I’d lost track of how long I’d been inside the city, but my sense of it itched under my skin. Push it too far and the others would start to worry. Push it further and Doyle would be more than annoyed.

  “Time to leave?” the sword hummed.

  I nodded.

  One last change back into Nick, then out the way I’d come. That was the plan.

  The streets were thicker with bodies now. The crowd pressed closer, louder, heat and motion closing in from all sides. I ignored the tight pressure that had settled between my shoulders and headed for the crate where I’d changed before.

  A shout rippled through the street behind me. Something sharp and sudden. I kept my head down and walked on.

  When I reached the alley, my breath caught.

  The crate was gone.

  I swore under my breath and turned, only to find the street where I had come from was too crowded to retreat without drawing attention. So, I went deeper instead, the alley narrowing as I moved, walls closing in. I glanced back once, then again. No one followed.

  A few steps on, I slipped into a shallow alcove beneath an overhang, a back door set into the stone. Above me, shutters and blinds were drawn tight, the buildings turned inward and asleep. The city felt distant here, muffled.

  I exhaled and reached for the change.

  As I did a new sensation slammed into me.

  It came all at once, like a sudden gust, hard enough to steal my breath. Instinct took over. I flinched sideways and stumbled back.

  Something sliced through the space where I’d been standing.

  Wind tore past my face, sharp and cold, close enough to make my skin prickle. Then it was gone.

  The alley stood empty.

  My heart hammered as I stared at the space in front of me, every sense screaming that I hadn’t imagined it.

  My sword hummed, sharp and urgent, and my hand went to it without thought. My heart slammed against my ribs as I pulled the blade free. Noise from the street spilled into the alley in broken echoes, boots and voices blurring together, but it wasn’t loud enough to hide the careful footstep that crossed the stone in front of me.

  I turned.

  Nothing.

  I raised the sword, stance tight and uncertain. The tip struck something solid. Sparks burst, bright and sudden, followed by a wash of ash as my blade drank in the essence of a dagger mid-thrust. The weapon vanished in its depths.

  A woman snapped into view where the parry had landed, her snarl twisting into confusion as her hand closed on empty air.

  I froze.

  It was her. The woman from the tavern.

  She stepped back at the same time I did, eyes flicking to my sword. Her hand dropped to her belt and came up with another dagger. I tried to reset my grip, to bring the blade back in line, but she was already moving. Too fast.

  Her knife skimmed past my sword and the hilt cracked into my wrist. Pain flared white and hot. My fingers spasmed and the sword slipped free, clanging against the stone at my feet.

  The pain came roaring back as my curse surged without the sword’s weight to steady it. My vision swam.

  Before I could recover, her leg hooked mine. The world tipped and I hit the ground hard, breath tearing out of me. She was on me at once, knee pinning me down, dagger pressed cold against my throat.

  “What did you do to Ricky?” she spat.

  The blade dug closer, ready to bite.

  “Ricky?” I said, breath ragged. “Who’s that?”

  Her face tightened, anger flashing hot and sudden. “How many have you killed?”

  Her gaze flicked to the sword on the ground, doubt creeping in. She shifted her weight, clearly deciding whether to strike again. Her first attack had cost her surprise, and she didn’t look the type to make the same mistake twice.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “Killed?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

  For a heartbeat, her certainty wavered.

  “The noble,” she said. “The black-haired boy. This blonde one. Ricky. Who else?”

  “No one,” I said. “None… I’m no killer!”

  Her dagger dipped, just a fraction. “The black-haired boy left the tailor,” she said. “So did you.” She gestured between us with the blade. “I followed you.”

  So that was it.

  That crawling pressure between my shoulders. The sense of eyes I could never quite catch. It hadn’t been paranoia. It had been her.

  “He’s alive,” I said quickly. “I haven’t killed anyone.”

  She leaned in closer, anger sharpening her features as she searched my face for cracks. Then something in her faltered. A breath ago she’d been certain. Now doubt crept in.

  “Bullshit,” she muttered.

  She lowered the blade another inch, though it still hovered close enough to feel cold against my skin. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. Tired.

  “The rune you’re using,” she said. “Changing your face. It’s illegal.”

  Jerald and Brent had circled that truth without ever landing on it. Warnings without explanations.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

  Her anger snapped back. “And you don’t care?”

  “Care about what?” I asked.

  Her jaw worked as she forced herself to slow down. When she spoke, each word seemed to weigh on her. “To create a rune like that. To change a person’s face.” She swallowed. “You need their essence. The person used to make it.” Her eyes flicked away. “They have to die.”

  The word hit harder than the dagger ever had.

