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“Him,” Kyer corrected, eyes flitting to Jarek. “You need to find Luka first.” Jarek said nothing, averting his gaze toward the lights of the town beyond the orchard. “Whatever distaste you have for him, it’s time you put it behind you.”

“Lilith’s life is worth more to Eizreth.”

“And without Luka, we won’t have Lilith.” Hard shadows danced in the creases of Kyer’s face. “If she is inside and figures out he’s there too, she’ll be looking for him. Start with the center of town, but security is getting tight.” Kyer flicked his chin beyond the orchard where lights flashed from the top of the wall. “Use who you have inside to get things under control. Maude made it in through the tunnel before the raids reached their peak and Whart locked the gates.”

Jarek kept silent, eyeing the distance he worried shadows couldn’t take him.

Kyer watched him with all that knowledge lurking behind his soul. “I’ve put a lot of faith in you. I hope you won’t run with it just yet.”

For Kyer’s respect, Jarek would tell him what he wanted to hear, and for Lilith’s happiness, he would try. “It’s never been my intention to mistreat what you’ve given me.”

“Good man.” Kyer patted his back. “Where do you plan to start?”

Jarek gripped under the wound on his left arm. One more time. He could manage shadow walking one more time.

He pictured the sewage system he’d traversed beneath the town while stocking supplies in the tunnels with Maude—peering through sewer grates at street level. He remembered the schoolhouse across from him, the hollow space beneath the stairs leading up to the entrance.

The Serpent, which had been trailing up and down the back of his neck all evening, engulfed him at the thought, its essence rushing through his veins. Jarek desperately clung to his mind as he manifested in the dark, empty streets of Markoth.

He knelt beneath the hollow space under the stairs, breathless and seeing stars, but still coherent.

A long breath left him before he pushed into the streets. Staying in the shadows, he only heard the echo of his own footfalls as he moved from avenue to avenue, searching for any sign of life.

The smell of burning embers hung in the air.

He crept around a corner, finding the remnants of a fire. Smoke drifted from a hole blown through the wall. A small explosion. Jarek waited until he was certain the site was abandoned before moving in to search.

The smoke thinned into a narrow street lined with inns as he descended a short set of stairs.

He came upon two bodies hidden in the dark—then a third. Southern soldiers. Two Rogians, the last a Terin, the blue of his armor catching in the flicker of a nearby lamp.

Something rattled to his left. Jarek turned toward it, the Serpent shifting warily beneath his skin.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, the sound too loud in the silence. Inside was the lobby of a small inn, torchlight still burning along the walls. A faint shuffling drew his attention to the front counter.

Peering over it, he found a small figure with curly brown hair slumped against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around folded legs.

The boy looked up, relief breaking across his face—golden eyes widening.

Luka.

Jarek was thrust into the building by an unseen force, slamming into the far wall. The Serpent diverted its power to dull the pain as he rolled behind a stack of barrels.

Heavy footsteps fell on the wooden floors.

Fuck. This wasn’t good. He was already so weak.

Jarek regained his composure before seizing the shadows from the moonlight spilling through the front windows. In an instant, he was blinded, and the shadows evaporated in a flash of light.

“Not who I was hoping for,” a man’s voice said. The blinds slammed shut, and the torch clattered to the ground. “But I can make adjustments.”

Telekinesis.

Jarek blinked until his sight settled enough he could examine his adversary; a man of solid build, candidly adjusting the cuff of his burgundy jacket. He bore a deep red soul, barely visible through the dark.

And he stunk of escence. A Vulpes blessed Escardian, no doubt.

Jarek’s gaze latched onto the fading glow creeping up under his sleeve—solidified curiosity. Its tangible form was heated light.