Sweat ran down Gray’s temples. His jacket was stuck to his skin.

He ducked his head and lengthened his stride, resisting the urge to cast a glance behind him.

He knew Killian would still be able to track him through the jinx, but he couldn’t hear him or feel him, and honestly, Killian wasn’t the main threat he was worried about right now.

Gray hadn’t thought it would be possible to find a neighbourhood sketchier than the one with the pawn shop from earlier.

He was wrong.

These streets gave him bigger heebie jeebies than Gallows Alley back in Krydon.

It was as though these streets had eyes.

The feeling of being watched raised the hackles on the back of Gray’s neck. There were too many armed people loitering in groups, too much graffiti on the walls warning him away.

Gray averted his gaze from three women who had no teeth, and went to shortcut through a small park.

A little old lady snagged the sleeve of Gray’s jacket.

‘You have a death wish?’ she said, her voice wobbling with age. ‘Silver Axes own that park.’

Well, shit.

Gray murmured his thanks, turned on his heel to go around.

And saw Killian.

Dodging down a shadowy alley - so skinny it was more of a walkway - Gray realised too late that it was a dead end.

Deserted.

The walls were sheer.

The only door was locked.

The only windows were three stories up.

There was an airlessness to this alley that would’ve had Gray’s heart skipping a beat even if he wasn’t being pursued by a furious wolf-shifter.

There was magic here.

Or perhaps a mage, nearby.

But, Gray remembered all the mages were gone - a city wide disaster - and that made the creeping sensation of nearby magic worse.

Because whatever he was sensing was not a mage.

Gods.

The only place to hide was behind a bunch of rotting barrels and a giant metal bin, and Gray would be damned if Killian caught him hiding.

There was a soft pad, pad, pad behind Gray. It slowed to a stop.

Swallowing hard, Gray turned around and faced Killian.

Killian’s gaze was dark.

Completely fixed on Gray.

‘You about done?’ said Killian.

Gray pretended to think. He could barely breathe, barely talk. He made himself stand straighter and stare Killian right in the eye.

Killian raised his eyebrows. Slowly, he slipped a piece of parchment out of his pocket. ‘How about a negotiation, hm, kid? You want this? You can have it if you stop being a fucking pain in my ass.’

Gray’s list.

Carefully, Gray made himself not edge forward. He made himself keep his face shuttered.

Despair was creeping through him.

He wouldn’t go back, he wouldn’t be a prisoner again, he couldn’t let himself be dragged away and forced to abandon helping Alistair.

He was dead anyway if he went with Killian.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Gray said hoarsely. ‘It doesn’t matter if I’m-’

There was a soft whip through the air.

Almost faster than Gray could track, a man dropped off the roof and landed neatly behind Killian.

The agileness of him was slightly off, his movements were too quiet, too quick.

He was holding some kind of silver amulet.

Killian turned and had the man on the ground with his boot on the man’s throat in an instant. There was a clatter as the silver amulet fell from the man’s grip.

The man.

There was an etherealness to him, a dangerous intelligence in his bright eyes. His black coat pooled on the ground around him.

He was Other, Gray realised. Full Other.

Not fae - they’d be dead if the man was fae - not goblin, not dryad. Something else.

The hard line of Killian’s lips had lifted into a cold snarl, and he was about to say something - his mouth was opening - when someone pressed a blade against Gray’s throat from behind.

They grabbed Gray, the cold metal of the blade digging into his skin, and dragged him back, dragged him up. Gray’s tiptoes scraped.

Fear lanced through him.

He could feel, smell, the thug holding him, their arm strangling him was covered in thick black hair.

Gray latched onto their arm, his toes dragging, and tried to twist free.

Couldn’t.

Killian threw his dagger at the thug with deadly precision

There was an ugly thud as the dagger found its mark.

Gray wrenched himself free from the hairy arm. The thug fell with a bang and his blade skittered over the damp cobblestones.

Gray glimpsed the thug. He was a huge man - bigger than Longwark, bigger than any man he’d ever seen, with a blond beard braided into two and wearing fighting leathers - with the dagger wedged neatly between his glassy eyes.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The dagger was into the thug’s skull to the hilt. The throw had been so fast, so precise and deadly that the death had been instant. There was barely any blood.

Gray glanced up at Killian.

‘Kid,’ said Killian, applying a concerning amount of pressure onto the throat of the man - Other - on the ground, his boot digging into the poor man’s flesh, and the man had become awfully still, ‘You’re freaking out. I can see it in your face.’

Gray was shaking. He didn’t know why. He’d seen way worse than this.

‘You stay calm,’ said Killian. ‘Don’t-’

And in that instant - that quarter of a second that Killian was focused on Gray - an arrow shot through the air and hit Killian’s shoulder.

Killian stiffened.

The arrow glinted silver in the streaks of sunlight that reached through the alley.

Killian dropped like a tonne of bricks. His knees buckled, they clapped in a jarring whump against the cobblestones.

All colour drained from Killian’s face.

The silver arrow hissed against Killian’s body, spiraling steam. Killian clawed at the arrow. He withdrew his hands as though stung. His shoulder was getting soaked with blood, his uniform turning dark red.

A crew of people stood at the mouth of the alleyway.

Gray’s heart was hammering so hard he could barely make them out, their faces were blurred.

There was a scuff of their shoes over the cobblestones and a chinking of axes and knives concealed beneath leathers as they walked in with a predator’s grace.

Slow and deliberate.

Like they owned every cobblestone their boots touched.

One of them stopped, staring down at Killian.

He was a tall, lean man. Gray had the brief impression of oiled, dark hair swept back, and a set of unsettling blue eyes. He was dressed like a careful nobleman, all brass buttons and velvet cuffs.

He picked at Killian’s wolf fur collar. ‘A king’s wolf shifter. Caught by silver. Tut, tut. Very sloppy.’

‘Silk,’ said one of the crew. ‘He killed Ruggor.’

‘My men are coming,’ said Killian, his voice strained. ‘They’ll outnumber you five to one.’

‘Thanks for the warning.’ Silk cast a leisurely glance over Killian, and then to the thug with the dagger in his face.

‘You just killed my champion,’ said Silk. He glanced down at the man who’d gone horribly still underneath the pressure of Killian’s boot. ‘And my faerie.’

Sweat beaded Killian’s forehead. He closed his eyes. His teeth were bared.

Silk paused, glancing at Gray. ‘This your pup?’

‘This kid?’ hissed Killian, as though deeply offended. ‘No. A delinquent.’

Silk frowned slightly at Gray. ‘There's something wrong with him.’

‘He fell off a roof,’ said Killian. ‘He's in shock. He’s an idiot.’

Silk made a subtle signal with his hand and one of the crew had Gray in a chokingly tight hold again, a small pen knife pressed against his ribs.

‘What,’ snarled Killian, ‘poachers are taking delinquent humans, too, now?’

Gray’d assumed these people were the Silver Axes, but they were poachers, or perhaps the Silver Axes had poachers-

The kind of panic ripping through Gray, the tightness in his lungs, the feeling like he was going to damn well die couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Though it had been building since the thug - Ruggor - had fallen at his feet with the dagger planted between his eyes. Gray knew it was only a matter of seconds before his magic would rise to the surface of his skin, it would light him up, and then he’d be truly screwed.

Breathe.

In. Out.

He couldn’t.

But, the seconds were passing by, and Silk and Killian were talking, and Gray’s panic was soaring, and he couldn’t breathe, and his magic hadn’t so much as rippled.

The curling whisper of the thought - fear, answer - at the back of his mind of Powl’s Potion. Perhaps - perhaps it had done something -

‘How much will you get for him?’ Killian was saying. ‘A few silver coins? If you’re so desperate for income I could employ you-’ He cut off with a restrained groan. His head bowed forward and he let out a low swear word.

‘A naive wolf-shifter,’ said Silk. ‘Charming. You’re speaking of employment like you have a future beyond what I have planned for you.’

‘My men,’ said Killian. ‘They’re coming.’

‘We’ll take care of your men,’ said Silk lightly.

Killian stilled, breathing shallowly.

‘Besides,’ said Silk, ‘I think I’d rather just have the fortune I’d earn from a wolfshifter’s hair, blood, and tears, than ever join that motherfucker’s army. Thank you.’

Killian glanced up, his dark gaze wide. He locked eyes with Gray.

‘Kid,’ he said, ‘kid, pull it together. Inhale.’

Not taking his eyes off Killian, Silk waved a graceful hand at his crew. ‘Check the boy.'

Someone was pressing hard metal against Gray's neck, against his cheek. He glimpsed the glinting of silver.

The silver amulet was lifted from Gray’s face.

‘Not a wolf, boss,’ said the man.

‘Bring him closer.’

Gray was dragged forward.

‘You’re a little bit passive,’ said Silk, his voice low and leaning in. ‘You’re in shock? Or you some kind of Other?’

Gray bristled and bit back the words why don’t I hold a knife to your throat and see how passive you become?

‘I’m trying to decide how to kill you,’ said Gray.

Which was stupid, because his voice was breathless and trembling, and it was all cringey bluster. It made the whole crew burst out into laughter - the kind of laughter that was all sharp edges and ice.

‘Wipe the kohl off him,’ said Silk.

There was a tense silence as one of the crew roughly wiped Gray’s face with his crusty sleeve.

Silk held a finger to his lips, as Gray’s face was revealed.

‘Don’t I know you?’ Silk said.

Killian said something. Or he tried, before it was interrupted by his own groan. His fingers clawed into the cobblestones. He was drenched in sweat.

Silk smiled widely. ‘I could’ve sworn the army was handing out fliers with your face on it.’ He pointed at Killian and then back at Gray. ‘You wouldn’t be Conor Griffin, would you?’

Silence thudded like heartbeats.

Some of the crew muttered oaths and shifted back.

Not Silk, though. He remained still as steel, his gaze steadily watching Gray.

‘Fuck,’ breathed Killian.

Silk turned to his crew. ‘Maybe he was trying to decide how to kill us.’

There was no laughter this time.

There was a sting to the following silence. The person holding the pen knife to Gray let out a shallow breath and adjusted his grip. His fingers were growing slick.

‘If you are deciding how to kill us,’ Silk leant close to Gray again, as though sharing a secret between friends, ‘you’re taking a dreadfully long time to do it.’

He paused.

Seconds stretched.

Silence thudded and panic coiled in the pit of Gray’s stomach. He glanced desperately at Killian, but Killian was curled in on himself, breathing shallowly.

‘You going to do anything?’ said Silk. He addressed his crew, 'He's not going to do anything.'

'Silk,' said the man holding Gray. He was sweating so much that he dropped his knife. 'Should we be taunting Conor Griffin?'

Silk looked Gray square in the eye. 'Should we?'

Gray did what he least wanted to do. What he’d refused to do his whole life until it had taken a dark turn and everything had gotten so messed up.

He reached inside himself, searching for the delicate coiling of his magic, he was mentally groping, he was trying to let it be and let it come up.

His skin was lighting up.

His heart was hammering hard, he was shaking head to toe.

Let it be.

But, he couldn’t. He could just let it be and unleash a wave of magic within him that would rip him apart.

And he had no idea what he was supposed to do with his magic even if he could let it unleashed.

He’d never been trained.

‘Very impressive,’ said Silk. ‘I could use you as a night light.’

‘Kid,’ uttered Killian. ‘Inhale.’

‘Are you going to do anything else, Conor?’ said Silk.

‘Shut your damn mouth,’ Killian said, his voice ripped from him, his voice drenched in pain, ‘you fucking idiot. Gray, we’ll sort this out, don’t-’

There was a brutal thud and Killian was cut off.

Gray’s skin was too hot, too tight.

‘You know,’ Silk said, his voice lowered conspiratorially and with slow, burgeoning delight. ‘I don’t think you can.’

Maybe being exploded in a crater would be a better fate than what awaited him with the poachers.

Gray’s magic burst through him like a tsumani shattering a city.