Chapter Three: The Strays

Tara followed Ballad through the winding streets, each step a reminder that she didn't belong here. Eyes followed them—some curious, some hostile. The city itself felt alive in a way that sent a slow creep of unease down her spine. It wasn't just the strange architecture, the twisted buildings patched together with rust and wood, or the streets that seemed to shift with every corner.

It was the way the air hummed, thick with something unseen. Shade Territory wasn't just a prison for the banished. It was a wound in the world, a place that had been forgotten and left to fester. Ballad didn't seem to care. She moved through the city with the ease of someone who had long accepted its rot. Tara didn't have that luxury.

She kept her head down, her hands clenched at her sides, aware of every shadow that flickered too long in her direction. They finally reached a building that loomed like a skeleton, metal beams reaching into the dim sky, the windows long shattered. It might have once been a factory or a warehouse, but now, it served as something else. Home.

Ballad shoved the rusted door open and stepped inside. Tara followed—and immediately felt the shift. The room was cavernous, dimly lit by scattered torches and the soft glow of an open firepit. The air was dense with the scent of ash and old metal. It was a patchwork of stolen furniture, makeshift bedding, and scavenged trinkets. But what unsettled her most were the people inside.

A girl perched on the edge of a wooden crate; her yellow-green eyes gleaming in the low light. She was tall, her skin deep and smooth, her dark curls thick and wild. She watched Tara with the unblinking stillness of a predator. Beside her, a boy leaned against the wall, arms folded, his long black braids draped over his shoulders. He had a sharp face, lined with old scars, and an intensity in his gaze that made Tara feel like she was being dissected.

A girl stood near the fire, her skin so pale it almost glowed, her white hair hanging straight as a blade. The heat of the fire didn't seem to touch her. She stood so still, so soundless, that Tara wouldn't have noticed her if she hadn't turned her head.

Across the room, another figure sat on a pile of cushions, his red hair an unkempt mess, his eyes a startling blue. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was sharp, studying her with the kind of calculation that made her stomach tighten. And then there was the boy in the shadows.

He hadn't moved since she stepped inside. Tara's breath hitched. He was tall, dressed in black, his hair a shade so pale it could almost be white, but it was his eyes that rooted her to the spot. Black as night, deep and glimmering, swallowing all the dim light around him.

Something inside her twisted. A slow, warm coil in her chest. A hunger. She swallowed hard.

Ballad grinned. "Meet the Shades of Orphan. Try not to get yourself killed."

No one spoke. 

Then, finally, the girl with panther-yellow eyes stood and stretched, rolling her shoulders. "So, this is the murderer we've been hearing about."

Tara's stomach dropped. Her muscles locked, but before she could snap a response, Ballad sighed.

"Lottie, be nice. She's had a long night."

The girl—Lottie—tilted her head, considering. "I dunno. You bring someone who probably slaughtered her whole family into our home, and we're supposed to just—what? Accept that?"

"She didn't slaughter anyone," Ballad shot back. "Right?"

Tara felt every pair of eyes on her. The boy with the braids—Zeke—snorted, arms still crossed. "The council seems to think she did. The Fluorescents are losing their damn minds over her. Whatever happened, someone important died. And now she's here."

Silence stretched.

Tara clenched her fists. "I don't remember what happened."

Collin—the one with red hair and unsettlingly bright blue eyes—spoke for the first time. "That's convenient."

Tara's chest tightened. "I—"

The pale girl by the fire finally moved, her presence like a wisp of cold air. When she spoke, her voice was soft and hollow, a whisper of a thing.

"She's not lying."

The room fell still.

Zeke turned to her, brow raised. "You sure about that, Talulah?"

The banshee—because Tara knew, deep in her gut, that's what she had to be—nodded once.

Lottie sighed. "Well, that settles it. She's not lying. But she's still a problem."

"She's our problem now," Ballad said.

And just like that, the conversation was over. 

The presence in the shadows shifted. Tara knew, before he even stepped forward, that it was him. The one with the black-glimmering eyes. He moved like something not entirely human, fluid and soundless. When he spoke, his voice was low, cold.

"She stays."

Collin scoffed. "Of course you'd say that."

Skye ignored him. His eyes flickered over Tara for only a brief second before he turned and walked toward the far side of the room. The conversation was done. And with that, Tara knew—for better or worse—she wasn't leaving.