"Where is the boy?" the Trickster asked, his smile insincere and mocking.

Leora met his gaze and smiled back. Her mind eased, if only for a brief moment. Reynard had done it. Her husband, often seen as dull and predictable by others, had proven once again that he could rise to the occasion when it truly mattered.

While Leora had used her extensive connections to hire specialists who erased her family's trails and shielded them from prying eyes, Reynard had gone even further. He had taken them completely off the grid. Even Leora, with all her skills and resources, had no idea where he and their son were now.

The Trickster's eyes narrowed, sensing something amiss in her quiet confidence, but Leora's smile never faltered. They wouldn’t find Leonard. Not in a thousand years. Reynard had ensured that.

"You're wasting your time," she said calmly, her voice steady despite the crushing force around her. “I assure you will never find them.”

The Trickster's casual tone grated on Leora’s nerves. “That’s fine and all,” he said, shrugging with a smirk. “Must be off-grid then. It’s not like I’m trying that hard. I’m my own person, after all.”

He leaned in, still hovering above her with an air of smugness. “Hey, Bright, why not join my Troupe? I’ll help you protect your family. Good deal, right? You do know a dedicated tracker can still find them.”

Leora’s eyes darkened, her breath steady despite the suffocating pressure. "Troupe?" she echoed, her voice cold with disbelief.

“Ah, yeah, you heard me right,” the Trickster continued, clearly enjoying himself. “I’ve got no plans of affiliating with the Hunter’s Association—too stuffy, you know? So not a Guild, and definitely not a Clan. A Troupe. A group of people united by intersecting personal interests.”

He waved his hand theatrically. “I’m still workshopping the name, but I’m thinking… the Undead Troupe! And our motto? ‘We never tire of work!’ Get it? ‘Cause, you know, we’re relentless.” He chuckled, amused by his own joke, but his eyes remained sharp, watching her reaction carefully.

Leora remained silent, staring up at him through the haze of pain. The pressure from the Caster’s spell tightened around her chest, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a response. She knew his kind—smoke and mirrors, words meant to manipulate and entangle.

The Trickster’s smile faltered slightly at her lack of response. “Come on, think about it. You’re strong, smart, and clearly capable. Your family could use protection from the bigger fish out there. All I ask is for you to join my Troupe.”

Leora clenched her jaw, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. She knew what he was trying to do—offering her false hope, preying on her fears, trying to make her believe that his so-called protection was the only option left.

“I’d rather die than join you,” she spat, her voice filled with venom.

The Trickster’s expression shifted, his faux charm slipping for just a moment. “Well,” he said, his voice tightening, “that’s a shame. Sarah, increase the pressure again, would you? Let’s see how stubborn she really is.”

Out of nowhere—thud—the oppressive pressure around Leora vanished. Gasping for air, she blinked, realizing she was no longer surrounded by her captors but standing at the ledge.

Instinctively, she looked down. The Trickster was sprawled on the ground below, gasping for breath as though some invisible force had struck him. The Caster, alarmed, immediately dispelled her suffocating spell, panic flashing across her face. The Fighter, however, was quick to react, launching himself upward in a desperate attempt to catch Leora.

There was no time to think, no time to figure out what had happened. Leora’s instincts kicked in. Without hesitation, she turned and ran.

Her aura flared to life, wrapping around her body like a second skin. In an instant, she was gone, her speed blurring her figure as she sprinted through the city streets. Buildings, shadows, and alleys all melted together as she pushed herself to her limits.

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The wind howled in her ears as she vanished into the night, leaving the Trickster and his troupe behind. She didn't dare look back—her only focus now was escape, and ensuring she lived to protect her family another day.

Leora found herself just outside a dimly lit convenience store, her heart still racing from the escape. She scanned her surroundings, trying to calm the lingering adrenaline in her system.

“Come out,” she called, her voice steady but low. She could feel it—the faint yet undeniable presence. Someone had been following her, their aura expertly suppressed, almost undetectable.

Slowly, a figure emerged from her shadow, rising as if from the darkness itself. He was a man dressed in a dark suit with white pinstripes, his appearance sharp and deliberate. He wore shades, despite the night, and an obvious small black diamond tattoo marked the skin beneath his left eye.

