A SPY FROM THE ELDERS

The soft rustle of tiny feet woke her.

Alexa's eyes blinked open slowly, sunlight spilling across the edge of the bed. On the wooden floor, nestled against a loose sock, Mercy twitched her nose and blinked up at her.

"You slept better than me," Alexa mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

She sat up, stretched, then smiled faintly at the rabbit. "Still here," she whispered. "Guess he didn't change his mind overnight."

She reached for the card she'd been working on the night before — thick paper folded neatly, a clumsy drawing of a rabbit on the front, with bold letters that read: "Thanks for last night."

Inside, she'd scribbled:

For the food. For the fever. And… for letting me keep her. She's small, but I needed her.

She signed it quietly:

Alexa.

Then added a small heart beside a mint candy she'd taped inside like a peace offering.

"I know," she whispered to Mercy as she got dressed. "It's lame. He'll probably just throw it out."

Still, she held it like it meant something as she stepped into the hallway, Mercy bundled softly in her other arm.

She walked barefoot, quietly, like she might wake something ancient in this place if she made too much noise.

When she got to Levi's door, she paused.

And knocked.

Once. Twice. "Levi?" she called softly. "I brought something."

Silence.

She tilted her head, knocked again. "I know you're in there. Or maybe not. I—"

"Gone, sweetheart."

Her heart skipped as the voice came from the side. Smooth. Amused.

She turned, and there he was—leaned against the hallway wall like he'd been there the whole time.

Skye.

He looked like he'd just rolled out of sin itself. Button-up halfway done, silver chain at his neck catching the light. Arms folded. Smirk loaded.

Alexa instinctively hugged Mercy closer to her chest. "You don't know that."

"Oh, but I do." He pushed off the wall and sauntered closer. "Left before sunrise. Big boy business, I suppose. And no, he didn't leave a note for you, if that's what you're hoping."

"I wasn't."

"Sure you weren't," he said, eyes flicking to the card in her hand. "Is that… a love letter?" His smirk widened cruelly. "Don't tell me you drew bunnies and hearts."

"It's none of your business."

He tilted his head, playful menace dancing in his voice. "See, that's the funny thing about this house, Alexa. Everything is everyone's business. Especially Levi's pets."

"I'm not his pet," she snapped.

"Could've fooled me."

The rabbit shifted in her arms, and Skye's eyes tracked it lazily.

"She's cute," he said, voice lower now. "Too bad things that cute don't last here."

Alexa stared at him, jaw tight. "You don't scare me."

He laughed, low and amused. "You should be terrified."

Then, as he turned to walk off, he glanced over his shoulder. "If you're waiting for him, don't. He doesn't come back the same way he leaves."

And with that, he disappeared down the hall, humming some dark tune under his breath.

Alexa stood there a moment longer, her fingers tightening around the card.

Mercy stirred against her.

"It's okay," she whispered. "We'll give it to him later."

But her voice sounded less sure than before.

*****

The hallway felt colder after Skye left.

Alexa didn't return to her room. She didn't want to sit on the bed and stare at the card. Or Mercy's twitching ears. Or think too hard.

Instead, she pushed open the back door and stepped into the garden.

The morning sun was brighter than she expected, warm on her skin. The grass was wet with dew, and the air smelled faintly of earth and something sweet she couldn't name.

She let Mercy down gently on a patch of grass. The rabbit bounced a little, then stayed close to her feet, sniffing.

Alexa crouched by the far corner where the small row of carrots grew, their green tops poking from the dirt like sleepy heads.

She dug carefully with her hands, brushing away the soil. It felt good to do something simple—just this. Just her and the ground and the bunny watching with twitching interest.

"I should've brought a basket," she muttered.

Mercy hopped over to sniff a pulled-up carrot and nibbled on the leafy top like it was gourmet.

"You've got expensive taste now, huh?" Alexa smiled faintly. "Next thing you'll want your own seat at the table."

A breeze passed, brushing her hair across her face.

She glanced around the garden. It was quiet. For once, really quiet.

No Levi. No Skye. No tension curling in her stomach like wire. Just soft dirt, sunlight, and a rabbit.

"I wonder if he even eats vegetables," she whispered, half to herself, half thinking about Levi. "Probably survives on blood and anger."

