Page 134 of Veiled

“There,” Mateo says, pointing to a bunch of freshly broken reeds with green fibers split, and the surrounding mud obviously disturbed. “That looks like real movement, like someone could have really passed through there.”

Reyna crouches, running two fingers along the mud. “This feels like real mud. The small footprints would match the size of that voice we heard.”

Rhyan scans the shifting fog, tension rolling off him in waves. “If the footprints are real, then the kid might be, too.”

“Or it’s bait,” Reyna counters, wiping mud off her hands. “Clowessian illusions aren’t half-assed.”

As we make our way up the ridge, the fog thins just enough to make out the small figure sitting curled up at the base of a cypress trunk. It looks up at us, not a black eye in sight.

It’s a child—shaking, crying, real—or at least it feels real.

Mateo crouches, hands open and gentle. “Hey—we’re here to help. You’re safe now.”

The child flinches but doesn’t vanish. “D-don’t…don’t come too close…please…”

“We won’t hurt you,” I say quietly. “We’re here to get you out. Are you alone?”

The child shakes his head, tears streaking mud down his cheeks. “M-my brother, he ran when the monsters came.” A hiccup. “He said he’d find help, but—but I think they chased him.”

Mateo’s voice softens. “Which way did he run?”

The child lifts a trembling hand and points deeper into the marsh.

Reyna exhales. “Okay. We can work with that.”

I reach toward my belt. “I’m going to light a little light for you, okay? It’ll make you safe.”

The child’s breath hitches.

“It’ll be okay,” Mateo promises. “You won’t feel anything.”

I press the rune-lines together.

Brilliant, blinding white light bursts outward, and the child, the very human like child, softly dissolves into air, like dust on the wind.

Mateo’s eyes widen. “So that’s how extraction works.”

Reyna nods and glances into the fog. “That means his brother could be a ‘living’ target too.”

Before any of us can even discuss our next move, a scream tears through the marsh. High. Sharp. Undeniably a real child.

“Shit,” Rhyan breathes. “That wasn’t a decoy.”

“No,” I say, already moving. “It wasn’t.”

“Add this scary place to the list of reasons I’m becoming a spellcaster. No way am I doing stuff like this every day.” Mateo tells us as he keeps pace.

Jumping over protruding roots and dodging between tree trunks, we sprint toward the boy’s voice. Branches slap against my arms, fog tearing apart in streaks as we push through the marsh.

When the child said monsters took his brother, I expected something feral, scaled, clawed, or with fangs as long as forearms. I did not expect the three black-eyed Clowessian decoy soldiers blocking the narrow clearing ahead, standing rigid and wrong between us and our second target, who’s struggling against their hold.

“On the count of three,” Rhyan orders, voice low and calm. “We engage. Mateo, if you see an opening to get to the boy, take it. Otherwise, stay behind us.”

Mateo swallows hard. “Got it.”

Rhyan lowers his center of gravity.

“One.”