed and put her hands up in surrender. “I’ll try. No promises on the miracles, though.” She was touched deeply by their words, and a little embarrassed by the attention. Leadership still felt like a coat a few sizes too large for her, but with family like this, maybe she could grow into it.
Shiloh didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, he gently placed the gear back in his satchel and then surprised Kahmil by taking her hand in front of everyone. His fingers intertwined with hers, and she felt him trembling faintly—not with fear now, but with emotion. “You were our calm in the storm, as always,” Shiloh said, voice low and full of love that he didn’t bother to hide. “I… I don’t think I can put into words how grateful I am. So—” he tilted his head, closing his eyes, and hummed a few soft notes. A soothing chord resonated in the night air around them, the tail of Shiloh’s earlier melody. It was like he’d distilled comfort and admiration into sound. The group fell quiet, absorbing the gentle music of Shiloh’s ability.
Kahmil squeezed his hand, eyes stinging just a bit with happy tears she held back. No one teased or interrupted; Ari even shushed Marlon when he looked about to crack a joke. In that brief moment, under the flicker of a streetlamp in a silent city, the Zodiac Family was utterly unified—no tensions, just trust and affection.
The shrill blip of a police siren a few streets over jolted them back to the present. Time to move before someone noticed a band of dusty misfits carrying an antique gear through town. They quickly collected themselves. “Let’s head home,” Kahmil said softly. Home was currently a rented safehouse on the outskirts of Fairport, where presumably the rest of their crew waited anxiously for news.
Shiloh offered his arm to Dante to lean on, which Dante, after a moment’s hesitation, accepted with a grateful nod—his ankle was swelling now that adrenaline ebbed. Ari fell in on Marlon’s other side, clapping him on the back. “You okay, man?” Ari asked. “Took a helluva hit up there.” Marlon shrugged. “I’ll live. Bruised ribs maybe. Nothing new.” Ari chuckled, “Tough as nails.” They walked on, comrades in arms once more.
Kahmil lingered a step behind for just a second, taking in the tableau: her family, ragtag and disparate in many ways, but shining with innate goodness and bravery under all the scars. Ari’s bold silhouette, towering and protective; Marlon’s slighter form, swaggering even now to disguise a limp; Dante’s coat fluttering as Shiloh helped him along; Shiloh himself turning back to extend his free hand toward her, a smile on his tired face inviting her to join them.
She memorized the scene, committing it to heart. This was why they would succeed in finding all the Orrery pieces—why they had to succeed. Because this family, imperfect yet bound by something stronger than blood, was worth fighting for, worth leading through any darkness.
Kahmil stepped forward and took Shiloh’s hand, walking beside him as they all slipped away into the night. Behind them, the ruined clock tower stood as a testament to the lengths they’d go to protect the world (and each other) from whatever cosmic threat loomed. Ahead of them, four more pieces of the Celestial Orrery—and no doubt many more trials—awaited in the winding streets and secret corners of Fairport and beyond.
As they disappeared down the road, Kahmil allowed herself one last introspective moment. The cool air soothed her aching lungs. She thought of Vandemeer, of whatever journal entries they had yet to decode, of the internal conflicts that had flared tonight and would surely flare again. She thought of her own doubt—how it nearly paralyzed her when the tower was collapsing—and how she overcame it to save the people she loved. In the quiet of her mind, she resolved to hold onto that lesson. She wasn’t just the gentle healer or the supportive second; tonight she had proven to herself she could be the anchor and the guide when destiny called for it.
A faint glow edged the eastern sky now, dawn not far off. Kahmil felt Shiloh squeeze her hand and she returned it, drawing strength from that simple contact. They walked on toward home, each step taking them further from crisis and closer to the next chapter of their journey. Whatever awaited—ancient mysteries, dangerous foes, or even their own inner demons—they would face it as they had tonight: side by side, with courage tempered by wisdom, and hearts united under the same stars.
And for now, in this cinematic hush before sunrise, the emotionally battered but unbroken Zodiac Family had earned their rest. The city of Fairport held its breath around them, as if honoring the fragile peace of this moment. Kahmil Avery closed her eyes briefly, offered a silent thanks to the universe, and then opened them to meet the first rays of dawn with renewed hope. The night’s darkness was ending, and together they were ready for whatever new light the coming day would bring.
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