He glanced sidelong at her, his eyes not vacant as usual, but not quite revealing any clear emotion, either—perhaps a glimmer of scrutiny if she had to peg it. Raindrops clung to his lashes, trailing down the sharp planes of his face, but he seemed indifferent to the cold seeping through their clothes. "Then, Hallowed, we meet with a friend."
She let out a derisive snort. "I didn't know you had those."
It was a half-truth. She knew Tristan counted as his friend, but the idea of him engaging in anything resembling normalcy remained an oddity to her.
He went quiet, the silence stretching between them filled only by the rhythmic drumming of rain. After a long pause, his voice came again, softer this time, rougher around the edges. "I don’t have many. Not ones who last."
Elara’s throat tightened, something uncomfortably heavy settling inside her chest. She watched a droplet slide off his jawline, disappearing into his cloak. The vulnerability in his admission caught her off guard. "I don’t either," she admitted softly, her gaze dropping to the puddles forming at their feet.
He didn’t respond, didn’t offer anything in return. But he stayed. Sat there in the silence with her, with the weight of what they’d both admitted hanging between them. Elara swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering like wings against her throat.
The Hunter cleared his throat, shifting his weight. His eyes flicked back to the narrow passage ahead. "We should move," he said, the familiar guardedness slipping back into his tone. Without another word, he rose, crossing to a second ladder at the far edge of the roof. He stopped at the top, his dark silhouette stark against the misty night, a quick glance cast over his shoulder before he gestured for her to go first.
Elara exhaled, rising to her feet, her limbs still heavy. But this time, the climb was easier. The gloves, worn soft from his hands,helped her grip the wet, slippery rungs with ease. It felt like only seconds before her feet hit the ground with a soft splash.
Before she could fully take in her surroundings, the Hunter landed beside her, silent as death. He jerked his head in that familiar, wordless way, motioning for her to follow.
Without a sound, they slipped into the market—a labyrinth of narrow alleys and clustered stalls. The air was dense, saturated with the mingled scents of exotic spices, sizzling meats, and the underlying tang of damp earth. Vendors hawked their wares with hoarse shouts—offering everything from dubious potions to tarnished trinkets—while eyes hidden beneath tattered hoods assessed passersby with predatory interest. Strings of faded prayer flags fluttered overhead, their once-vibrant colors now muted and frayed.
Elara kept her head down, the hood of her cloak pulled low to shadow her features. Her skin prickled with unease, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold seeping into her bones. But the Hunter moved without hesitation, his stride confident and unyielding. His cloak billowed slightly with each step, revealing glimpses of the weapons concealed beneath. She stayed close, heart pounding.
Just as the claustrophobic press of the market threatened to overwhelm her, something caught her eye—a tent set apart from the rest, tucked into a quiet recess between leaning buildings. From within, a faint glint of metal flashed, a subtle sparkle that stood out against the drab surroundings.
Elara stopped, feet rooted to the spot as curiosity flickered to life within her. Taking a cautious step forward, she reached out and pushed the tent flap aside.
Inside, the dim light revealed a simple setup. The space was small, walls lined with tattered cloth that did little to keep out the cold. A single lantern hung from the center pole, casting awarm but flickering glow that danced over the objects laid out before her.
Rings.Elementalrings—dozens of them scattered across a stained velvet cloth draped over a makeshift table of stacked crates. The way they were strewn about felt careless—tossed aside rather than displayed with the reverence they deserved. Elara frowned, her steps slowing as she moved closer. She reached out but hesitated, her fingertips hovering above a ring adorned with a teardrop-shaped amethyst.They must be fakes, she thought, a weak attempt by some charlatan to swindle the uninformed. Yet, the level of detail was astounding—the weight of the metals, the precision of the engravings, the subtle glow that seemed to emanate from within the gemstones. These were qualities not easily replicated. Still, something about the setup made her uneasy.
A soft rustling from behind drew her attention. Elara turned to find the Hunter standing at the threshold. His hood was pulled low, obscuring his features, but not enough to hide the tight clench of his jaw.
His gaze dropped to the rings scattered across the grimy wooden crate, eyes narrowing beneath the shadowed brim.
Then it crashed into her—a jolt of rage that wasn't her own.
It tore through her veins like wildfire racing through a dry forest, consuming everything in its path. The sensation stole the air from her lungs; her chest tightened, the corset of her dress suddenly suffocating.
The Hunter's eyes flicked to hers, glinting like shards of obsidian. The shape of the stone around her neck became more pronounced—a cold presence against her skin, humming faintly, and Elara saw a flicker of something in his gaze: vulnerability there and gone in an instant, like shutters slamming closed.
"Let's go," he muttered. He turned sharply, the dark fabric of his cloak swirling around him as he strode out of the tent.
Elara stood rooted for a beat longer, the phantom heat of his anger still pulsing beneath her skin, leaving a tingling trail that raised goosebumps along her arms. She pressed her lips together, frustration and curiosity warring within her. But with a sigh, she relented. There would be another time, another place for questions.
She followed him out of the market, leaving behind the dwindling calls of vendors. The transition from the bustling square to the deserted side street was abrupt—the noise faded into an eerie quiet, and the warm glow of lanterns gave way to the dim, uneven light cast by a sliver of moon peeking through the narrow gap between towering buildings.
They turned down a narrow side street. The alleyway was tight, barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast, the way ahead swallowed by darkness save for the faint glimmer of candlelight flickering through windows. As they turned the corner, shadows shifted ahead, and before Elara could react, five Legionnaires stepped from doorways and alcoves, forming a solid wall across the narrow passage.
Elara cast a sidelong glance at the Hunter. His posture remained relaxed, but she didn't miss the subtle shift of his hand toward the fold of his cloak. She felt a pulse from the shard at her neck, a faint warmth that steadied her nerves.
The leader took a step forward, the sound of steel grating against iron as he rested a gauntleted hand on the hilt of his sword. "Hunter," he muttered, dipping his head in a show of respect. "What brings you skulking around these parts?"
The hint of mockery danced in his tone, but caution flickered in his gaze—like he knew poking a sleeping beast might get him bitten. The Hunter moved ever so slightly, positioning himself just a fraction more in front of her.
“Thought you were off chasing bigger, shinier fools than the scum around here,” another sneered, a cold chuckle rumbling inhis chest. His gaze slid past the Hunter and locked onto Elara. The moment stretched, unbearable, as his eyes raked over her. The smug smile faltered—suspicion flickering, then snapping into realization.
“Wait. Is thather?”
A spike of fear shot through Elara, the lump in her throat refusing to budge. The Hunter's stance shifted again, this time completely blocking their view of her. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the coiled tension ready to spring.
