The Man in the Shadows

The howls chase us through the mist, a chorus of unseen jaws snapping at the night, and I can't tell if it's the cold or the fear making my teeth chatter. Kael's ahead of me, his wounded shoulder hunched, his cloak a dark blur as he cuts through the courtyard, dodging rusted barrels and splintered crates like he's memorized every inch of this rotting maze. My boots splash in puddles, the new pendant—the old woman's gift—bouncing against my chest alongside the one I've always worn, their weight a constant reminder of the vision still burning behind my eyes. A throne of ash, a woman's scream, a crown falling into shadow—what does it mean? Who am I to her, to this?

"Keep up!" Kael snaps over his shoulder, his voice sharp but strained, and I grit my teeth, pushing my legs harder even though they're screaming at me to stop. The courtyard spills into a narrow street, the river's stink hitting me like a slap—fish guts and muck, the lifeblood of Veyris's docks. The mist thickens here, curling off the water in ghostly tendrils, swallowing the gas lamps until they're just faint, sickly glows. It's a shroud, hiding us from the guards, but it hides whatever's howling too, and that thought twists my gut tighter.

"What *are* those things?" I pant, catching up to him as he ducks behind a stack of crates, their wood slimy with damp. The howls rise again, closer now, a sound that's not wolf, not dog—something darker, something wrong. My hands itch, the heat simmering under my skin like it's waiting for a reason to burst free, and I clench them into fists, terrified I'll light up the night and give us away.

Kael doesn't answer right away. He's crouched low, his good hand gripping his dagger, his gray eyes scanning the mist like he can see through it. Blood's still seeping from his shoulder, slower now but steady, staining his cloak a deeper black. "Nightveil hounds," he mutters finally, his voice low, like he's afraid saying it too loud will summon them faster. "Trackers. They don't stop once they've got your scent."

"Nightveil?" The word snags in my throat, sharp and unfamiliar, but it's the same one the old woman dropped back in the stable. *They've scented you now, girl, and they won't stop.* My mind reels, piecing it together—the guards, the pendant's glow, her warning. "Who are they? What do they want with me?" I demand, my voice rising despite the danger, because I'm done with half-answers, done with being dragged through the dark like a rag doll.

He shoots me a look—hard, unreadable—then grabs my arm, pulling me deeper into the shadows as another howl splits the air, too close. "Later," he hisses, his grip firm but not bruising this time, like he's trying not to scare me more than I already am. "We need to lose them first." He moves again, fast despite his wound, leading me along the riverbank where the stones are slick with algae and the water laps at the edge, black and oily under the mist.

Lose them? How? My chest burns, my breath coming in shallow gasps as I stumble after him, my soaked dress weighing me down like chains. The howls multiply—three, maybe four now—circling, closing in, and I can't shake the feeling they're herding us, driving us toward something worse. Kael veers left, toward a rickety footbridge swaying over the river, its planks warped and groaning under our weight as we cross. I don't look down, don't want to see how far the drop is, but I feel the give beneath my feet, the creak of old wood ready to snap.

Halfway across, he stops so sudden I slam into his back, his blood smearing my sleeve. "What—" I start, but he clamps a hand over my mouth, his skin rough and warm against my lips, silencing me. My heart lurches, my eyes darting to his, and he nods toward the far bank. Through the mist, shapes move—hulking, shadowed things, their eyes glinting red like embers in a dying fire. The hounds. My stomach drops, cold sweat prickling my neck. They're waiting, cutting us off, and the howls behind us mean we're trapped.

Kael curses under his breath, his hand sliding from my mouth to my wrist again, his touch lingering a second longer than it needs to. "Jump," he says, his voice low but urgent, nodding at the river below. I blink, my mind blanking. "What?" I choke out, staring at the dark water churning under the bridge, its surface rippling with secrets I don't want to know.

"Jump, or we're dead," he snaps, his eyes locking on mine, stormy and fierce, and there's something in them—fear, maybe, or desperation—that makes me believe him. The hounds on the bank snarl, their shapes sharpening as the mist thins, and I see them now: massive, sinewy beasts with matted black fur and jaws dripping with something that steams in the cold air. My hands burn hotter, the heat surging like it's begging to fight, but I don't know how to use it, don't know if I can without burning us both.

I nod, my throat tight, and Kael doesn't wait—he grabs my hand, his fingers lacing through mine, and pulls me over the edge. The world tilts, the bridge vanishing as we plunge into the river, the cold hitting me like a fist, stealing my breath. Water closes over my head, dark and suffocating, dragging at my dress, my hair, my lungs. I kick, clawing for the surface, and Kael's hand tightens, pulling me up until we break through, gasping, the mist swirling around us as the current sweeps us downstream.

