“Someone I know.” He scanned the crowd, searching for the source. “Or knew.”
The crowd parted and the Vultor emerged.
He was larger than Rykan, but only marginally, with the broad shoulders and long limbs characteristic of their kind. His dark hair was cropped close to his skull in a warrior’s cut, and silver scars traced patterns across his exposed forearms. His eyes were amber rather than gold, and they widened with recognition the moment they landed on him.
“Well.” The voice was low, rough. “Look what the mountains dragged down.”
“Baylin.”
The name tumbled out before he could stop it, carrying with it a flood of memories he’d spent years trying to bury. Training matches in the dawn light. Hunting runs through the mountain forests. The silent understanding of two warriors who knew each other’s movements as well as their own.
Baylin had been his second. His closest friend. The one who’d offered to leave with him when everything fell apart.
“The pack needs you,” he’d told him instead. “Stay. Keep them safe from my brother’s weakness.”
Baylin had stayed. And he had walked into the mountains alone.
Now they stood facing each other in a Port Cantor market, surrounded by humans who had no idea what they were witnessing. The recognition between them was palpable, heavy with years and distance and everything that had gone unspoken.
“I thought you were dead,” Baylin said finally. “When you didn’t come back. When no one heard anything for years. I thought the mountains had finally taken you.”
“They tried.”
Baylin’s gaze shifted to Ember, and his expression flickered. Curiosity. Assessment. The careful evaluation of a warrior measuring a potential threat.
“And who’s this?”
She had tensed beside him, uncertain of her role in this unexpected reunion. He tightened his grip on her wrist—not restraining, but reassuring—and met Baylin’s eyes squarely.
“My mate.”
The words hung in the air between them. Baylin’s brows rose, and something that might have been amusement flickered across his scarred features.
“Your mate.” He tilted his head, studying her with renewed interest. “A human?”
“Does that matter?”
“No.” Baylin’s voice was thoughtful. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” He inclined his head towards her in a gesture of respect that surprised him. “I am Baylin. I had the honor of serving as your mate’s second, in another life.”
Her gaze flicked to Rykan, and he could see the questions forming behind her eyes. But she simply nodded, her composure flawless.
“I’m Ember. It’s a pleasure to meet someone from Rykan’s past.”
“I imagine there’s much he hasn’t told you,” Baylin said dryly. “He was never one for words.”
“He’s mentioned a few things.”
“The broad strokes, I’m sure. Never the details.” Baylin looked at him again, his expression shifting to something more serious. “We should talk. Properly.”
He hesitated. The market wasn’t the place for this conversation—too public, too exposed. But Ember deserved to know who Baylin was and why his sudden appearance mattered.
“There’s a place nearby,” she said quietly, reading his uncertainty. “A private courtyard behind the textile exchange. My father used it for discreet meetings.”
He glanced at her, surprised at the suggestion, but she met his gaze steadily.
“He’s your friend. Talk to him.”
The courtyard was small but well-maintained, its walls covered in climbing vines that blocked the view from surrounding buildings. A single bench sat beneath a twisted ornamental tree,and the sound of a small fountain masked their conversation from any nearby ears.
