The next few weeks had been a blur of missed hunts, sloppy kills, and whiskey bottles. I told myself I didn’t care. I told myself he’d chosen a corpse over me, and I was better off. But that wasn’t the truth.
The truth was, I’d loved Donovan long before that night. Before Declan and before everything went to hell. It started years ago, on my first mission.
I was still a rookie back then. Barely twenty, too eager to prove I wasn’t just some charity case the Guild took in. They’d assigned me to Donovan’s unit. I remember thinking I’d lucked out.
Everyone wanted to work under him. He wasefficient and sharp. The kind of hunter who made even the ugliest kills look clean. We’d been sent after a fledgling vampire hiding in the sewers beneath the city.
The air had reeked of rot and iron. I’d tried to act unfazed, knife in hand, heart beating a mile a minute. I’d told him I was ready.
He’d given me one look and said, “No one’s ever ready for their first kill, Kit. Just remember to aim for the heart, and don’t hesitate.”
I hesitated. The vampire lunged faster than I could think. I froze, every instinct screaming, but my body wouldn’t move. I’d have been dead right there if Donovan hadn’t shoved me aside.
His knife went in smooth and sure, his arm steady even as blood sprayed his coat. The vampire dropped.
I remember him crouching beside me afterward, his voice calm but firm. “You can’t afford to freeze, Kit. You freeze, you die. You die, someone else does too.”
I’d tried to laugh it off, but I was shaking so hard I couldn’t even sheath my blade. He reached out, gripped my shoulder, and said, “You’ll get there.”
That was all it took. That one moment of kindness. That one touch. After that, I’d followed him anywhere. Trained until my hands bled. Killed things twice my size just to hear him saygood work, Kit.
I told myself it was hero worship, but deep down, I knew better.
Every hunt, every night at the Guild’s safehouse, every late debrief where it was just the two of us, it all built into something I didn’t have a name for yet. I’d catch myself watching him when he wasn’t looking.
The way he cleaned his blade with careful precision. The way his eyes softened, just barely, when he thought no one was watching. Then he stood by Declan instead of killing him.
After that, something broke.
I stopped showing up to morning briefings. Started picking fights I couldn’t finish. Took on hunts I didn’t care about, just to burn off the ache. Every kill felt heavier. Every bottle lighter.
The Guild stopped trusting me. I stopped trusting myself. The knife I’d once carried with pride started to feel like a reminder of everything I wasn’t anymore.
I leaned back in my chair, the world tilting faintly around me. The whiskey didn’t help, but at least it made the memories softer around the edges.
Donovan had made his choice, and I was still here, half-drunk, chasing ghosts.
“Kit.”
My name hit like a slap. I blinked and turned. Three hunters stood in the doorway, sunlight at their backs, cutting through the dim haze of the bar.
For a second I thought about ducking, pretending I hadn’t heard. But they’d already spotted me. The one in front, Marcus Hale, grinned wide, all teeth.
I’d trained him once, years back. He used to call me sir.
“Didn’t think we’d find you here,” Marcus said, swaggering closer.
His two shadows followed. Leena and Briggs, both younger, both eager. I could smell the Guild’s righteous stink on them from across the room. Steel oil, leather, and arrogance.
“I live here now,” I muttered, raising my glass. “Cheaper than rent.”
Leena laughed, a brittle sound. “He’s not joking, either.”
I ignored her, but my fingers tightened around the glass.
Marcus leaned an elbow on the bar, close enough that I could see my reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. I was unshaven, eyes rimmed red, shirt wrinkled.
“Word’s going around, Kit,” he said. “You botched another hunt last week.”
