The shadow moved—not with a sprint, but with that same disjointed glide that broke the rules of anatomy and grace. It jumped over the roof, escaping into the dark of midnight.
Reid moved, without his volition. There was a tug. An invisible pull.
Slate tiles cracked under his takeoff. The air howled, and suddenly, Reid was gliding over the rooftop, chasing the shadow, hot on its tail.
They danced above the city—one a streak of unnatural darkness, the other a storm-wrapped hunter. Reid surged forward, rooftops blurring beneath him as an invisible force propelled his steps. His thoughts had gone numb. Only instincts dominated.
The shadow leapt, twisting midair in ways that made his stomach churn just to watch, and Reid followed, every heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the chase.
And then—nothing.
Reid landed on the edge of a building and reeled backward, boots scraping against the crumbling stone. Before him stretched a vast chasm—impossible, illogical, like a piece of this world had fallen away.
Black stone crumbled at the edges, and from within it bled a molten glow—lava churning, writhing like something alive. But it was the darkness that gripped him.
Not absence of light.
A presence.
It stared up at him. Cold. Bottomless.
The shadow had stopped at the far edge, standing tall, its face unreadable.
And then—behind him—laughter. Soft and scraping. It sent shivers up his spine.
Reid spun.
Nothing.
Then something slammed into his mind.
A vision burned into his skull:
A figure—skeletal, yet cloaked in skin that had been inked with runes—dark symbols coiling up from ribs to throat. The eyes were empty, soul-less, two deep sockets. A jaw slightly parted, not to breathe—it didn't breathe—but to speak.
The shadow did not move its mouth. And yet it spoke, the words thundering in Reid's mind in a deep throaty whisper.
"We... your Sentinels... have arrived.To take you back."
The words gritted on his nerves. Then came the screech—a high, splitting wail that drove itself through his ears and into his skull. He dropped to his knees—
And the world snapped.
The chasm, the rooftops, the burning dark—all gone.
Reid found himself back on the muddy street, in front of the carriage. The horses neighed and stamped nervously. Fog still clung to everything like wet skin. From somewhere in the dark, his elk chittered.
But Reid couldn't hear him over the thunder in his chest.
His hands trembled. Not with fear.
Rage. Cold and clean.
The shadow had pulled memories from somewhere buried deep inside him, a past he didn't even know he'd forgotten.
A past that would catch up with him soon.
But something told Reid that this wouldn't be the first time he hunted their kind.
No—this was just a continuation.
His eyes narrowed as he looked back toward the rooftop, now empty. The fog seemed to retreat from his gaze.
Let them come again.
This time, he would be ready.
~~~~~
The streets were quiet now, brushed clean by the rain that had threatened and never quite arrived. Reid's boots made little sound as he slipped back through alleys and narrow veins of the quarter, returning the way he'd come.
The city of Aldor, for all its spires and stonework, had an ugly heartbeat underneath. He could feel it now—louder than ever.
By the time he reached the inn, the sky had begun to bleed with the first hints of gray. The sign out front still swung lazily, and warm lantern-glow seeped through the slits in the window.
Someone was up.
Of course they were.
Reid pushed open the door. The latch clicked gently behind him, but even that was enough for voices to hush.
Uncle Maurice and the girl—Leida—were seated at the small office table, parchment and ink scattered like a minor war had taken place in record-keeping. Both looked up. Leida's eyes narrowed with questions, but Tarron beat her to the door from the back hall, practically buzzing.
"Reid!" he hissed, eyes wide and sparkling with some perverse glee. "You did it, didn't you?"
Reid arched a brow. "Did what?"
Tarron waved off his deflection. "C'mon, no need to be coy. Did you get rid of the entire Lord's residence?"
That gave Reid a pause.
He hadn't lifted a finger to bring down the noble house. But someone had. And the boy in front of him—starry-eyed and too eager—looked like he was about to throw a party.
"No," Reid said finally, voice low. "I didn't. But maybe the sorcery you allegedly committed might've."
Tarron grinned wider.
Reid narrowed his gaze. "How does that help you though? Wouldn't the charges against you increase?"
Tarron thumped his palms together with a clap. "No charges left to press!" he said, half-laughing. "No witnesses, no heirs close enough to care. Everyone with a noble's surname packed up and left the district before midnight. Scared stiff. Some think the devil's still lurking and didn't want to stick around to find out."
"Can't imagine why," Reid muttered dryly.
Tarron continued, undeterred. "Uncle Maurice greased a few palms—we got confirmation. By morning, I'm clean. Officially. Wiped from the docket."
Maurice grunted in agreement behind him, his eyes never quite leaving Reid. "Congratulations, boy," he said, not specifying whether he meant Tarron or Reid.
Reid leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He'd heard of Aldor's justice before—quick, dirty, and as reliable as your bribe budget. But seeing it work so efficiently? That was new. Efficient chaos.
Like the Sentinel.
He almost laughed. Or growled.
The night had bled his patience dry. He just needed a bed now.