Page 2 of Of Shadow and Moon

The men nod, their faces tense, driven by her urgency. The path winds sharply, leading them through narrow passages and steep inclines, every step echoing like thunder in the stillness of the cave.

Finally, they reach the mouth of the cave, the open air beyond it carrying the first light of dawn.

“He will be pleased. We must move quicker,” she whispers, the words barely a breath, filled with relief and a fierce determination.

“Now.”

And together, they disappear into the night, carrying the girl who was once only a myth, but now, a weapon bound to shape the world.

Or destroy it.

Chapter 1

Selestina

I’m perched on the edge of a crumbling rooftop of an old seamstress shop, blending into the night. The moons are hung high, illuminating the rough cobblestones and the drunken groups spilling out of the tavern.

My mask, a creation of black silk and woven magic, clings to my skin like a second face. It’s not just a mask, it’s my shield, my anonymity stitched into every thread. It’s cool and slightly prickly against my cheeks, a reminder of the witch who crafted it and the precautions she’s drilled into me. Only I can remove it, ensuring that my identity remains a secret, even in death.

From my vantage point, I have the perfect view of the tavern. Its warm light spills through the old wooden door, painting the cobblestones in golds and oranges. The muffled sounds of laughter and shouting echo off the stone walls of the narrow street, mixing with the clink of cups and the occasional crash of breaking glass. My focus, however, is not on the noise but on the man I’m waiting for, a vile excuse for a human who hides behind the name Nico Alvarez.

A piece of shit, to put it lightly.

My fingers brush against the hilt of my dagger, the cool steel a comforting weight strapped snugly against my ribs. One of many daggers attached to me. Nico’s face is burned into my mind. He is the portrait of cruelty: greasy black hair, a perpetual sneer, and a limp that makes him waddle rather than walk. A crimson cloak marks him, making him an easy target to watch. He’s a man who wears his sins proudly, and I’ve been tasked with carving justice into him. I smile to myself at the thought. I am the villain people read about in books. The one that keeps them sleeping with one eye open.

The thought of Nico makes my stomach twist. He’s a man who spends every waking moment in El Cántaro Quebrado, drinking himself into a stupor while his wife and children remain trapped in their home. I’ve seen them through the cracked windows of their house, their faces marked with bruises that tell the story of his violence. I can’t remember when I stopped feeling conflicted about killing men like him. Perhaps it was the day I realized removing their presence was the kindest thing I could do for the world. It’s the innocent people I’ve killed that keep me up at night.

I catch a flash of red out of the corner of my eye, instantly pulling me from my thoughts and making me alert. I tense, ready to spring into action. The man stands and stumbles toward the door. But as he steps into the light, my anticipation falters. He lacks the telltale limp, and his face, though old, isn’t the one etched into my mind.

Damn it. My jaw tightens as I pull back, adjusting my position to stay unseen. Patience is essential in this line of work—a hard-earned virtue I’ve cultivated over countless nights like this one. Still, frustration gnaws at me. Mytarget had walked into the tavern, sat at the same corner table he always did, and downed pint after pint. I’ve spent the last three hours watching that very spot, and now it’s empty.

I’ve been set up.

It’s the only explanation.

My mind races through the implications as I silently retreat from the rooftop, leaping down into the alley below. The air is damp here, carrying the soft smell of ale and wet stone. The alley stretches about seventy-five feet, a narrow passage lined by the tavern’s backside on one side and the seamstress’s shop on the other. Beyond it lies the main street, but I won’t risk that. The alleys will take me safely back to The Midnight Citadel, the hidden sanctuary my kind calls home in this kingdom and every other.

The weight of Alexander’s lessons press in on me as I move. Never let yourself be followed. Never lead someone to the Citadel. His voice echoes in my mind as I slip through the alley quickly.

The sound of footsteps behind me is enough to snap me out of my thoughts. My heart jumps, adrenaline surging as I whirl around, reaching instinctively for my dagger. But I’m too slow. A rope loops around my neck with brutal precision, yanking me backward with a force that sends me stumbling.

The rough fibers bite into my skin, choking off my breath. Panic flares in my chest, as I claw at the rope, my nails scraping uselessly against it. My attacker is strong, their grip relentless, and the world tilts as my vision begins to blur.

The alley spins, darkening at the edges, and I realize I can’t see who’s behind me. What a cruel joke life hasthrown my way. I’ve spent my life hiding in shadows, and now I’m being taken by one.

Rage sparks within me, bright and fiery against the encroaching darkness. I won’t go out like this. Summoning the last of my strength, I rasp out a hoarse, defiant whisper, “Fuck. You.” As I do everything in my power to kick him back in the balls. I hear a grunt and realize my boot has hit its mark, but it’s no matter.

My final act of rebellion means nothing, as the world fades entirely. A slow yet loud buzz fills my ears, but I hear the distinct male laugh that follows my words. I can’t believe a man is the one who killed me. My last thought is a bitter curse, aimed squarely at myself for letting my guard down, for being caught so easily. The blackness swallows me whole, and I fall, consumed by the void.

The cold hits me first.It creeps into my skin, a biting chill that carries the sterile sting of antiseptic? Which makes no sense. Everything feels unnatural, too clean, too sharp. I feel my nose scrunch at the onslaught of smells.

My mind stirs, fighting the depths of unconsciousness. My eyes snap open, and all I see is gray stone. The ceiling looms above me, its surface uneven in the dim light, reminding me of a cave.

Everything is so disorienting, and I’m struggling to grasp my bearings.

Then it hits me.

I was murdered.

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