  “Die?” My chest tightened. Brent’s face flashed through my mind. The way he’d avoided my eyes when he handed me the medallion. The sick thought I’d pushed away clawed back up my throat.

  “Then Ricky?” I asked, barely managing the words.

  Her grip tightened. “You killed him.”

  “No,” I said, the word tearing out of me. “I didn’t. I was given a medallion.”

  She froze.

  Her eyes sharpened, flicking from my face to the fallen sword and back again. Whatever certainty she’d been holding onto drained away, leaving something raw and unsettled in its place.

  “Who gave it to you?” she asked.

  “A friend,” I said. “They told me it was illegal.”

  “Who?” she snapped.

  Her knee pressed harder into me. Pain flared as my curse stirred in response, hot and cruel. I clenched my teeth and stayed silent. The medallion hadn’t been given out of malice, but necessity. Either way, I wouldn’t trade someone else’s life for my own freedom.

  I forced myself to look past the pain and take her in properly. She was covered head to toe, layers of cloth and leather. Only her face and hands were bare.

  Only if she attacks again, I told myself. I knew the pain too clearly to want that burden on anybody.

  Her jaw set. “Fine,” she said. “If you won’t give me a name, then where is it?” She stepped closer. “Give it to me.”

  I shook my head. “It’s gone. I absorbed the rune.”

  “Impossible,” she said, the word sharp with disbelief.

  Her gaze slid past me and fixed on the sword.

  Something changed in her expression. The anger faltered, replaced by a sharp, dawning realisation. She stared at the blade the way someone looks at a body that should not be standing. Her eyes traced its edge, the way it hummed faintly, the ash still clinging to the stone where her dagger had vanished.

  Understanding hit her all at once.

  “It ate it,” she whispered, moving towards it.

  “No,” I said, the word tearing out of me. “Don’t.”

  She lunged.

  Before I could blink, her hand closed around the hilt.

  Her body instantly went rigid. She screamed but no sound came out.

  “No,” I shouted, diving for her.

  My hand caught the blade instead of the grip. Pain exploded up my arm as the edge bit deep, blood slicking the steel. I ignored the pain. I wrapped my other arm around her wrist and pulled with everything I had.

  My curse surged, flooding the blade. My vision blurred. My teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached. For a moment it felt endless, like the sword would take everything if I let it.

  “Stop,” I gasped, whether to the sword or myself I didn’t know.

  The hum faltered.

  Then, abruptly, the pull released.

  She collapsed, crumpling to the stone as the sword went quiet in my hand. I dropped beside her at once, heart hammering, breath tearing in and out of my chest.

  Her skin had gone grey. Lips pale.

  “Is she breathing?” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. For a terrible moment, I thought it was already too late.

  “Stupid girl,” the sword said.

  “How do I save her?” I asked, panic tightening my chest.

  The sword didn’t answer.

  Then I remembered. My hands shook as I dug into my coat and pulled out one of the foundation elixirs. The vial felt impossibly fragile between my fingers.

  “Are you sure…?”

  I ignored the sword. I pressed the vial to her lips and tipped it carefully, watching, praying, as the liquid vanished.

  Seconds stretched.

  Then she coughed.

  Colour crept back into her face in slow, reluctant waves. Her chest began to rise and fall, steadier with each breath.

  I stayed there longer than I meant to, kneeling in the alley, blood dripping from my hand, guilt pressing down on me until it hurt to breathe.

  When her eyes finally fluttered open, unfocused but alive, she looked at me like she didn’t know what to do with the truth anymore.

  After a while, her fingers loosened. Her shoulders sagged, whatever fight she’d been holding onto draining away.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I told you,” I said. “I’m no killer.”

  She lay there for a time, her gaze drifting to the empty elixir vial as the cost of saving her seemed to sink in. It took her a while to gather herself before she spoke again.

  “This medallion,” she said. “What did it look like?” Her voice was thin.

  I told her. Plain silver. Worn smooth. Hung on a red cord. Nothing special to look at.

  As I spoke, her focus sharpened. Each detail landed hard, fitting into something she already knew. Recognition settled across her face.

  Not relief.

  She pushed herself to her feet, picked up the dagger where it had fallen, and squared herself again. Words gathered on her tongue. I could see them there, sharp and bitter, curses and accusations waiting to spill out.

  She didn’t speak.

  Instead, she turned away.

  She vanished down the alley, her steps quick and angry, swallowed by the noise of the street beyond.

  I stood there, heart hammering, breath shallow, listening to the city close in around me. “That was close… too close.”

  The sword hummed.

  I sighed. I pulled free one of my old clothes… recently cleaned and bandaged my hand as best as I could with my old shirt. This was enough. It was time to go home.