Mercy sneezed.

Alexa laughed—soft, surprised by the sound of it.

She wiped her hands on her pants and sat cross-legged in the grass with the carrots beside her, the card still in her pocket, forgotten for now.

And for a little while, she let herself just breathe.

*****

The warehouse reeked of old wood, oil, and blood.

Levi stood by the window, his back to the room as two men argued behind him. One slammed a folder on the table. The other paced like his nerves were on fire.

"I said we couldn't move the shipment till the coast clears!" one barked.

Levi didn't flinch. He stared through the dusty window, hands behind his back, calm as always.

"You let fear slow you down," he said, voice cool. "That's your mistake."

"We're talking about the black district. Half our couriers disappeared this week!"

Levi turned slowly, the light catching the shadow under his eyes.

"Then replace them."

The room fell quiet.

The folder was pushed toward him. He didn't sit—just opened it, glanced through the papers. Weapons. Movement schedules. Two familiar names crossed out in red.

He tapped the third one with his finger. "This route stays."

"It's exposed," the man muttered.

"Good," Levi replied. "Let them try something. It's been too quiet."

A phone buzzed on the table.

Levi picked it up. Just a short message from one of his watchers:

Skye's awake. Girl's up. Nothing unusual.

He stared at it for a beat longer than necessary, then slipped the phone into his pocket.

His thumb still brushed the edge of it as he walked toward the table, eyes scanning the last page. He didn't bring up Alexa. He didn't mention the rabbit. He didn't need to.

But somewhere behind that unreadable expression… was the faint memory of her voice last night, hoarse and feverish, whispering "thank you" before drifting off.

He snapped the folder shut.

"We move at sundown," he said. "I want eyes on both ends. Anyone even breathes wrong—cut them down."

And just like that, business resumed. Cold. Efficient. Deadly.

But as he walked out of the room and toward his car, the image lingered—not of blood, or maps, or territory.

Just her, in his hallway, holding something in her arms.

A rabbit.

And for some reason… it made him smirk.

The car purred beneath him, smooth and dark as the road ahead.

Levi leaned back one-handed on the wheel, the city blurring past in silver and shadow. His phone buzzed against the console. A number with no name — but he recognized the rhythm. Old contacts didn't need introductions.

He answered with silence.

A voice on the other end rasped, "It's open. Thirty minutes window. You coming?"

Levi's lips curved slowly. "Still breathing, old man?"

"Barely," the man laughed. "But the blades are hot. Rare stock. And that piece you asked about? Poisoned edge. Instant nerve freeze. Carves like butter."

"What else?"

"Crimson fang dagger, three cursed rings, one mirrorstone gem—ripped straight from the spine of a seer. Don't ask how."

Levi changed lanes without blinking. "I'm on my way."

He dropped the call.

No music. Just the sound of the engine and the faint crack of a knuckle as he flexed his hand on the wheel.

Weapons like those weren't for show. They were for threats that didn't bleed easy. Things that didn't stay dead the first time.

And lately, Levi had a feeling.

Something was shifting. In her. In the air around her.

He didn't know why he felt it. But he always trusted the instinct that whispered when it was time to gear up.

He reached the gates of the district five minutes early. Barred, guarded, forgotten by the world unless you knew the right sins.

The gate slid open at the sound of his engine.

He smirked.

Time to shop.

The air shifted the moment he stepped inside.

Stale incense. Metal. Dust. And something darker—like old blood sealed in stone.

It wasn't a market you found. It was a market that let you in.

A narrow hallway of cracked brick led down into the gut of the city, where torches flickered low and voices stayed hush. No signs. No names. Just deals.

Levi moved past a tall man weighing a glowing skull in his hand, ignoring the brief stare he earned. His presence parted the crowd. They knew him here. They also knew better than to speak.

At the end of the hall, a beaded curtain parted. Behind it, the old man waited—hooded, hunched, eyes milky with time but sharp beneath.

"Still breathing," Levi said dryly.

"Barely," the man rasped, grinning wide. "You came fast."

"You said Crimson Fang."

The man reached beneath his table, wrapped in dragon-hide, and slowly drew it out.

The dagger gleamed under the flame-light. Black blade with a crimson core pulsing like a heartbeat. The hilt wrapped in something that looked like sinew. Ancient. Cursed.

