Kira's POV
The pain hits me like a knife twisting in my chest.
I bite down on my scream, pressing my back against the cold rooftop stones. My shadow magic—the power that once made me the deadliest assassin in the Shadow Court—is trying to kill me. Black veins crawl up my arms like poisonous snakes, pulsing with dark energy that burns through my blood.
Twenty-eight days. That's all I have left.
I force myself to breathe slowly, counting to ten like my mentor taught me. The irony makes me want to laugh. My mentor, the man who raised me, was the same one who ordered my death. The same one who cursed me when I wouldn't die fast enough.
The pain finally eases, leaving me shaking and weak. I wipe the cold sweat from my forehead and peer over the edge of the rooftop at the dark market below.
The Threshold's black market never sleeps. Even now, past midnight, the narrow street buzzes with dangerous people doing dangerous deals. Thieves selling stolen magic. Assassins trading weapons. Information brokers whispering secrets that could start wars.
I'm here for one of those brokers. A contact who might—might—know how to break shadow curses. My last hope before this curse eats me alive from the inside out.
I spot him finally. A hooded figure carrying a leather bag, moving through the crowd like a ghost. That's him. It has to be.
I stand up, ignoring the way my legs tremble. I've been the best assassin in the Shadow Guild for nine years. I won't let weakness stop me now. Not when I'm so close.
I jump from the rooftop, using my shadow magic to soften my landing in the alley below. The magic cooperates—barely. It fights me now, wanting to consume rather than obey. Every time I use it, I risk another attack like the one that just knocked me down.
But what choice do I have?
The hooded contact turns down a darker alley. Perfect. I follow, keeping to the shadows. This is what I'm good at. What I've always been good at.
"You're late," I say, stepping out behind him.
He spins around, and I see his face under the hood. Young. Scared. Wrong.
"You're not Raven," I say, my hand moving to the knife at my belt.
"Raven's dead," the boy stammers. "Killed two days ago. But I have what he was going to sell you. Information about breaking shadow curses."
Hope flares in my chest, painful and desperate. "Show me."
He reaches into his bag. I tense, ready for a trap. But he pulls out a rolled piece of parchment, holding it out to me with shaking hands.
"Three hundred gold," he says. "That's what Raven would have charged."
I don't have three hundred gold. I barely have thirty. But before I can negotiate, shadows drop from the rooftops around us. Five figures land in fighting stances, blades already drawn.
Shadow Guild assassins.
My old friends. My old family. The people who want me dead.
"Run!" I shout at the boy.
He doesn't need to be told twice. He bolts, clutching his bag.
The assassins don't chase him. They're here for me.
"Hello, Wraith," says the tallest one. I recognize his voice. Daemon. We trained together. He once saved my life during a mission gone wrong.
Now he's here to end it.
"The Guild sends its regards," Daemon says, raising his poisoned blade.
They attack as one, fast and brutal. This is how the Shadow Guild trains its killers—no mercy, no hesitation, no second chances.
I fight back with everything I have. My blades flash in the darkness. My shadow magic makes me faster, lets me dodge attacks that should have killed me. But I'm weak. The curse has stolen so much of my strength.
A blade slices across my shoulder. Another cuts my leg. I'm bleeding, slowing down, and they know it. They're circling me like wolves around wounded prey.
Daemon moves in for the killing blow. His blade aims straight for my heart. I try to dodge, but my curse chooses that moment to attack again. Pain explodes through my body. My legs give out. I fall to my knees, gasping.
Daemon's blade gets closer. Closer.
I can't move. I'm going to die here, in this dirty alley, killed by someone I once called brother.
Then light explodes through the alley.
Brilliant, blinding, burning light. The assassins scream. I shield my eyes, but I can hear them dying—their bodies turning to ash in seconds.
When the light fades, I force myself to look up.
A man steps through the glow. Tall. Golden hair. Cold blue eyes. White armor that practically glows in the darkness.
My blood turns to ice.
Lucian Daybreak. The Light Mage who's hunted me for three years. The brother of the man everyone thinks I murdered. The one person in this world who wants me dead more than my own guild does.
I try to shadow-walk away—to disappear into darkness and escape. But my curse flares again, keeping me solid, keeping me trapped. I'm too weak to run. Too weak to fight.
Lucian looks down at me with those cold, cold eyes.
"Hello, Nightshade," he says softly.
I wait for him to kill me. Wait for his light magic to burn me to nothing, just like he did to the assassins.
But instead, he says something that makes no sense at all.
"I need your help."
You're right! Let me create Chapter 2 for you based on the outline.