Ironridge never slept.
It only lowered its voice.
Reeve felt it the moment dawn crept in—before bells, before footsteps, before thought. His eyes opened on their own. His chest felt tight, not from fear, but from anticipation. Like the air itself was leaning closer.
He sat up slowly.
Something was wrong.
The hunger from last night wasn't gone.
It was… quiet.
That disturbed him more.
Outside, Ironridge breathed iron and smoke. Lunareth stood by the window, already awake, arms crossed, watching the courtyard below.
"You felt it too," Reeve said.
She didn't turn. "Yes."
"What is it?"
"A question," she replied. "And Ironridge is asking it badly."
They moved through the fortress just after sunrise. Training was canceled—officially due to "security adjustments." Unofficially, the guards were everywhere.
Too many.
Reeve noticed how their eyes slid past Lunareth—but lingered on him.
Like he was marked.
As they crossed a narrow passage between stone towers, Lunareth suddenly stopped.
"Don't move," she said softly.
Reeve froze.
The air shifted.
Not wind. Not magic he could see.
Pressure.
A bolt struck where Reeve's head would have been.
Stone exploded.
Reeve stumbled back on instinct, heart slamming.
"Down!" Lunareth snapped.
A second bolt screamed past, embedding itself in the wall—black metal, humming faintly.
Assassin bolts.
Lunareth moved.
Her blade was out in a breath, body flowing forward with lethal calm.
Three figures dropped from above.
Ironridge uniforms.
Of course, Reeve thought. Always from inside.
The first attacker lunged at Lunareth. She stepped inside his strike and slammed the pommel of her weapon into his throat. He collapsed without a sound.
The second went for Reeve.
Too fast.
Reeve's mind screamed—move—but his body reacted first.
His hand snapped up.
The bolt vanished mid-air.
No flash. No explosion.
Just… gone.
The attacker froze.
So did Reeve.
"What—" Reeve whispered.
The third attacker hesitated.
That hesitation killed him.
Lunareth's blade took his leg. She disarmed him, then kicked him unconscious against the wall.
Silence returned.
Reeve stared at his hand.
His fingers trembled.
"I didn't… do anything," he said.
Lunareth turned slowly.
Her eyes weren't fearful.
They were sharp.
"Your body did," she said. "Before you decided to."
The remaining attacker tried to crawl away.
Lunareth stepped on his chest.
"Who sent you?"
The man laughed, blood in his teeth. "You already know."
She pressed harder.
"Ironridge doesn't forgive fallen things," he spat. "And it doesn't allow containers to walk free."
Reeve flinched. "Container?"
The man's eyes flicked to him.
Then Lunareth knocked him out cold.
She stood there for a moment, breathing steady.
Then—
she laughed.
A quiet, amused sound.
"Well," she said lightly, turning to Reeve. "That's inconvenient."
He stared at her. "Someone just tried to kill us."
"Yes," she agreed. "And failed. Badly."
"You're… joking?"
She tilted her head. "You caught an assassin bolt without knowing how. If I don't tease you now, when am I supposed to?"
"…This isn't funny."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping. "Reeve. Listen to me."
He did.
"They weren't here for me," she said. "Not primarily."
His stomach sank.
"They were testing you."
Silence stretched.
"I don't even know what I am," he said quietly.
She met his eyes. "Neither do they."
That scared him more.
They relocated by noon.
A lower sector. Older. Less watched.
As they moved, Reeve felt it again—the hunger. Stronger now. Responsive.
When a guard passed too close, something inside him leaned.
He clenched his jaw.
"Stop," he muttered under his breath.
Lunareth glanced at him sideways. "Talking to yourself already?"
"…Maybe."
She smirked. "Careful. That's usually my habit."
They reached a small, abandoned armory room. Dusty. Forgotten.
Safe—for now.
Lunareth leaned against the wall.
"Reeve," she said. "From now on, you don't wander alone."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good."
She paused.
"They'll try again," she continued. "But next time, they won't test."
"They'll kill."
Reeve exhaled slowly.
"…Then teach me faster."
She smiled.
Sharp. Proud. Dangerous.
"Oh," she said, pushing off the wall. "Now you're speaking my language."
She stepped closer, poked his forehead.
"And don't get cocky," she added. "You're still terrible."
"…You almost sound happy."
She leaned in, voice teasing, eyes deadly serious.
"I am. Because now," she whispered,
"the hunt has started."
That night, Reeve didn't dream.
He listened.
And something, deep inside him, listened back—
patient, amused, and very, very hungry.