Chapter 15
Elira
After the meeting with the weaponsmith, Thorne announced I needed a proper holster for the blade. So, we pushed deeper into the winding veins of the market. I’d tucked the dagger into my pocket, but the urge to touch it—to run my fingers along the cool, unforgiving steel—was almost unbearable.
When we stepped back into the market, Leo ran off claiming he “had a stop to make” and Phoenix took his place by my side.
Slade brought up the rear, eyes scanning every passerby like he expected an ambush at any moment. Thorne walked ahead through the maze of stalls without hesitation, cutting through the press of bodies like he knew exactly where we were going.
“How are you doing?” Phoenix asked quietly, his voice low enough that only I could hear. He’d noticed the tension in my shoulders—of course he had.
I shot him a sideways glance. “I’m fine. It’s just… weird. Being here.”
“Weird how?” he asked, brows slightly raised.
I tipped my chin toward the red-cloaked sentinels patrolling the far side of the square, their armour catching the sunlight like bloodied mirrors.
“The last time I was here—what, over a week ago? —I was running for my life. Those same bastards were chasing me through the alleys.”
Phoenix’s gaze followed mine, his jaw tightening with a concealed smirk. “And now you’re walking the same path with four Shades ready to kill for you.”
“Dramatic much?” I grinned, despite myself. “But yeah. Bit of a shift.”
“You get used to it,” he said, his lips twitching like he was holding back a real smile. “Power looks good on you.”
I caught sight of a small hand darting out from behind a barrel, fingers curling around a bright red apple on the edge of a stall. The vendor didn’t notice—but I did.
I stopped mid-step, forcing Phoenix to pause with me.
“What is it?” he murmured, but I didn’t answer. I was already heading toward the stand.
The stallholder glanced up as I approached, his face breaking into a wide, eager grin when he recognized the company I kept.
“And what can I get you this fine day?” he asked brightly. “Finest apples in all of Varrowmere!”
“Fill a sack,” I said, voice cool but not unkind. “The biggest you have.”
Phoenix raised a brow, watching with mild amusement as the shopkeeper eagerly obeyed, pulling a burlap sack from beneath the counter and piling it with crisp fruit. Once he’d finished, Phoenix tugged free his coin purse and handed over a generous sum without complaint.
I nodded my thanks, then took the sack and casually wandered toward a narrow alley off to the side of the square. Just before I reached it, I let out a soft, practiced gasp and staggered slightly, dropping the bag as if by accident.
Phoenix didn’t say a word—but I felt his gaze, warm and knowing.
I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to.
I moved on without a glance back, blending into the crowd. Phoenix fell in beside me again, his stride matching mine with ease.
“You always do that?” he asked casually, not quite looking at me.
“Do what?” I replied, feigning innocence.
He gave a low chuckle. “Drop perfectly good food in perfectly empty alleys?”
I shrugged, eyes scanning the rows of market stalls. “Just happened to trip.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of movement. A small figure darted from the shadows, snatching the bag with practiced speed. The kid looked no older than ten—barefoot, dirt-smudged, and sharp-eyed. He clutched the sack like a treasure chest and disappeared between buildings.
Phoenix watched it all, then glanced down at me, his voice softer now. “You were one of them.”
I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t have to.
“I know what it feels like to be hungry,” I finally said. “No one should have to steal to survive.”
Phoenix bumped my shoulder gently. “You're not what I expected, you know.”
I arched a brow. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”
He smirked. “A little bit of both.”
We moved on, weaving through the crowd until the noise dulled and the air thickened with leather and smoke. Thorne was already ahead, talking to a broad-shouldered man with inked arms and fingers stained from dye and oil. The holster-maker.
The shop was little more than a stall nestled between two crumbling buildings, shaded with stretched canvas and cluttered with tools. Straps of leather hung like vines from the beams.
Thorne turned at our approach. “Pick what fits. He’ll shape it to you.”
The holster-maker grunted in agreement, jerking his chin toward the display.
"Let's see the blade," he said, his voice rough but curious.
I hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, slowly, I reached into my coat and withdrew the dagger. I'd already wrapped the hilt in a strip of velvet, hiding the crest beneath.
I felt Thorne’s eyes sharpen, watching every movement closely.
Slade remained just behind him, arms crossed, scanning every passerby like they might pose a threat. The silent giant didn’t say much, but I could feel his watchful presence like it was physical.
Phoenix leaned in, peering at the display of belts and buckles. “This one,” he said, tapping a sleek holster of dark brown leather with reinforced blue seams. “Matches your coat. And it won’t slip.”
The holster-maker took it, measured it against the dagger, and nodded. “Give me a moment.”
He set to work quickly, humming under his breath as he adjusted the length and added a leather strap to secure the hilt. His fingers moved with speed, but not carelessness.
As he worked, Thorne stepped closer to me, voice low. “Keep that blade hidden. Tyrone was right about one thing. If anyone sees that crest…”
“I know,” I murmured. “It’s already wrapped.”