"Carved from the tooth of a netherhound," the man whispered. "Coated in frostpoison — freezes the nerves, slices clean. Kills anything with blood in its veins."

Levi picked it up, tested the weight. Sleek. Deadly. "What about something without blood?"

The man chuckled. "That's what the cursed rings are for."

He placed three small boxes on the table, opening each.

The first held a ring that shimmered like oil on water — alive with color, constantly shifting.

"Disguises you from magical trackers. Even seers."

The second ring was black, almost like charcoal, but shimmered faintly with green veins.

"Poison barrier. Slip it on, no potion or poison can touch you."

The last was a simple silver band. No shine. No mark.

Levi stared at it.

"This one?" The man's smile faded. "It drains someone's power. Permanently. Only one use. Choose wisely."

Levi didn't speak, just moved on.

"And the gem?" he asked.

The man opened a wooden case. Inside lay a glowing red shard—irregular, raw, like a heart had been shattered and left to harden.

"Mirrorstone," he said softly. "Only pulled from a dead seer's spine. You grind it, mix it with ink or blood, and you'll see truths. Not futures. Truths. Even the ones people hide from themselves."

Levi stared at the shard.

His thoughts flicked—just briefly—to a girl in a hallway, holding a rabbit. Laughing in a garden.

He blinked it away.

"I'll take all of it."

The old man grinned again, greedy. "You sure you're ready to pay?"

Levi reached into his coat and pulled out a black card.

The man's breath hitched.

"Unlimited funds?" he whispered.

"No." Levi's voice was smooth. "Unlimited death if you cross me."

He slid the card across the table.

The man didn't touch it. Not until Levi stepped back.

He turned without another word and disappeared back through the market, shadow trailing him like a loyal curse.

*****

Levi knew he was being followed.

The presence behind him wasn't subtle—too confident. Too eager.

But he let it go. Let the footsteps stalk a little longer. Let the fool behind him feel like a hunter.

Until the blade came.

The metal sliced through the air toward his back.

Levi shifted sideways with a smooth step, letting the knife miss him by an inch.

He didn't look surprised. Just bored.

"You should've kept watching," Levi said without turning.

The attacker lunged again—this time with force. Faster. Desperate.

Levi turned just enough to meet the man head-on, one hand catching the wrist mid-strike, the other pressing two fingers against his chest—calm, deadly.

The spy stumbled back, gasping. His arms moved again, both blades out now, his breathing sharp, nervous.

"Are you seriously trying to fight me?" Levi asked quietly, more amused than angry.

He didn't wait for an answer.

The next lunge came fast—blades slashing. One aimed for his ribs, the other his throat.

Levi leaned back, eyes steady, dodging with fluid grace. Then he stepped forward and used the man's own momentum to twist him sideways and slam him face-first into the wall.

The sound echoed.

The man groaned, barely staying upright.

Still, he reached for another blade hidden in his boot.

"Persistent," Levi muttered.

This time,Levi didn't dodge. He didn't move aside.

He stepped in.

Caught the man's wrist mid-draw and twisted—hard. The hidden blade clattered uselessly to the ground. A hiss of pain escaped the spy's lips.

Levi's expression didn't change. Calm. Almost tired of the game.

"You're not the first they've sent," he said flatly. "You're just the most pathetic."

The man snarled and swung again with his free arm—a reckless punch.

Levi caught that too, with the ease of catching falling paper. He bent the man's arm behind his back, forcing him down to one knee. The spy groaned, breathing sharp.

"Still no words?" Levi asked, his voice just above a whisper now. "Or do I have to break something before you talk?"

A pause.

"…The Elders," the man finally choked out.

Levi's jaw tightened.

Of course.

He released the hold suddenly, letting the man fall to the ground in a coughing heap. The spy looked up at him, sweat streaking down his temple, fear finally sinking into his bones.

"They think I'm not watching," Levi muttered to himself.

Then louder, to the man: "Tell them this—next time, they better send someone I won't yawn through."

He turned and walked off, the sound of his boots slow and steady against the stone path.

The spy didn't follow.

Couldn't.

He just watched Levi disappear into the shadows… and realized for the first time what it truly meant to fear a man.

A man who didn't need to raise a blade to win.