Page 67 of Of Shadow and Moon

Well, shit. He’s got me speechless.

How does he know? I don’t sense the same maliciousness from him as I did with Etzli.

“I don't—” I start, but he cuts me off again, his eyes glinting with something I can't quite name.

“You don't have to understand it,” he says quietly. “Your secret is safe with me, child.” He pauses as his eyes turn white. He then looks at me with a sense of urgency. “Go, now. You don’t have much time.”

I am silent for a moment. This man, he's looking at me with such fondness, like I'm something more than just a killer. And it leaves me shaken in a way I don't expect.

Before I can ask him more, before I can say anything, he glances back toward the tavern. His face hardens. “Now, Reaper!”

He turns to leave, but before he steps away, he stops and looks back at me, his voice soft, but urgent. “Stay alive, Reaper. Just for a little while longer. You're more powerful than you even realize,” he adds softly, his eyes serious. “Stay alive. He's not ready for you yet.”

And with that, he slips back into the shadows, leaving me standing there in stunned silence.

He's not ready for you yet.

The words echo in my mind, sinking deep. My heart is racing, my mind spinning, but there's no time to make sense of it. I grab the bag of bread and slip into the darkness, disappearing into the night.

I don't know who “he” is. I don't know why this man thinks I'm someone worth saving, someone good. But one thing is clear, nothing is as simple as it seems.

And I’m running out of time to figure it all out.

Chapter 38

Selestina

Clouds block the moons, casting the night in overwhelming darkness. Behind me, the village lies silent, its candlelights dwindling to dying embers. My steps are swift, but each one feels burdened, the words I overheard from the kings swirling relentlessly in my mind, louder than my own heartbeat.

A prophecy—one they fear, one they’re watching for. But what does it mean? And who does it foretell?

I press forward, lengthening my stride, my feet carrying me back toward the academy and into a web of secrets I barely understand. My fists clench as I grapple with the weight of what I must tell Alexander. He won’t take it well. The kings are onto him, their suspicions sharpening like blades poised for a strike, and I bet my ass I’ll be the brunt of that wrath.

The path ahead twists abruptly, vanishing into a dense thicket. The trees loom close, their tangled branches stretching toward me like they’re going to reach out and grab me.

A prickle of unease creeps up my spine, urging me onward. Why does my occupation involve so much creepiness?

I quicken my pace, senses sharpening, then a movement in the darkness halts me in my tracks.

A flash—a blur of movement—then pain explodes across my side. White hot agony lances through me as the blade slices through leather, sinking into flesh. I don’t even have time to think of how a blade made its way through indestructible leathers, but alas, Iama little busy.

My breath stutters, my body lurching back from the force of the strike. I barely manage to twist, catching a fleeting glimpse of my attacker before another blow lands, knocking me off balance. My hand flies to my side, fingers pressing against the slick warmth of my blood seeping through my leathers.

The world tilts dangerously. My vision blurs at the edges, dark spots dancing before my eyes. I reach for my blade, but another strike slams into my ribs, sending a sickening crack reverberating through my bones. A strangled gasp escapes me, swallowed by the night. Pain radiates through me, every nerve ignited in raw fire.

My knees buckle.

My body screams for me to fall, to give in—but I won’t. My fingers tighten around the hilt of my weapon, though my grip falters, strength leaking out of me with every ragged breath.

The figures circling me are shifting shadows, moving in a blur, one moment a smear of darkness, the next striking with ease.

Another hit slams into my back, sending me crashing to the ground. My face completely catches my fall; the impact knocks the air from my lungs, which doesn’t make sensesince it was my face that hits the ground, but I’m breathless regardless, leaving me choking on nothing but agony. The sharp, metallic taste of blood coats my tongue. Every breath is a battle, knives driving deep into my chest with every inhale.

A chilling thought cuts through the haze:I might not survive this.

Panic grips me. The memory surges, of that sterile morgue, the cold table beneath me, and the terror of waking up when I shouldn’t have. Had I died then? If so… will I come back this time? Or is this it?

Another flash of movement. I try to lift my blade, but my arm is jelly, my strength depleting.. Darkness gnaws at the edges of my mind, tempting, coaxing, promising release. Maybe it would be easier to just… let go.

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