Tugging on Blake’s hair, the little girl pointed toward the bustling crowd at the edge of the square. With an easygoing shrug, Blake and his family drifted in that direction.
Pulling my hood lower, I shadowed them from a distance.
“What are you doing?” Calla hissed.
“I—don’t know. I just— You don’t need to come with me,” I sputtered.
“Like hell am I leaving you alone, Rubi.”
The street performer wielded a whip of living metal, its form shifting seamlessly between liquid and solid as he moved. With a flick of his wrist, it snapped into a rigid staff, launching him into a spinning vault before liquefying midair and coiling around his arm. The crowd gasped as he sent it slicing through floating metal rings, reshaping it with each strike. In a final flourish, he cracked it forward, the weapon melting seamlessly into the city’s metal-veined streets before slithering back to his wrist, re-forming into a simple whip as he bowed.
Blake applauded as eagerly as the rest of the crowd, his grin wide and unguarded, that cursed dimple flashing. I struggled to reconcile the man I knew with the one standing before me.
He looked different. Younger. Lighter. Beneath his plain cloak, he was dressed like a commoner, in a cotton tunic and worn leather boots. But it wasn’t just the clothes. It was the way he carried himself, the effortless ease in his stance. There were no weapons strapped to his back, no sharp-edged calculation in his expression.
This man seemed gentle and loving, tenderness in his eyes as he ruffled his daughter’s hair. It was a lighter shade than his but unmistakably bronze.
This Blake was so appealing, he took my breath away. It couldn’t be the same man. Could this be his twin brother, Zayden? Had Zayden somehow survived?
I started creeping closer for a better—
The ground buckled, a violent tremor ripping through the city. The faces of the crowd froze in terror for one breathless moment before everything detonated into chaos.
I turned toward Calla, shouting, “Go to Quinn! Make sure Edith is safe!”
“But, Rubi—”
“I’ll be fine, Calla. Please,” I begged. “Go!”
She hesitated again, staring at me with a frustrated pull in her brow, before she huffed and took off running full speed through the panicking crowd.
A deafening crack split the air as metal groaned and shattered, the enchanted filigree woven into the streets fracturing like broken glass. The pulse of magic beneath my feet stuttered, then surged in a wild, uncontrolled burst, sending shock waves through the square. Screams tore through the revelry as people stumbled, some thrown to the ground by the force of the quake.
“It’s the Ironstorm!” a few voices shouted, mixing with others as they yelled, “Rebel attack! Run!”
Lanterns swung wildly overhead, casting jagged, erratic shadows as chunks of stone and metal wrenched free from buildings, crashing down in a hail of destruction. The scent of fire and scorched iron filled the air, and in the heart of it all, something darker, something immense, stirred beneath the surface.
Blake’s cloak hit the ground, discarded in a heartbeat. Athundervein dagger shimmered in his grip, crackling with latent power. His face was a mask of lethal intent.
This was the Blake I knew.
The woman yanked their daughter behind her. “How could you,” she said, her voice trailing off in pain. “There are innocents—”
“This isn’t my doing,” he bit out. “Yvonne, get Poppy home. Now.”
She hesitated, searching his face, then gave a sharp nod. “We’re close by. Go. Find out who’s behind this.”
Blake sprinted toward the heart of the chaos. The ground trembled beneath his feet. The veins of metal running beneath the city had ruptured, leaving jagged shards jutting from the streets like serrated teeth. Shrapnel was everywhere. Blood slicked the stone. Cries of pain and panic filled the air. Bodies lay in the street.
Masked men, their arms wrapped in rebel bands, wove through the carnage, striking with ruthless efficiency. Their blades flashed as they cut down Silvers, the elite now reduced to desperate fighters.
Blake leapt into the fray.
What he didn’t see was the group of demons spilling out from the park, moving like ink bleeding into the world. They didn’t charge. They slithered, silent at first, spreading through the unsuspecting crowd Blake had left behind.
I caught sight of Yvonne. She had Poppy in her arms, her face white with terror as she ran. But then she skidded to a stop so fast it nearly sent her sprawling.
A Thirst demon blocked her path.
