The girl was a phantom.
I followed the pulse of her magic through the city’s veins like a dying man chasing the scent of water. Her presence burned in the ley lines—barely there, a shimmer of starlight against my shadow—but I could feel her
Starborn.
Every Death Mage in The Spire would kill to get their hands on her. Some would do worse.
But she was mine.
It should not have taken me this long to find her. I moved through the alleys of the capital like a storm—quiet, fast, lethal. I passed through illusion wards and mirror-glamours without hesitation. But the farther I followed the trail, the more resistance I felt.
Someone wasmasking her.
Someone with power.
By the time I reached the grim stone building squatting like a prison at the edge of the river quarter, the stars had shifted,and several moons hung high. All the lights were out. The city had gone quiet. But I didn’t need sunlight to see. The darkness welcomed me like a lover.
This was the place. Her essence was everywhere.
I stepped onto the cracked stoop, raised my hand, and pounded on the door hard enough to rattle the hinges.
Once. Twice.
A third time—and the rusted lock snapped open from within.
The door creaked open a sliver. A sliver was all I needed.
A woman peered out at me with sharp eyes sunken deep into folds of skin. She wore a threadbare shawl and the scent of vinegar. Her mouth opened to curse me—or question me—but the words caught in her throat when her gaze locked onto the sigil woven into my cloak. The Spire.
The old woman shuddered before meeting my gaze. “What do you want, Death Mage? The hour is late.”
“Let me in,” I said, voice low, controlled. Barely. The woman I sought hid within these walls. Her presence made my pulse race, by lungs burn. My cock harden and ache.
She hesitated, then opened the door wider and stepped back, wringing her hands. “We’re closed. The girls are asleep?—”
“Not all of them.”
I moved past her like a shadow with purpose, ignoring the stench of mold and ancient dust. The interior was even worse than the outside—cold stone walls, rotted wooden beams, the distant creak of something large and broken. The sounds of rats rustling under the floorboards. I didn’t care.
The moment I passed the threshold, I staggered.
She was gone. The absence of her was like a physical punch to my gut, as if a fire had been there and gone, leaving only the scorch behind.
I followed the trace of starfire magic up the narrow stairs, into a hallway lined with heavy wooden doors. Her magic clung to the walls like perfume. Faint. Fragile.
I stopped before one of the doors.
This room was hers.
I pressed my palm against the wood and felt it pulse faintly beneath my skin—like her soul had touched it once, long enough to mark it. My chest ached. My breath came unevenly.
I pushed the door open.
The room was empty.
The bed was cold.
The scent of her—lavender, ink, and warmth—faded like mist. Her things were gone. Every instinct inside me roared.
