“Now,” he said. “Let’s get back to work.”
Araya tugged on her gloves,her boots scraping against the uneven cobblestones as she led them toward Ravonfar. Jaxon hadn’t even letthem go home before dragging her out to test the amulets—but at least he’d listened when she told him to park the carriage a street away, well out of sight.
She’d hoped that leaving it behind would give them some anonymity. But Jaxon, as always, commanded attention. It wasn’t just that he was human—it was the cut of his tailored coat, the way he walked with his head held high. He didn’t need his name or a black carriage to mark him as powerful—he didn’t even need to speak. He simplywas.
There was nothing to be done about it now. They would just have to get through this as best they could. Araya shifted her bag to the other shoulder, pulling her identification papers from the front pocket of her cloak.
“Hood back,” the guard barked, but he made no move to take the packet from her bandaged hand.
“I recognize that hair,” he said instead, sneering. “There’s no maternity clinic tonight, halfblood. You don’t have authorization to be here without your little midwife friend. Unless you wanted to give up more power?—”
“We’re not here for a clinic.” Jaxon pushed his own hood back, even though no one had asked him to. “Are you in the habit of imposing arbitrary restrictions on fae who wear the Arcanum’s Eye?”
“I—” The guard stammered, glancing between them. “Since when do you wear an Eye?”
Araya hooked her thumb through the chain, pulling the distinctive amulet out from beneath her cloak.
“She was awarded it when she became my bond,” Jaxon said, watching the guard squirm with a disinterested expression. “Which you’d have known—if you’d bothered to glance at her papers before you tried to take what belongs to me.”
“And who are you?” The guard managed to recover some of his composure, flushing an impressive dark red as he straightened.
“Master Jaxon Shaw," he said pleasantly. “Commander for the Arcanum. On official business under the authority of High Magister GarrickShaw—my father." He let the words hang in the air, arching an eyebrow as he stared at the guard. “Do you need to write that down?”
The guard’s mouth opened, then snapped shut as the color drained from his face. “N-no, sir. Of course not.”
Araya hadn’t meant to enjoy it, but she couldn’t help the flicker of satisfaction as the man fumbled with the gate, the clang of metal against metal echoing through the silent street as he scrambled to unlock it. Last time, he’d drained her without a second thought, confident that neither she nor Serafina would dare report him. This time, he didn’t even dare to look at her. Not with Jaxon standing at her shoulder.
“You know,” Araya murmured once they were through the gate, her voice low enough that only Jaxon could hear. “You could have just given him your name and avoided the theatrics.”
Jaxon’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “But then you wouldn’t have gotten to watch him scramble.”
Araya laughed despite herself, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like they werethemagain—the way they used to be. Jaxon’s smirk softened into a smile, his fingers sliding between hers as Araya brushed her thumb over the back of his hand, leaning into his warmth.
He’d come back for her. Fought for her. Defended her.
Because she was his. No one else got to take her power. No one else got to touch her—not unless he allowed it. He’d made that clear, over and over again.
This tension between them—it was just the project, the pressure of the Arcanum’s oversight. Once this was over, they would go back to what they’d been. She just needed to endure it a little longer.
But the farther they walked, the more oppressive the silence became. Occasionally, Araya caught a glimpse of movement—nothing more than the twitch of a curtain or the flash of a shadow darting into an alley—but no one stepped out or even allowed themselves to be seen.
They were afraid. Not of her—but of the man beside her.
Jaxon strolled at an easy pace, surveying the desolate streets with the calculating confidence of a predator taking stock of its territory. He didn’t seem bothered by their fear—if anything, he reveled in it, feeding something cold and sharp beneath his charming exterior.
“Are all of the fae districts like this?” he asked.
“Some are worse than others,” Araya replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She tried to ignore the tension knotting in her stomach as they passed a boarded window where she could have sworn she’d seen eyes peeking out, watching them. “Ravonfar is closest to the Veil—the mist is blamed for a lot of the ills here.”
“Which is exactly what we need,” Jaxon said, his voice jarringly cheerful.
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
The temperature plummetedas they walked through the empty streets, and by the time black glass crunched under their boots, Araya could see her breath in the air. She shivered beneath her heavy cloak, picking a careful path across the shards to where the mist crept over the shoreline, clinging to the waves.
“Incredible,” Jaxon breathed, staring out at the churning wall of darkness. “Look at the density—the motion. The mist must be blowing inland, which means it can be physically influenced?—”
He dug into his bag, rummaging through it. “This has to be one of the points where it comes closest to the shore. The rate of dispersion here—” he emerged with a small brass instrument, kneeling to take a measurement. “If we could isolate this…”
