Prove to me you’re not a waste of your mother’s life.
The words claw at my chest with talons sharper than any weapon I’ve trained with. I breathe through the ache, willing away the toxic brew of anger and pain threatening to drown me.
The weight of my assignment is suffocating, an iron mantle pressing down on my shoulders. Compete in Eretria’s Royal Trials. Win—no matter the cost. I can almost see the image my father has of me: fragile, disposable. But I don’t exist to prove him right or wrong. I’ll succeed because I have to. It’s the only way to protect Nyssa.
The only way to carve out a life beyond his shadow.
The coarse rasp of a sandal on cobblestone slices through the silence, drawing me away from my swirling thoughts. My heart jolts as I draw into the shadows of an alcove, plastering myself against a wooden door. My fingers brush over the worn texture of the wood, seekingpurchase as the darkness envelops me. I steady my breaths and strain my senses to hear past the sound of my blood rushing in my ears.
Cursing myself for being so on edge, I peer into the dimly lit street that leads to the Aviary’s front courtyard, eyes narrowing when I spot a cloaked figure staring up at the building. The height and broad build suggest the figure is a man, but it’s the tense set to his wide shoulders that awakens my curiosity. The insistent creature unfurls from its slumber in the pit of my stomach, stretching languidly and clawing for attention. Ravenous for the secrets hidden behind the man’s presence as he circles around the side of the wall.
His movements are too purposeful. Too poised.
Familiar.
I imagine I look much the same on my clandestine visits to see my brother at the palace. My eyes narrow as the man disappears behind the building. The inky tendrils of shadows eagerly reach out to embrace him as he walks farther into their depths.
I hesitate, listening to the sound of his footsteps echoing through the night, steadily growing fainter. I shouldn’t follow him. I should go inside, curl up in my bed, and get a good night’s rest before I prepare for my assignment.
Despite myself, I hover on the knife’s edge of indecision, wondering which way I fall will cut the least.
Fuck it.
I slip from the alcove, matching my footsteps with the distant echo of his as he walks away from the Aviary. Falling into the stealth I have developed through my training, I stalk through the sinewy maze of alleyways, dodging the pools of light that spill from the windows of cramped buildings. The man’s path is irregular, weaving through the labyrinthine back streets of Vinta toward the southern side of the isle.
When he rounds a corner, a subtle tingle hums through my veins, growing stronger until a surge of energy floods my body. My heart rate quickens, pounding in my chest like a drum in time with each calculated step. Every sensation becomes heightened, and the starlit night around me takes on more vibrant hues.
Shadows turn violet.
Puddles of light gain an incandescent glow.
And that’s when I hear it, or rather, thelackof it.
Footsteps no longer sound in front of me.
I pause at the edge of the building—muscles tense, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice—and peer around the corner.
The alley is empty.
He’s just…gone.
The frustration building in my chest flares as I scan the shadows, searching for some trace of him. But the stillness around me offers nothing—no rustle of fabric, no soft footfalls. I take a shaky breath, willing my pulse to quell, but the irritation of being outmaneuvered lingers.
“Always so curious.” The voice comes from behind, low and rough like the scrape of stone against steel.
Before I can react, my back slams against the rough alley wall. A forearm pins me in place, pressing hard against my shoulders—cold and unyielding, just like the man looking down at me.
Raven.
I should have known it was him.
He always moved like that—quiet, precise, and controlled. That’s to be expected, I suppose, when the Eagle has trained you from the age of seven. While other Fledglings claw their way through ten years of blood, sweat, and discipline, Raven completed his training in eight.
Shadow partially cloaks his face, the dim light catching on the sharp planes of his jaw and the faint downward tilt of his lips. But even those small glimpses are enough to send shivers down my spine.
“I see some things never change,” Raven murmurs, but there’s no humor in it—only muted observation, as if he’s assessing who I’ve become since we last stood this close.
The shadows beneath his hood draw my gaze as his forearm presses harder against my shoulder. His entire body is taut, like a bowstring pulled tight, trembling on the verge of snapping.