Leora’s hand instinctively brushed the hilt of her knife, though she didn’t draw it. She studied the man for a moment, her mind racing back to the encounter at the ledge. “It was you, wasn’t it? The one who saved me back there?”

The man gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable behind the shades. “Call me Jacob,” he said, his voice smooth and composed.

Leora’s eyes narrowed. Jacob. The name didn’t ring any bells, but the way he moved and his calm demeanor told her he was no ordinary bystander. He was skilled, precise, and dangerous in his own right.

“Why?” she asked, wary. "Why help me?"

Without a word, Jacob reached into his pocket and handed her a small strip of paper. She hesitated for a moment before taking it, her guard still up. Her eyes scanned the slip, confusion spreading across her face.

“It’s from your favorite author,” Jacob said, his tone light but carrying weight.

Leora’s breath caught. “What?” She glanced back at him, the significance of the paper not fully hitting her yet.

Jacob gave her a faint smile. “He said he’s the most handsome guy in the world.”

For a brief moment, Leora’s hard exterior cracked. Her chest tightened, emotions welling up that she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. She almost teared up, but she forced herself to hold it in—she was still standing in front of a hunter, after all, and she couldn’t afford to show any vulnerability.

Her hands shook slightly as she grabbed the paper, her eyes locking onto the phone number scrawled across it. She didn’t need long to memorize it, but the sight of it made her heart pound. There was no doubt now. It wasn’t just any author—it was him.

Leora stuffed the paper into her pocket, her expression hardening once more as she looked back at Jacob. "Why are you doing this?"

Jacob shrugged, his face still unreadable behind his shades. “It’s a job from the author. He has something I want. Talk to him.”

Leora’s heart skipped a beat. Reynard. Her mind flashed back to her husband—steady, predictable Reynard, or so she had always believed. But now, doubt gnawed at her. What had Reynard gotten himself into?

What did you do, Reynard?

For the first time, she realized that she might not know her husband as well as she thought. Her overconfidence in hiding their family after the incident had stemmed from her extensive network, years of pulling favors and calling in debts from allies. But Reynard’s voluntary decision to disappear off the grid—two years ago, without even telling her where he had gone—had been the final layer of protection.

To be fair, it was her who disappeared on them without a word.

Now, with Jacob’s words echoing in her mind, Leora wondered if that disappearance had been more than just a survival tactic. Had Reynard done something more? Something that put their son at risk?

Her grip tightened around the phone in her hand. She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen. She hadn’t contacted Reynard since he disappeared. Part of her had trusted him to stay hidden, to keep their family safe, but now she wasn’t so sure.

What if Reynard had been involved in something dangerous all along?

Her mind raced as she unlocked her phone. She stared at the blank screen for a moment, weighing her options. Calling that number—contacting Reynard—might give her the answers she needed, but it also meant diving deeper into whatever secrets he had been keeping.

Jacob watched her silently, his patience unnerving. Leora took a deep breath and dialed the number written on the strip of paper.

The line rang once. Twice.

Then a familiar voice picked up on the other end.

“Leora?” Reynard’s voice was calm, as if nothing had changed. But to her, everything had.

“Reynard,” she whispered, her grip on the phone tightening. “We need to talk.”

“Time and place,” Reynard demanded, his voice steady on the other end of the line.

Leora didn't hesitate. “The place where we first met. How about a week from now? I have some... cleanup to do. I was ambushed, and I need to cover my tracks.”

There was a pause, then Reynard’s voice lowered slightly. “Is it the Undead Troupe?”

Leora’s breath caught. “H-how did you know? Yes, it’s them.”

“They’re more dangerous than they appear,” Reynard warned, his tone grim. “Especially their leader. Never engage them. Not the way you are now. Have you met him? Wears shades, little diamond tattoo under his left eye?”

Leora’s mind raced as she recalled Jacob’s face, his casual demeanor and cryptic manner. “Yes, I met Jacob.”

“Jacob?” Reynard sounded thoughtful. “Probably an alias. He still owes me two favors after giving you this contact number. Use him if you must—bodyguard, distraction, whatever you think he’s worth.”

Leora frowned, her instincts pushing back against the idea. “No,” she said firmly. “I think I’ll dismiss him.”

“Good,” Reynard replied, approval clear in his voice. “The fewer attachments, the better. Two weeks, then—March 17. I’ll meet you there.”