“Good,” he said simply.
The holster-maker handed the finished piece over with a grunt. I strapped it to my thigh, adjusted the fit, and slid the dagger home. It settled against me like it belonged.
“Looks right on you,” Phoenix said beside me, smiling crookedly.
“Feels right,” I admitted.
Thorne gave a single nod. “Then we move. Leo will meet us soon. We’ve got a lot to do before nightfall.”
Leo found us just past the smithing quarter, near the cracked edge of the old city wall. He came striding toward us with a burlap sack slung over one shoulder and a smug glint in his eye.
“Took your time,” Thorne muttered.
Leo didn’t even flinch. He strode right up to me and dumped the sack into my hands with a flourish. “For you.”
I raised a brow. “What is it?”
“Open it,” he said, grinning like a cheshire cat.
I unwrapped it slowly.
It was a set of throwing knives, wickedly curved, forged from obsidian-black steel with gleaming silver filigree down the spines. Delicate etchings ran along the hilt—roses, twisted in thorns. The hilts were wrapped in dark red leather, almost the colour of blood.
“I saw them and thought of you,” Leo said, and he meant it—completely unironically.
“They’re beautiful,” I said softly, weighing one in my palm. Balanced. Deadly. “And the roses?”
He shrugged, but there was a flicker of something real beneath his grin. “Thorns on the outside, petals at the heart. Felt… appropriate.”
I blinked. Swallowed. Phoenix whistled low beside me. “They’re Veylan-made. That’s shadow-forged steel. Where the hell did you get these?”
Leo tilted his head, all sunshine and mischief. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”
Slade reached for one, inspecting it with quiet approval. “She won’t miss.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it.” Leo grinned.
Thorne nodded once, his gaze unreadable. “Nice find. They’ll serve her well.”
I slid the knives into the new sheath at my hip, settling them beside the dagger.
One stayed in my palm, the weight oddly comforting — more than I cared to admit.
Leo’s gesture had hit harder than I expected.
“I used to practice throwing blades at the ruins,” I said, tracing a finger along one of the curved hilts. “I wasn’t too bad.”
Leo’s eyes lit up like I’d handed him the biggest gift. “That is so hot,” he said, flashing a feline grin.
Phoenix snorted beside me, muttering something under his breath about hopeless romantics.
I didn’t mean to — but I laughed. Not the polite kind, not forced. A real laugh, quick and sudden, slipping free before I could catch it.
The four men slowed around me, turning to stare like I’d done something extraordinary.
And for the first time, I smiled — not at all of them, but at the strange, reckless Shade who had somehow, impossibly, worked his way under my skin.
“Thank you,” I said, meeting Leo’s eyes.
He winked, casual and cocky—but there was warmth there too, buried just beneath the swagger.
“Anytime, angel.”
We wandered the market a while longer, the mix of spices and sizzling meat making my stomach betray me with a loud grumble. Thorne heard it, of course, and shot me a sideways glance before veering toward a nearby stall with Leo to grab food.
Drawn by the scent of fresh bread, I drifted toward another vendor just across the way. Phoenix followed with easy steps, already fishing out coins, while Slade lingered behind us, never too close—but never out of sight.
As Phoenix spoke with the vendor, a strange tingle crawled up the back of my neck. All the fine hairs there lifted at once.
My eyes pulled instinctively toward a darkened gap in the stalls that opened up toward the docks.
Narrow alleyways branched off from the wharf like veins, disappearing behind stacks of hulking metal containers.
It was colder there. Heavier. The dull sun touched everything else, but that stretch remained cloaked in shadow.
Slade was still there, hovering at the edge of my vision. But the unease didn’t fade.
I scanned the darkness, heart beginning to pick up its pace. My skin prickled with that primal, unmistakable feeling.
Someone was watching me.
It was like the shadows themselves were warning me. Yet still, I took a step, drawn in as if something tugged at a string inside my chest.
It wasn’t just curiosity. It was pull.
The shadows whispered my name.
Elira…
My eyes locked on the alleyway where the light refused to go.
Was that a figure?
“Finn?” I whispered, barely loud enough to carry.
But the form didn’t move. It stood still, cloaked in shadow so thick it felt like it breathed.
Then—gleaming. Just for a second, the dim sun caught the glint of two eyes. Red as spilled blood. Watching.
Elira…
The voice was no longer just in my mind. It was in the air. In my bones.
I lifted my foot, compelled to move closer—
BOOM.
The ground buckled beneath me as the world ripped sideways.
Another explosion.
Screams erupted. Shrapnel tore through the air like angry wasps. The marketplace, just moments ago alive with voices and warmth, shattered into chaos.
I hit the ground hard. Smoke and dust swallowed everything. The force of the blast sent crates and canvas flying, and people surged in every direction, panicked.
But my gaze was still locked on the alleyway.
The figure was gone.