The fog rolled in thick from the harbor, wrapping Grayhaven's streets in a damp gray blanket. Lantern light glowed faint and distant, like drowning stars, and the sound of the sea seemed louder than usual — waves slapping against the pier, rigging clinking in the night wind.
Adrian's boots echoed in the narrow alley as he forced himself to walk calmly, though his heart thudded like a hammer in his chest. The dagger job was done — case delivered, door slammed, no questions asked — but the footsteps still followed.
Steady. Patient.
He turned onto Shipwright's Row, a street of shuttered workshops and crooked warehouses. His own breathing sounded too loud. Adrian slipped a hand to his belt where his own small knife rested — nothing special, just a craftsman's tool, but it was better than empty hands.
At the next corner, he stopped suddenly. The footsteps stopped too.
"Alright," Adrian muttered under his breath, gripping the hilt until his knuckles ached. "Let's see who you are."
He darted into a side alley and flattened himself against the wall, heart pounding, forcing his breath silent. The fog muffled everything — even the soft scrape of boots approaching. A shadow loomed at the mouth of the alley.
Adrian didn't wait. He lunged.
His shoulder slammed into the figure, driving them back a step. His knife came up, catching the glint of lantern light — but before he could strike, a hand twisted his wrist with expert precision, forcing the blade away. Adrian hissed in pain as his own knife clattered to the ground.
"Easy," a low voice said. A man's voice — calm, steady, almost amused. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be on the cobblestones."
"Then why are you following me?" Adrian spat, wrenching his arm free.
"To keep you alive."
Adrian blinked through the fog. The man stepped closer — lean, dressed in dark traveling leathers, hood thrown back to reveal sharp features and pale gray eyes. Not the same man who'd given Adrian the job. Someone else.
"Who are you?" Adrian demanded.
"Someone who knows when a smith is about to step into a furnace he can't handle," the man said. "And before you ask, no, I'm not with them."
"Them?"
"The Serpent Plume." His voice lowered, scanning the alley. "You've just done work for them, whether you realize it or not."
Adrian's stomach knotted. "So what do you want from me?"
"To warn you." The man glanced around again, tension rippling through him. "They don't hire smiths for nothing. Whatever you forged, it isn't meant to sit in a display case. It's a tool for something ugly."
"I didn't have a choice."
"There's always a choice," the man said, though his tone softened slightly. "But now you're in their books. And once the Plume marks someone, they don't forget."
Adrian stared at him, anger and fear boiling together. "Why do you care what happens to me?"
The man didn't answer right away. Then he said, "Because I've seen what happens to people who get caught in their nets."
Before Adrian could ask more, the man's head snapped up. "Too late. They're here."
A dark shape detached itself from the fog at the end of the alley — then another. Silent figures, moving with predatory grace, closing in.
"Run," the stranger hissed.
Adrian didn't argue. He bolted, boots slapping the wet stones, heart pounding in his throat. The stranger kept pace beside him, movements smooth and sure even in the fog. Behind them, the pursuers gave chase — no shouts, no threats, just the cold rhythm of feet in pursuit.
They cut through the twisting alleys, past boarded-up workshops and abandoned taverns. Adrian's lungs burned. Every turn seemed to lead them deeper into Grayhaven's underbelly, away from lanterns, away from help.
Finally the stranger shoved Adrian through a warped door into what looked like an old sailmaker's shop. "Upstairs," he barked, slamming the door and throwing the bolt.
Adrian scrambled up the narrow stairwell, heart hammering. Below, heavy boots thudded against the door. A shoulder slammed into it once, twice, wood groaning.
The stranger drew a short blade, expression calm but eyes sharp as steel. "Stay behind me," he said.
The door burst open. Two figures slipped inside — masked, clad in dark gray, moving like shadows made flesh. The first lunged. Steel flashed. The stranger parried in a blur, counterstriking with brutal efficiency. The second assassin vaulted the stair railing straight at Adrian.
Adrian ducked on instinct. A dagger sliced air where his head had been. He grabbed the first thing his hand found — a heavy iron awl left on a workbench — and swung with all his strength. The point caught the attacker's shoulder, sending them stumbling back with a hiss of pain.
The stranger finished the fight in three heartbeats. One assassin dropped unconscious, the other crumpled bleeding to the floor. Adrian stood frozen, breath ragged, staring at the sudden, awful stillness.
"They won't stay down long," the stranger said briskly, wiping his blade. "We need to go."
Adrian found his voice. "Who are you?"
The man met his eyes. "Name's Kael. Think of me as… someone who owes your father a favor."
Adrian stiffened. "You knew my father?"
"No time for history lessons," Kael said, dragging the injured assassin into a corner and tying him with a length of cord. "You want answers, you'll get them. But first, we have to get you out of Grayhaven. Tonight."
Adrian shook his head. "I'm not running. This is my home."
"This is a trap," Kael shot back. "Your forge, your friends, everything you care about — they'll use it against you. You've got two choices: vanish, or bleed."
The weight of the words sank like a stone in Adrian's chest. He thought of Mira. Of the forge his father had built with his own hands. Of the dagger now out in the world, in the hands of people like this.
"Why me?" Adrian whispered.
Kael's expression softened just slightly. "Because you're better than you realize. They don't recruit common smiths. They recruit talent. And they chain it."
A muffled groan from the tied assassin cut through the moment. Kael grabbed Adrian's arm and hauled him toward the back door. "Move."
They slipped into the fog again, weaving through alleys until the harbor smell grew sharper and the distant creak of ships filled the air. Adrian's thoughts spun in chaotic circles — his father's warnings, the mysterious dagger, the assassins' cold precision, Kael's words.
At the edge of the docks, Kael stopped beside a nondescript fishing boat. "Get aboard. We sail before dawn."
Adrian planted his feet. "I'm not leaving without answers."
"You'll get them," Kael said, eyes hard. "But not here. Not with the Plume breathing down your neck."
Lantern light flared behind them — more figures emerging from the fog. Adrian's pulse spiked.
"Adrian," Kael snapped, shoving him toward the gangplank, "now or never."
Adrian hesitated only a second longer — then scrambled aboard. Kael cut the mooring rope, pushed off, and the small boat drifted silently into the dark waters of Grayhaven Harbor.
The city receded into shadow behind them, its crooked rooftops swallowed by fog. Adrian gripped the railing, the salt wind cold on his face, questions burning in his chest.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
Kael glanced at the horizon, where the first faint gray of dawn touched the sea. "Somewhere the Plume won't find you. Not yet."
Adrian looked back once more at the hidden city, its alleys full of ghosts and secrets. Whatever road lay ahead, there would be no turning back.