Page 3 of Of Shadow and Moon

I sit up abruptly; the movement making my head spin. I’m on a hard slab in a dimly lit room, rows of bodies covered with white sheets surrounding me.

A morgue.

What the fuck?

I let out a shaky, uneven breath as I try to grapple with what the fuck just happened. My boots swing down to meet the floor, the soft thud echoing in the still quiet. My mind is taking too long to draw any sort of memory or coherent thought and the rudeness of movement is making my head hurt. My fingers instinctively reach for the mask adhered to my face, tracing its edges, the magic humming beneath my fingertips. It’s still there, cool and familiar, anchoring me. At least my identity is intact.

That’s when I realize—whoever did this to me won’t know they failed. At least I’ve got that advantage.

But how am I alive?

The question claws at my mind, but I push it aside. Later. I’ll deal with it later. Survival comes first.

I glance around the room, taking in every detail, the pale light overhead, the gleaming steel trays, the crackle of candles that are starting to fade. It smells of decaying flesh and feces. It makes me sick to my stomach.

As I take my first excruciating step, I bite back an agonizing groan as every single muscle in my body screams in protest. Every step feels like I am moving through quicksand. Every ache is a clear reminder of how close I came to staying here for good.

My hand brushes the hilt of the dagger strapped to my chest harness, and then the harnesses on my thighs. Good, they’re all still there. I guess I haven’t been dead long, as everything is still on me. At least I’m not completely defenseless.

I pass a mirror near the corner of the room and take in my appearance. It’s as if nothing happened, minus the huge bruise already forming from where the rope was around myneck. I touch it softly, trailing along the line. My thoughts start to wander again but…no. I can’t think about this now. I need to get out before someone sees me.

I walk slowly towards the door. The sound of my boots on the stone floor is far too loud in the suffocating silence. My senses are on edge and every sound sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. I press my ear against the door, listening. Nothing. Not a single sound. The door creaks as I push it open, the sound making my heart race even faster. I slip into the corridor beyonds with the soft hum of candles buzzing overhead.

As I make my way through the various hallways, I can't help but wonder which morgue I’m in. There are four in total in this kingdom. I’ve never been to a morgue before, as Diego is usually the one to check my kills. I look towards the walls to give me a clue as to where I am, but I come up with nothing. I’m still too disoriented to understand anything. My vision swims slightly, but I make out the word “Stairs” and force myself toward it, each step a battle against my screaming muscles. My body feels like it’s barely holding itself together.

The stairwell door creaks as I push it open. My breath catches, and I freeze, waiting for a response, footsteps, voices, anything. But the silence holds.

I take the stairs quickly. My ragged breath still a siren in my head.

When I reach the ground floor, I pause, leaning against the wall for a moment to steady myself. The corridor stretches out before me, more brightly lit than the morgue but just as deserted. The air is colder here, the scent of antiseptic replaced by something more metallic, and sterile. It smells less of death here which settles my stomach, butonly slightly. My fingers tighten around the hilt of my dagger, and I press on.

I finally see a door in the distance and relief floods me as I make my way toward it, my steps quickening despite the pain. The door swings open, and I step into the crisp night air. The chill feels like a slap to my exposed skin, but it feels like freedom.

A flurry of questions gnaw at me, as I slip through the darkened streets of Tepetl. Who would dare? Who would be reckless enough, or bold enough, to try to kill me?

Alexander comes to the forefront of my thoughts, his name settling like a thorn in my chest. My mentor, my handler, my captor. He’s ruthless, meticulous, a man who has taught me to carve fear into my enemies with precision, but no, Alexander wouldn’t do this. I am his greatest weapon, his prized creation.

The Shadow Reaper.

Why would he dismantle the very thing he’s spent years building? It doesn’t make sense.

Still, doubt creeps in. He’s always played a long game, always had plans within plans. Could I have become a liability without realizing it? Did I fail him in some way? The thought lingers, until I shove it aside. No, it can’t be him. If Alexander wanted me dead, I wouldn’t have woken up.

My mind twists toward the kings next, the rulers of Tonalli. The faces I’ve seen the few times I have been in close proximity when a hit was made and whose influence I’ve felt with every mission I’ve carried out. Could this be their doing? A reckoning for the lives I’ve taken, for the blood I’ve spilled on their behalf?

My breath catches, and I push the thought away,shaking my head as if I can physically dislodge it. I can’t afford to spiral into paranoia. Not yet.

The street curves ahead, and a breeze sweeps the street, carrying a scent of wood and papaya.

I pause for a moment as the cold air sends a shiver down my spine, and I let the weight of the night settle over me. Whoever it was, whatever their reasons, they’ve made one thing clear.

I’m not as untouchable as I thought.

And that, more than anything, terrifies me.

Each corner I turn reveals more of Tepetl’s nocturnal life. Drunken patrons stumble out of taverns, their laughter and shouting echoing off the stone walls. I keep to the shadows, and scan for any sign of danger. The smell of roasting meat tangled with the scent of the blacksmiths’ forges creates a pungent mix that makes my stomach feel like it’s about to bring up last night’s dinner.

Failure gnaws at me.

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