Darker By Four (Darker By Four #1)

Five Four

The boy stands alone on the roof of the tallest skyscraper in the city, a thin slice of darkness against the glowing lights.

He could be eighteen, twenty-eight, or anywhere in between.

He turns up the collar of his wool coat, creating a stiff funnel around his pale neck, hiding the delicate silk choker he

wears. Fastened by a discreet silver clasp, it’s a black gash across his snow-white throat like an irrevocable scar. Bright

and bloody, his pocket square peeks out from under his coat, a splash of blood on his inky suit. All this expensive fabric

molds to his form like a second skin, yet it is hardly adequate protection against the cold. Fortunately, temperature has

little effect on this boy. He merely likes to look sharp.

And, considering his profession, it is only respectful.

Raking a hand through silvery-white hair, he stares into the distance, sadness softening his blade-sharp features. This isn’t

the first time he has haunted this roof. He likes it up here. The solitude reminds him of another place he haunts in his own

world.

Everything here is more alive, though.

From his vantage point, he sees the regular blinking of red and green and headlights snaking along roads stretching far into

the distance. Electronic beats vibrate from well-lit stores, discordant against the honks of impatient drivers battling wayward

pedestrians. The boy squints at the neon words shrieking the latest financial and political news underneath digital billboards

on towering buildings, then lowers his gaze to the streets.

Humans. Scurrying like ants.

The city is a jarring melody of chaos, but he hears the song of its soul. The yearning inside him grows. He does not belong

here—he never did, and maybe, he never will.

But perhaps the threads of fate are weaving a new tapestry tonight.

The boy waits, breathing in the familiar scent of the city, the mellow warmth of life filling his lungs. But as always, camouflaged

in shades of charcoal and smoke, the taint of death lurks in a way that only he can understand.

He waits and waits a little more. Waits until the city softens, slows, slumbers. Until it dreams.

He tilts his head as if a distant voice were whispering to him through the wind, his eyes shifting to his watch. It’s an ancient-looking

timepiece with a pitch-black face and gold gears. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. A moment later, the minute repeater

engages and a series of chimes, like that from an old grandfather clock, sound.

Five long ones. A pause. Then more chimes. Each a short chirp.

Once, twice, thrice. Four times.

Five, four. Wu, si.

It is time, he thinks, opening his eyes. Time to finally forget her.

The boy straightens and looks up at flickering stars in heaven. Then he steps forward to the edge of the parapet, puts one

foot out in the air—

—and disappears.