The hounds' howls fade, swallowed by the rush of the river, and I cling to Kael, my arms wrapped around his neck, his good arm hauling me against him as we drift. He's shivering, his teeth gritted against the pain of his wound, but he doesn't let go, doesn't let me sink. My hands are still warm, even in the icy water, and I wonder if he feels it, if he knows what's waking up inside me.

We wash up on a muddy bank, the current spitting us out like unwanted scraps, and I collapse onto the silt, coughing, my body shaking from cold and exhaustion. Kael drags himself beside me, his breathing ragged, his cloak plastered to him like a second skin. The mist is thinner here, the river's edge lined with skeletal trees, their branches clawing at the sky. No howls, no boots—just silence, heavy and unnerving.

I push myself up, my hands sinking into the mud, and turn to him. "Talk," I say, my voice raw but firm. "Who are you? What's the Nightveil? Why are they after me?" My fingers clutch the pendants, the old one and the new, their edges biting into my palm, and I shove them toward him like they're proof I deserve answers.

He sits up slow, wincing as he presses a hand to his shoulder, his face pale under the dirt streaking it. "I told you—Kael," he says, his tone clipped, like that's all I need. But it's not, and he knows it, because he sighs, running his good hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his scarred face. "The Nightveil… they're shadows. Hunters. Theron's secret dogs, trained to sniff out magic, to kill it before it spreads." His eyes flick to the pendants, then back to me, and there's something in them—guilt, maybe, or regret—that makes my stomach twist.

"And me?" I press, my voice trembling despite my effort to keep it steady. "Why me? I'm nobody. I sew dresses. I don't—" I stop, the fire in my hands flaring in my memory, the vision of blood and ash. I'm not nobody, not anymore, and the weight of that crashes over me like the river we just escaped.

Kael's quiet for a moment, too long, and when he speaks, his voice is softer, almost careful. "That pendant—the one you've always had—it's a mark. A sign of something old, something the Nightveil's been hunting for years. And now you've sparked, they'll never stop." He nods at the new one, the one the old woman gave me. "That just made it worse. It's tied to you, to what you are."

"What I am?" I laugh, sharp and bitter, because it's absurd, all of it. "I don't even know what I am! I didn't ask for this—this fire, this chase—" My hands flare then, unbidden, tiny flames licking up my fingers, and I yelp, shaking them out, the heat fading as quick as it came. Kael watches, his expression unreadable, but he doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away.

"You're a mage," he says, simple and stark, like it's a fact I should've known. "Or something more. I don't know the whole of it. But the Nightveil does, and they'll tear this city apart to get you." He shifts closer, his knee brushing mine in the mud, and I freeze, caught by the intensity in his eyes. "I was supposed to find you. To bring you in."

My breath stops, my heart stuttering. "What?" I whisper, my hands curling into the mud, ready to push away, to run. He was *sent* for me? By them? The realization hits like a blade, cold and cutting, and I scramble back, my pulse racing. "You're one of them?"

"No," he says quick, too quick, grabbing my wrist before I can bolt. His grip's tight, desperate, and his eyes burn into mine. "Not anymore. I was, once—raised by them, trained by them—but I'm not now. I swear it." His voice cracks, just a little, and I see it then—the shadow of something broken in him, something he's hiding behind that hard exterior.

"Then why?" I demand, yanking my arm free but not running, not yet. "Why help me? Why fight them?" My mind's a tangle—fear, anger, a flicker of something else I can't place when he looks at me like that, like I'm more than a job, more than a mark.

He hesitates, his jaw working, then looks away, out at the river. "Because I've seen what they do," he says finally, his voice low, haunted. "To people like you. To people I—" He stops, swallows, and when he turns back, his face is guarded again. "I couldn't let them have you. Not after what you did back there."

"What I did?" I echo, my head spinning. The fire, the guards, the pendant—he means all of it, but it's not an answer, not really. Before I can press him, a rustle cuts through the silence, faint but sharp, from the trees behind us. Kael's on his feet in an instant, dagger out, shoving me behind him with his good arm. My heart leaps into my throat, my hands tingling again, and I peer past him, squinting into the dark.

A figure steps from the shadows—not a hound, not a guard, but a man, tall and lean, his cloak black as pitch, his face hidden under a hood. He stops, tilts his head, and when he speaks, his voice is smooth, cold, like oil sliding over steel. "Kael," he says, almost amused. "You've been busy."

Kael stiffens, his grip on the dagger tightening, and I feel the shift in him—fear, rage, something deeper. "Run," he whispers to me, barely audible, but I can't move, can't look away as the man steps closer, his hands empty but radiating a threat I can't name. The air thickens, my pendants pulsing hot against my chest, and I know—this is no ordinary hunter.

This is the Nightveil, and they've found us.