Five Years Ago
The first time Seraphine realized she was truly alone, she was bleeding in an alley, the scent of rain and rust thick in the air.
She pressed a trembling hand against the gash on her ribs, wincing as the pain flared. The wound wasn't deep, but it had been meant to slow her down to make her an easy kill.
She had barely escaped.
The city of Vellastre stretched around her in tangled streets and towering spires, its lantern-lit alleys hiding a thousand dangers. Here, the poor vanished without a trace, and the rich lived behind walls high enough to forget them.
She had no allies. No shelter.
And the Inquisition was close.
Seraphine forced herself to stand, gritting her teeth against the pain. Her cloak was torn, soaked through with rain and blood. She needed to move. Needed to disappear before they…
A bootstep echoed behind her.
She whirled, dagger flashing.
A hooded figure loomed at the entrance of the alley. A shadow against the rain.
Seraphine tightened her grip on the blade, her pulse hammering. "Stay back."
The figure didn't move. But when it spoke, the voice was low, smooth. Amused.
"You're bleeding."
Seraphine's fingers curled tighter around the hilt. "Not dead yet."
The figure tilted its head. Then, with deliberate slowness, it stepped forward, lowering its hood.
A man.
Mid-thirties, maybe older. High cheekbones, piercing green eyes that gleamed with something unreadable. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples.
But it was the mark on his hand that made Seraphine's breath catch.
A twisted symbol, inked deep into his skin.
She had seen it before.
In books. On wanted posters.
And on the bodies of those who had vanished into the Hollow One's grasp.
Her grip on the dagger tightened. "Who are you?"
The man smiled.
"Someone who knows what you are."
Cold washed through her.
No.
No one could know.
She took a step back, but the man simply raised a hand, palm out. A gesture of peace.
"I'm not with the Inquisition," he said. "Not with the gods. And certainly not with the ones who tried to kill you tonight."
Seraphine hesitated. "Then what do you want?"
The man's gaze flickered to the gash on her ribs, then back to her face.
"To help you."
Seraphine barked a bitter laugh. "You don't even know me."
The man's expression didn't change. "I know enough."
His gaze dropped to her wrist. The place where, beneath her sleeve, the markings had begun to spread.
Seraphine inhaled sharply.
"I know what hunts you," the man continued. "And I know that if you don't come with me now, you won't live to see morning."
A chill ran down her spine.
She should run. She should never trust a stranger.
But something in his voice calm, certain made her pause.
Seraphine swallowed hard, weighing her choices.
Then, reluctantly, she lowered her dagger.
"Start talking."
The man's lips curved into a small smile.
And just like that, Seraphine took the first step toward the Hollow One's grasp.