A flush creeps up her neck at my words, and I find myself fascinated by the path it takes. Without thinking, I reach out to trace it with my fingertips. She leans into the touch like a flower seeking sun.
"Thank you," she whispers. "For last night."
I want to tell her there's nothing to thank me for. That the privilege was mine. That I've killed men and collected bounties and survived a brother's death, but nothing has ever felt as momentous as watching her come apart in my arms.
Instead, I just nod, words failing me as they often do. My hand slides to the nape of her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin, the delicate bones beneath.
"Go help him with his books," I say, withdrawing reluctantly. "I'll help him read today if you'd like."
She nods and leaves, and I linger in the doorway, surveying the narrow street. It's habit, this automatic cataloging of potential threats, escape routes, vantage points. Except today, the assessment feels perfunctory. A gesture so familiar my body performs it while my mind wanders elsewhere—back to the way Esalyn's breath caught when I touched her, forward to the moment we'll return from the market and put Erisen to bed.
I'm getting soft. Distracted.
And some buried part of me, the part that's been hollowed out since Zevan's death, doesn't mind it.
I straighten, shifting the weight of my blades against my ribs, and turn to follow them inside. That's when I notice it—the absence of song from the Black Pitter birds that usually perch on the rusted gutter across the street. Silence where there should be morning calls.
Something's wrong.
My body goes still, senses expanding outward. I catalog everything—the faint breeze carrying market smells, the distant clatter of a cart over stone, the weight of my knives and the distance to Esalyn and Erisen inside. Threat assessment becomes instinct, immediate and sharp.
There. A shift in light. The barest disturbance of ash on a rooftop diagonally across from us.
Too deliberate. Too controlled.
I catch the glint of metal—not a random flash but the calculated angle of a blade positioned to reflect nothing. Only years of tracking prey allowed me to spot it at all.
And then I see him, a silhouette melding with the shadows of a chimney stack. A dark form poised with the unnatural stillness that comes only with supreme confidence or supreme patience. I know that posture—the head tilted slightly, the weight balanced perfectly on the balls of the feet, ready to spring or strike.
My blood goes cold, colder than it's been since I first caught sight of Esalyn and tracked her through Velzaroth's winding streets.
Kareth.
He hasn't changed—still that same lean, predatory grace that made him feared even among other hunters. His charcoal-black skin absorbs the shadows around him, making him nearly invisible except for the amber glow of his eyes and the crimson undertones that shimmer across his form when he finally shifts.
Four years since our paths crossed on that blood-soaked hunt in Ikoth's outer reaches. Four years since he swore to repay me for taking his prize. The bounty that made my reputation and shattered his.
Those stag-like horns rising from his head cast splintered shadows across the rooftop as he straightens, knowing he's been spotted. Not hiding anymore. Making a point.
He's found us.
Vorrak didn't just raise the bounty. He brought in the one demon hunter who would pursue this job as more than business—as personal vendetta.
Kareth's mouth splits into that familiar, too-wide smile—all sharp teeth and no warmth. Even from this distance, I can feel the cold calculation in his gaze, assessing me as I assess him.
I've lowered my guard. Stopped watching the shadows. Stopped measuring threats.
The worst mistake a hunter can make.
In that moment of recognition, understanding crashes through me like a physical blow. This isn't just about a bounty anymore. This is about everything I've built with Esalyn and Erisen. Everything I almost let myself believe I could keep.
I lunge through the doorway where they are both about to emerge, gripping Esalyn's shoulder with more force thanintended. Her skin flinches beneath my fingers, but I can't soften my touch—not now.
"Get Erisen and stay inside," I hiss, already moving back toward the door. "Away from windows. Now."
She reads the danger in my eyes instantly, mother's instinct sharpening her movements as she rushes toward her son. I don't wait to see them secure—can't afford to. Kareth won't give them that time.
My boots scrape against stone as I launch myself upward, grabbing the edge of a sagging gutter to haul myself onto the neighboring roof. My muscles burn with the force of the climb, but fear drives me faster than pain. Each breath feels scorched in my lungs, every heartbeat a countdown.
