As Jake stepped away from the mezzanine railing and turned down the dim corridor of the stairwell, a sudden, sharp warmth flared deep behind his left eye.
He stopped completely, his hand freezing against the cold mahogany handrail.
Through the lingering veil of his irritation, a jagged, glowing golden projection materialized in the air just above Alex's head. Jake had seen these lines before—clean, climbing trajectories over many people, and a brutal, crashing crimson cascade over Robert Cage. But this line was different.
Hovering over Alex was a massive, brilliant, almost blinding golden trend line. It didn't waver, and it didn't stutter. It tore through the shadows of the upper tier, slanting upward in an incredibly powerful, aggressive bullish trajectory. The sheer velocity of the ascent vibrated with an intense force, carving its path toward the ceiling as if insulated against any immediate friction.
