A shadow detached itself from the far wall.
It wasn't like the others. This one moved with intention. Graceful. Silent.
A fifth guard?
No—too quiet. Too fluid.
The figure stepped forward, drawing a slim blade. Silver in one hand, the other hand glowing faintly with pale energy. Veins of azure light crawled up the man's arm.
Mage.
The word echoed in his head.
Reid's grin vanished.
"Oh, of course," Reid muttered, straightening with a groan. "You save the real one for dessert."
The noble's voice rang from within the carriage, full of wine, fear, and delusion. "Get him, Cassien! I'll double your wage!"
Reid rolled his eyes, spitting to the side. "Triple it. I won't even blink."
Cassien didn't answer.
He moved.
Fast.
A sudden rush of wind flared around the man, warping the air with raw force. His blade, thinner than a noble's pride, glowed faintly blue. A warning.
Reid ducked on instinct—barely. The blade hissed past his throat, missing by a whisper.
Reid retaliated immediately, twisting low and driving an elbow into Cassien's ribs. It struck, but not as it should have. The mage's robes cushioned with wind, absorbing the force like a padded wall.
Cassien pivoted with elegant precision, his cloak flaring like wings. Wind surged forward in a tight burst. Reid staggered back, off balance for a heartbeat.
Not used to that. Not one bit.
The second strike was worse—a compact gust that launched Reid sideways like a ragdoll. He smashed into the wall, bricks cracking around his shoulders. Dust cascaded down. Reid groaned, shaking the stars from his vision.
"You hit like a tavern girl," he snarled.
Cassien's expression didn't waver. He lifted one hand, and the wind bent to his will again, forming into a curved crescent of sharpened air.
Reid lunged before it could launch.
Cassien blinked. The brute was fast—unnaturally so for his size. Cassien stepped back, blade raised.
He shouldn't still be fighting, Cassien thought. That last gust should've cracked a rib.
But Reid was already there. He ducked under the blade and drove a punch into Cassien's gut. This time, the wind barrier broke with a puff of air. Cassien gasped, forced to retreat.
He adapts too fast. The mage circled, buying distance. This wasn't supposed to be a real fight. Just a scare-job.
Reid knew he was closer to his limits, the mage breaking the bones at pace faster than he could recover. But something in him etched toward those boundaries, teasing them.
Reid grinned, blood on his teeth. "C'mon, whirlwind. Show me what that oversized feather duster can do."
Cassien's lips twitched. Enough.
He raised both hands. The wind screamed.
The cobblestones cracked beneath him as raw magic coiled into a sharp whip between his palms.
Reid crouched, ready to dodge—but his limbs trembled. He knew he wouldn't move this time.
Cassien moved his wrist and an invisible force traveled toward Reid.
As if on a whim, moved by pure instinct, Reid reached out and caught the whip in his bare hands. His ribs cracked into place with a sickening pop, and for a moment, something dark—ancient—glowed in his eyes.
Cassien tugged at the whip — but it refused to obey.
Wide-eyed, he took a step forward—
—and never finished it.
Reid yanked.
The whip snapped taut with a thunderous crack, and Cassien was flung forward as if jerked by fate itself. His boots scraped the ground, balance lost, and before he could gather himself, Reid's free hand surged upward. A ripple of shadow spilled from his palm like smoke touched by lightning, crashing into Cassien's chest.
Time seemed to slow. Cassien's body froze mid-stride, his expression contorted with shock—then something inside him buckled.
He collapsed to his knees, eyes searching Reid's face, not with hatred, but with the helpless recognition of a man who had misjudged a storm.
Reid took a breath. The glow faded from his eyes, but the power still pulsed faintly in his blood. "You should've left me broken," he said quietly, voice like flint on stone. "I was easier to beat that way."
Reid slowly rose from the ground, supporting his ribs, Cassien lying unconscious near his feet.
He then turned at the noble in the carriage.
And mockingly, with all the slow flair of a jester bowing after a play, he raised his hand and gave a crisp salute.
The noble shrieked and something wet hit the carriage floor.
Reid turned away and that's when it moved. A shadow in the dark—at first imperceptible, a subtle shift in the heavy fog that clung to the streets like a second skin.
Reid's spine went rigid. A familiar weight pressed down on his shoulders, heavier than any whip or chain—older than either.
That gaze.
He had felt it before—watching him all the way from Grinholt, lurking beyond the firelight in the dead woods, hiding in the silence between his breaths. It wasn't just watching him. It was studying him.
His eyes snapped upward.
There—on the roof above the carriage—a shape knelt in perfect stillness. Humanoid, but wrong in the way broken clocks still tick.
Two eyes stared down at him. No glow. No shine. Just infinite black. Hunger wrapped in sentience.
Reid's heart thudded once, twice—and for the first time ever since he woke up, he felt truly cold.
It hadn't come for the noble.It hadn't come for Cassien.
It had come for him.
And Reid was dying to know why.