Ashfall's midnight air tasted of oil and salt — Dockside's rusted veins never slept. Waves slapped the pylons under the old drydocks while cranes groaned overhead, hauling steel containers that no one checked too closely.
Near Pier 17, two shapes in black crouched inside an abandoned customs office. One human — Selene Kain, breath sharp through split lips. One machine — Micah's voice ghosting through her earpiece, a tinny wire from a hidden den twenty blocks away.
"They're moving Silas tonight," Micah said. Static crackled behind his words, but the grin was there too — that crooked, ragged edge only he owned. Wraith. "Dockside trucks. You want him, you intercept before he disappears behind another Umbra lawyer's velvet door."
Selene's eyes narrowed. Below, a convoy of armored SUVs crawled onto the dock. Two black trucks sandwiched in the middle. Flock foot soldiers — all muscle, all nervous. Rumors of Moloch Horn's last rampage kept them flinching at every echo.
"I see him," Selene murmured. Through the dirty window, her eyes locked on the prize — Silas Madox, the shark in a tailored suit. He barked orders to brutes twice his size, never raising his voice. His grin never moved — a reptile's calm.
"Good," Micah said. "One hitch, though." A pause, a sigh that smelled like trouble. "I pulled chatter off Umbra's back channel. The Herald sent someone else. A cleaner. This is a kill-or-bury job."
Selene's hand flexed around a feather-shaped blade. "Name?"
A beat of silence, then Micah's voice, soft as a curse: "Faceless Kane."
The name hissed through the room like gas. Selene's heartbeat thickened in her throat.
---
Faceless Kane was a rumor whispered among Ashfall's worst — a story about a man who could wear your skin like a coat and slip through any door, any vault, any safe house. Witnesses vanished or reappeared as him. The Flock feared him. Umbra loved him. He had no face of his own — only masks, each fresh from the dead.
---
Below, Silas flicked his gold lighter open and shut while his men shuffled the trucks into line. He never saw the shadow perched on the roof's skeletal beams — the Black Raven, patient as dusk.
Selene's pulse slowed. Her vision narrowed to a tunnel: Silas. The trucks. The heartbeat behind his grin.
Then it flickered — motion in the dark, sliding across shadows that didn't belong.
There you are, she thought.
---
Ashfall Superior Court — Hours Earlier
Detective Iris Calder flipped pages of a file Navarro dropped on her cluttered desk. Captain Voss barked at rookies behind the glass. Liam's sketch — the Raven's wings — peeked from her jacket pocket.
"Silas Madox has a judge in his pocket," Navarro said, pushing another file at her. "But the trafficking ring puts heat on him. The Feds might lean in if we push—"
"No Feds," Iris cut him off. Her tone left no air for questions. "Nathan says they're on it."
Navarro snorted. "Nathan says a lot of things lately. You trust him?"
Iris flinched. Her ring finger tapped the desk — old habit, old lie. "Trust is a luxury, Navarro."
He watched her, a question burning. He swallowed it. The squad room's TV spat fresh spin: ASH TV ALERT: Black Raven linked to trafficking murders — possible vigilante cell forming.
Navarro muttered, "They want her to look like a cartel. Or worse."
Iris said nothing. Her mind drifted to Selene's voice, years ago — a memory of hands on her back, warmth, regret, silence. What are you, Kain?
---
Dockside — Now
Selene dropped from the rafters like a whisper of steel. One guard's throat opened before he even knew she'd landed. She dragged the body into shadow. Another went down with a soft, wet pop of a broken spine.
The trucks waited. Silas leaned on a crate, barking into his phone — unaware that two of his men were now cold lumps on the damp concrete.
Selene slid closer. A heartbeat from her target. Then she felt it — a presence behind her shoulder, cold as a dead man's kiss.
She pivoted — blade up — but there was only dark.
A voice like silk and grave dirt slipped through the shadows. "You're prettier than they said."
Faceless Kane stepped from the dark. He wore a face — but not his. An old man's face, slack, stitched at the jawline where he'd peeled it from tonight's last mistake. His eyes behind the stolen mask glittered with amusement and hunger.
Selene's blade kissed the air between them. "Step aside, freak."
Kane tilted his borrowed head. His voice almost purred. "No face. No name. No fear. I'm here to clean what you're dirtying." He tapped the cheek of his stolen mask with a black-gloved finger. "Silas lives. You die. Or…" He smiled — it looked wrong, the skin pulling wrong. "Maybe you join my collection."
Selene struck first — steel hissed, a silver arc aimed for Kane's throat. But he moved like a thought, slipping left, blades hidden in his sleeves flicking out. They clashed in sparks — metal on metal, blood on concrete.
Below them, the dock swarmed — Flock soldiers yelling, guns raised too late. Silas dove behind a truck, barking orders to retreat.
Kane pressed Selene back, blades flashing like liquid knives. He fought with the grace of a dancer and the cruelty of a butcher. Selene ducked a slash, pivoted, drove a boot into his ribs. He laughed — a wet, rasping sound — and lashed her thigh with a hidden blade. Blood sprayed dark on rusted iron.
---
Micah's voice crackled in her ear. "Selene — fallback, fallback! He's not standard muscle — he's Umbra's rabid dog!"
Selene snarled back, "I know." She spun low, catching Kane's wrist. A twist — the blade dropped. She jammed her elbow into his jaw. The mask cracked — peeled — and beneath it, slick, raw skin like pink wax. Empty eye sockets that still somehow saw her.
He giggled. "So warm… your face will fit nicely."
Selene drove her fist into his throat. He staggered back, wheezing. But he didn't fall — instead, he slipped backward into a pile of crates and vanished behind crashing metal. The dock shuddered with shouts. More Flock muscle poured in — but Kane was gone, slipping into the gaps like smoke.
Silas's convoy peeled out — trucks squealing, tires spitting water and broken glass. Selene gave chase — but a burst of automatic fire forced her behind a rusted loader. By the time she lunged for the open dock, the trucks were gone, engines howling down Dockside's artery.
She stood alone, chest heaving, blood trickling down her leg. Kane's mocking giggle echoed in the back of her skull.
---
Up in his safe den, Micah slammed his desk.
"Goddamn it, Kain. He's not finished. Umbra won't stop sending him. Next time — he won't test you. He'll wear you."
Selene pressed a hand to her side, eyes locked on the dark waves slapping the dock. Her voice was iron: "Let him try. Next time, I'll peel his mask."
---
Elsewhere in Ashfall, the Bull King dragged a chunk of chain behind him through an abandoned rail yard, snorting steam in the cold. He smelled blood — more would come. His mind was a tangle of pain and rage — a failed experiment with a pulse that could split concrete. Umbra's next mess waiting to explode.
---
And in a quiet house, Liam Calder hid under blankets with his tablet glowing blue. He scrolled images — city maps, news clips, blurry sightings of the Raven. He didn't tell his mother. He didn't tell his father. But in his sketchbook, he drew a new thing: a mask half-broken, faceless. The monster the city wouldn't see coming.
---
Above it all, AshTV spun its web.
Black Raven slaughter at Dockside. Suspected ties to missing persons. Witnesses claim ritual markings.
Marcus Fenn clicked off the broadcast feed, lit a cigarette, and wondered when the city would wake up — or if it ever would.
---
Selene limped from the dock's edge as dawn bled over broken cranes. Her cloak flapped behind her, black feathers catching the wind.
Faceless Kane was out there. Silas was alive. Umbra's teeth were sharp and endless. But so was she.
She whispered to the dying night: "Keep your monsters, Umbra. I'll keep my knives."
---
END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN