"I need to go now. Enjoy the rest of the night," Jeron said with a half-smile, raising his hand in farewell.
I lifted the muffin in return, a silly little gesture like a toast. "You too," I said, waving with it before taking another bite.
I watched him as he walked away.
For a mont, I kept my smile, ward by the ordinary ease of it. But then—slowly—it slipped away.
Because I heard sothing.
Not the chatter of the people in the distance. Not the beat of the drums or the laughter of children. Sothing thinner, sharper, more delicate. A sound that didn’t belong here.
Music from a harp. The note stretched clean and true, as if a silver string had been plucked right beside my ear.
My breath caught, and I stilled where I stood.
The lody wasn’t faint, not a fading mory from that day in House of Ambrosia, nor so stray thought conjured by my own mind. No, it sounded like it was present. Close. The kind of sound you could almost touch if you reached for it.
My head tilted instinctively, chasing it, even though I knew it was useless. The air was heavy with roasting at, smoke, and chatter. The music floating across the street from minstrels and flutes was bright, brassy, nothing like the delicate pull of Jeron’s harp.
And yet, for a heartbeat, it wrapped around .
A note, then another. Each pluck was a thread tugging low in my chest, winding, binding. The familiarity of it unsettled .
The sound shivered through once, twice, like a cold hand brushing down my spine, and then it was gone.
Vanished.
I blinked three tis. What was that?
’That was strange,’ Leika grumbled, also hearing what I heard.
"You’re staring at him as if you want to go with him."
My breath hitched. I spun around and nearly dropped the muffin.
Rion stood against a stone pillar only a few paces away, his mask gone. The festival’s warm lantern glow painted his silver-dark hair in pale fire, the sharp edges of his face cut clean by shadow. And those shadows... they weren’t still. They curled lazily around his boots, rising, recoiling, like creatures restless to move.
My heart gave a traitorous lurch before my mind caught up. Was he watching this whole ti?
I narrowed my eyes, irritation smothering the small jolt his sudden presence had caused. So, he was finished with his dance partners then? The won who had circled him earlier like moths around a fla, ready to throw themselves into his arms at the slightest crook of his finger.
It must have been fun for him. To stand there in the center of it all, letting them laugh too loudly at every word, brushing against him as if by accident, their jeweled hands grazing his sleeves. Fun to be wanted so openly, to have won practically clawing for a piece of his attention.
My mouth flattened. Did he enjoy that—having them fight over him like wolves scrambling for scraps?
"You are creepy," I snapped, clutching the muffin tighter. "You just co out of nowhere."
No smirk. No sly remark. Just his gaze fixed on , dark and unreadable, as if sothing else entirely was running beneath his skin.
The silence stretched, so I let a small smile curve my lips. "Looks like you didn’t have fun."
Finally, movent—his eyes flicked to my hands. "How much have you eaten tonight?" His tone was sharp, mocking. "I bet you’ll give yourself indigestion stuffing yourself like that."
I shoved the last of the muffin into my mouth, cheeks puffing like a child’s, refusing to let him have the last word.
Talking through the bite, I muttered, "It’s the first night of Moon Festival. I’m having fun."
I reached for the grilled at skewer in my other hand, determined to bite down triumphantly but before I could, a hand shot forward.
"Hey!" I squeaked, startled as he plucked it from my fingers.
He didn’t even look guilty. He sank his teeth into it, chewing slow, savoring.
I gaped at him. "Can’t you get your own food? Why steal other people’s?"
He swallowed, his voice smooth as dark velvet. "Everything in Undercity is mine."
I scoffed, shaking my head. He calmly devoured the rest of the at and flicked the stick away, as though it had never belonged to at all.
Infuriating man.
I opened my mouth to deliver another barb when his whole deanor shifted. The teasing arrogance slid away like a mask. His eyes darkened. Shadows sharpened at his boots. His eyes, blood and dark at once, locked past .
A warning prickled the back of my neck.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice lower now.
"Blood."
The word dropped heavy between us.
I inhaled sharply, my wolf rising with . My senses strained, ears pricking, nose searching. But all I caught was roasting at, scent from food, sweet wine, pressed bodies and laughter. No tang of iron. No tallic bite.
My wolf stirred uneasily. Nothing.
But Rion’s shadows weren’t wrong. They stretched thin around him like tendrils tasting the air, restless, alive. They moved as though they knew sothing I couldn’t.
Of course his senses were sharper. His nature was darker, stranger, more powerful.
"Where?" I murmured.
His lips curved—slow, predatory. "Down there."
I followed his gaze over my shoulder. Beyond the lanterns, beyond the laughter and crowded stalls, a narrow passage split from the main street. A small stone arch, swallowed in shadow. Too quiet. Too still. The alley’s end vanished into darkness, stark against the noise and celebration everywhere else.
A chill traced my spine.
The shadows around Rion pulsed, drawn toward it. His face hardened, gaze locked, but then one corner of his mouth tilted upward, cold amusent slipping through.
"Soone’s causing trouble, it seems." His tone was almost... pleased.
My heart thumped.
Then his eyes shifted to . "Let’s go and catch the troublemaker, little wolf."
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