Down a back street, away from the hunters, away from the house of death.
A man stepped from the shadows at the mouth of the alley. Beautiful face. Unsettling in its perfection. I’d seen him before. On the Nexus field the day I became Venatori. He’d been watching from the stands, still as stone while everyone around him cheered. Now he stood draped in darkness, his long coat sweeping the ground like a spill of shadow. The high collar framed his sharp jaw, and beneath it I caught the faint patterning of a tailored vest, black-on-black embroidery that drank the light instead of reflecting it. Everything he wore was immaculate, severe, too elegant, even for a place like this and far too deliberate to be mistaken for anything but dangerous. His eyes found mine for just a heartbeat as we ran. Then he turned, disappearing as quickly as he’d appeared.
The strangeness of it settled in my chest, but there was no time to think, no time to question why he was there or what it meant. We didn’t stop until we’d put six blocks between us and the townhouse. Finally, in a covered alcove that reeked of garbage, we collapsed against the wet wall.
Pip was shaking. “What—what was that? Who would?—”
“I don’t know,” I said, though my mind was racing. Fresh blood. Hours old, maybe less. Whatever did this could still be in the city. Could still be hunting.
“The second address,” Calder said quietly. “In case this wasn’t a coincidence, we need to go now.”
Chapter 28
Syneca
Never make a bargain with a demon, even from behind a locked door. They’ll still taste the shape of your darkest desires through the cracks.
We were three people taking an afternoon stroll.
Casual.
Controlled.
Just some passersby who had not recently stumbled onto a house full of fresh corpses.
The memory made me sick to my stomach, but I kept my pace measured, my expression blank. Just another day in the Tangles. Nothing to see here.
Pip flew beside us in tight circles, her wings beating faster than usual. The rune was working, but I could see the strain in her movements.
“Take it off for a bit,” Calder said quietly. “It’s draining your magic faster than you’re used to.”
“But what if?—”
“We’re not being followed. But if we were, I’d handle it.” His voice carried the casual authority that made arguing feel pointless. Without saying it, he’d decided Pip was now his to protect. Just likeIhad been seven years ago. And Vitoria a few years later. And how fucking lucky were we to have such a dangerous, loyal friend?
Pip hesitated, then pulled the rune from her chest with a small gasp of relief. The concealment magic dissipated immediately, and suddenly she was fully visible again, bright blue hair and eyes, pink cheeks, wings that looked steadier already.
“I can hold it for you,” Calder offered, extending his hand.
“No, it’s fine.” She tucked it carefully into her pocket, patting it like a treasure. “I left my lucky buckle back at Chancellery House anyway. I’ve got room.”
We cut through back streets and service alleys, working our way toward the Ruby District and the second address. The architecture changed as we moved. The Tangles’ cramped buildings and narrow passages gave way to wider streets and polished facades, the kind of neighborhood where old money lived behind pristine walls and where people minded appearances first.
Reputation was its own currency.
People watched us pass with calculating eyes. A scorched spat on the ground as we walked by, his face twisted with contempt. A lycan pulled her child closer, whispering something that made the boy stare at me with wide, frightened eyes.
Witch.The word didn’t need to be spoken. It lingered anyway. People were getting bolder these days. Probably all part of Tiberius’s plan to remove the witches entirely. But he had to convince the whole world first, not just his side of Vestra. It waspretty well known that witches weren’t welcome most places, so maybe it’d be an easy sell.
Still, the people kept their distance. The Venatori uniform helped, pressed fabric that marked us as the Magistrate’s chosen hunters. Calder’s presence helped more. He moved with a gait that suggested violence wasn’t just possible but inevitable, and people usually responded by finding somewhere else to be.
We turned a corner and nearly walked straight into a group of heretics, though. Three of them this time, huddled against a building and holding each other upright. They had ragged robes, wild eyes, and that manic energy that came from feeding faith but not the belly.
One of them was openly smoking a twisted roll of dreamleaf and ashroot, the acrid smell making my eyes water. The mixture was illegal for good reason—a powerful hallucinogenic that made reality feel negotiable and truth optional.
“The Garden of Sorrows,” the man with the roll was saying, his words slurred and dreamy. “That’s where they keep them. In Esara. All the captured lycan, chained up for the nymphs’ pleasure.”
“I’ve seen it,” the second heretic agreed, nodding so hard her hood fell back, revealing black, matted hair. “In my dreams. The crying. The chains. The?—”
