The night pressed in heavier than the steel plating of the megacity's towers. My lungs burned with the aftertaste of the fight, every breath filled with dust and the metallic sting of fear not yet spent. But it wasn't over—not by a long stretch. The shadow on the rooftops had been no rogue wanderer. It had tracked us deliberately, patiently, hidden in plain sight. And now it haunted every step we took.
"Keep your eyes up," Kael muttered quietly to himself as... we slipped into another alley. His voice was composed, but I could hear the calculation underpinning it. "We are no longer invisible."
Selene's lips tightened. "We never were."
The unspoken truth hung in the cold night air: the strike on the warehouse hadn't been an infiltration; it had been staged. We hadn't uncovered the council's weakness. They had tested ours.
Into the Darker Districts
We moved deeper into the city's rusting lifeblood, where tunnels wound beneath streets and forgotten stairwells led nowhere. The lantern-glow of the richer tiers couldn't reach here; only broken neon hummed against concrete walls sprayed with decay. Our footsteps echoed in the hollow spaces—an unwelcome signature.
Every nerve in me screamed for silence, but silence in the city was the rarest thing of all. The more I strained to listen, the louder the small stuff became—the click of my boots, Selene's steady breath, Kael's blade nudging against his belt. And behind it all, that faint, intangible weight: the feeling of being followed.
"Do you feel it?" I whispered.
Selene didn't answer, but Kael's eyes flicked toward me. "Good," he said softly. "You're learning."
Learning what—that paranoia was survival, that trust was weakness? Perhaps so. Yet inside the tension was a bitter spark of exhilaration. The city itself was teaching me, sharpening me down into something more refined.
The Signal
We reached a disused railway platform, its ceiling cracked and dripping with water that smelled of rust and mold. Selene signaled us down into the shadows beneath a collapsed section of track. From there, she pulled a shard of mirrored metal, tilting it just enough to catch a faint reflection above us.
Movement. A figure perched in silence, crouched where black cables coiled like snakes. Watching. Waiting.
"He's no ordinary council hound," Selene muttered. "Too still. Too patient."
Kael's expression darkened. "One of their wardens. They don't spy—they hunt."
"That means he's already chosen his prey," I said, chest tightening.
"No," Selene interrupted, her voice slicing through the air like the sudden draw of a blade."He isn't hesitating; he's carefully planning his strike.
The Unwelcome Choice
Kael pulled two throwing knives from his belt, twirling them calmly as though weighing his next words instead of his blades.
"We can ambush him now, risk being baited into a trap… or we wait, let him follow, and lead him someplace of our choosing," he said. His gaze lingered on me in particular, sharp with meaning. "The choice is yours, Lysandra."
For the first time that night, the decision fell not to Selene or Kael, but to me—a test—perhaps harsher than blades and ambushes. The wrong call wouldn't just end me; it could unravel all three of us.
The figure above shifted slightly, head cocking, as if mocking my hesitation.
And there, amid the dust and dripping steel, I realized the city wasn't just demanding survival anymore. It was a demanding decision.
My heart raced loudly in my ears. The hunter on the wires hadn't moved. However, this undeniably worsened the situation. The waiting became unbearable. Watching. Measuring me as if I were nothing more than prey, debating whether to run left or right.
Selene's gaze burned into me. Kael's words—*the choice is yours, Lysandra*—rang louder than my heartbeat. Why me? Why now? And yet, deep inside, I knew the answer. Because survival here wasn't about following orders—it was about proving I could lead when death.
I clenched the dagger in my hand, trying to still the trembling in my fingers. The metal was cold, grounding me, as though reminding me that flesh and steel often settled debates where words never could.
"What if he wants us to strike first?" I whispered. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to. "What if *this*—" I pointed up at the shadow—"is the trap?"
Kael gave a slow, calculating nod. "Then you discover how many moves in advance your opponent is willing to strategize." His eyes remained on me, sharp, unwavering. "That's the real lesson."
Selene shifted closer, her voice softer, aimed only for me."Hesitation is more detrimental than making mistakes."Decide. Now."
My stomach twisted, torn between fear and the stubborn ember of defiance still burning in me. I hated being cornered, hated being tested. But wasn't the city itself one giant test? If I couldn't decide here, in this rotting station, I'd never survive what was still to come.
I made a conscious effort to breathe.. One inhale. One exhale. My fear sharpened itself into something cleaner.
"We don't fight him here," I said finally. "My voice was steadier this time." "We let him follow. And when he's convinced we're easy quarry… then we show him he chose the wrong prey."
A flicker passed across Kael's scarred face—approval, maybe even respect. Selene simply gave one sharp nod, as though this was the answer she had been waiting to hear.
Above, the hunter tilted his head. It was as if he had heard me.. Almost like he welcomed the challenge.
And for the first time since entering this city, the fear inside me began to twist into something else. Not just dread. Not just survival. But resolve.
If this were their game, then I would understand them and also learn how to bend or break them.
We slipped back into the dripping tunnels, shadows merging with shadows… and behind us, the warden followed. Unseen. Patient. Deadly.
But so was I.
The rooftops loomed like jagged teeth above me, and every sound carried too far in the silence. A loose shutter banged in the wind, and I flinched, certain it was footsteps. My chest tightened. Whoever had been watching wasn't gone—they were toying with me, herding me deeper into the narrow veins of the city.
I pressed my back to the cold stone of an alley wall, forcing myself to breathe slower. Think. Don't panic. Panic is death. The damp air smelled of rust and wet smoke, and somewhere above, a raven croaked as if mocking me. My fingers brushed the hidden dagger at my hip, its weight both comfort and curse. Could it really save me if the watcher finally stepped out of the shadows?
A faint scrape came from the rooftop directly overhead. My pulse spiked. They were close—too close. I forced myself into motion, darting from the alley into a maze of market stalls abandoned for the night. Cloth banners flapped like ghosts, and broken crates crunched under my boots. I didn't dare to look back.
Still, the presence followed, silent and steady, as though my every move had already been predicted.