The storm had arrived early.
Flakes of snow whipped through the crumbling alleyways of Greystone Hollow, slicing across Alex's face like shards of glass. Cloak pulled tight, he sprinted through the narrow streets, the stolen ledger pressed against his chest.
Behind him — footsteps. Many.
The Black Veil had found him.
From rooftops above, dark-cloaked figures leapt into his path, blades flashing under the moonlight. Their armor bore no crest — only obsidian plates, etched with runes that pulsed red.
Elite assassins. Sent by the Crown.
Alex didn't stop.
He skidded into the center of a frozen courtyard, his boots slipping slightly — then he turned, eyes glowing dim with magic.
"Come on, then," he muttered. "Let's see what your gods have made you."
The first assassin struck — a blur of speed, twin daggers arcing toward his throat. Alex ducked low, grabbed the man's arm, and channeled a pulse of force that shattered bone. The assassin hit the ground screaming.
Another came from behind — silent, fast.
Too fast.
Slice.
Alex winced as a blade grazed his ribs. Blood soaked into his coat, but pain only sharpened him.
He raised his hand.
Dark energy swirled, then exploded outward in a shockwave, launching two assassins into the nearby wall. Ice cracked. Bones cracked louder.
He was outnumbered, wounded, cornered.
Perfect.
A third assassin lunged. Alex caught the incoming blade with his bare hand — the steel hissed as it met his skin, magic boiling beneath.
"Wrong move," he growled.
The shadows responded.
Like snakes, they slithered from the cracks around him, coiling into tendrils, lashing out with unnatural speed. One shadow slammed an assassin into the ground. Another wrapped around a throat and lifted.
Alex turned, eyes glowing.
"What are you?" one gasped.
He stepped forward, breath misting in the cold.
"I'm the consequence."
The last two hesitated. Fear. Human, even in killers.
Too slow.
Alex whispered a word. The earth beneath them ruptured, shadow spikes exploding from below — brutal, precise.
Silence fell.
Only wind and blood and a figure standing alone amid the fallen.
He collapsed to one knee, panting, clutching his side.
Too much power. Too soon.
But he stood again.
Because now the crown knew he was alive.
And he was done running.