Kavari and Kael left the Adventurers’ Guild and moved through the Weeping Market. Solanir was setting, his last mana-rich rays soaking into the city’s rooftops like molten gold. Kavari still clung to him, draped over his frame—playing the role of a woman who needed support.

  Maybe not playing.

  She was strong. Fierce. But the weight of the moment—the closeness of it—was real. Kael felt it. The duality wasn’t lost on him as they stepped into the amber light blooming across the streets. Somewhere nearby, a low, mournful wail began to rise—the Weeping Market’s namesake echoing to life.

  Shadows clung to corners and alleys, and in each posture Kael spotted the same thing, hate.

  How dare they spend all day together while I sat here in the heat for hours.

  One by one, slowly, the watchers peeled away. Down alleys, into doorways, out of sight. Off to report. Grum would keep their Smog Quarter escapades quiet. He had to—he wanted the plan to succeed as much as any of them now.

  Kavari finally stepped away from Kael and looked out at the city.

  “You know… it’s amazing. This city is a marvel. Plumbing, hot water—I don’t even have to carry my Pridefang here.”

  Her gaze lingered on an amber-lit street lamp, flickering softly in the dusk.

  “But I can’t get it. I feel restless. There’s no war, no battle. What’s a Battle-Born without it?”

  She exhaled, voice low. “But it was my choice. I chose this. I could have been a shaman… a First Fang. The scars were there.”

  Kael glanced at her, saw her shifting—posture tight, frustration mounting beneath the surface.

  “And you, ughh…” She shuddered, then snapped with a growl, “I want to pounce on you and make you my Sha’laa.”

  Kael blinked. “Sha’laa… is that like the other word you used? Sha’karan?”

  She stepped toward him—closer, heated. The street was nearly empty.

  “How little you understand.” Her voice cracked with exasperation. “You can’t make someone a Sha’karan or a Sha’laa. The fact that I’m even using the word with you should tell you how wrong everything is.”

  She turned away, growling under her breath.

  “I’m acting like a velk…”

  Kael followed, catching her hand gently. “Please… I’m trying to understand. Is it… is it my scent?”

  He saw her shoulders hitch, and her expression—usually sharp, disciplined—flickered. Cracked.

  She turned away again. “Do you remember when we first met? You used the custom of the Battle-Born.”

  Kael’s brow furrowed. “Thraak’ven,” he said softly.

  She flinched.

  “Honor? You… honored me?”

  Kavari turned around, vulnerable in a way that nearly undid him.

  “It’s more than that. Thraak’ven is a greeting reserved for those above you—a First Fang, a shaman. I said it reflexively, instinctively. Your scent… I can’t even describe it.”

  Kael hesitated. Then, softly, just for her.

  “Like battle.

  Like fire.

  Like steel.

  Like bones breaking.

  Like the screams of enemies.”

  Kavari’s eyes widened.

  “Like the sound mountains make when they rumble.

  Like thunder and lightning strikes.”

  His voice was barely above a whisper now.

  “Like blood—old and new—spilled on the same earth.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “Like warmth after cold.

  Like safety in the dark.

  Like someone who fights… so others don’t have to.

  Like someone who… stays.”

  He turned to face her fully, eyes steady, voice sure.

  “Like home.”

  “I asked Runt. It’s how she answered.”

  Kavari came up to him—excited, hopeful—“Yes, like that,” she said.

  But then her voice caught. Her next word came quiet, trembling.

  “Drav’talor.”

  The sound barely left her lips.

  Kael waited. Gave her space.

  Then gently, he lifted her chin. She trembled—open in a way he had never seen her before. Raw.

  “Kavari,” he said softly, “help me understand.”

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  No mask. No armor. Just quiet acceptance.

  She pushed his hand away.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Kael. I can’t…”

  Her shoulder hitched, and when she spoke again, her voice was lower, slower.

  “It’s an old word. Maybe the first word. I don’t know—I’m not a shaman.”

  Bitterness edged the words.

  Then she turned to him. Her expression softened into something pained and reverent.

  “It’s Solanir’s rays breaking across the sky.

  It’s the plains holding their breath before a storm.

  It’s the sound of a quiet night—of insects, and laughter, and games played by whelps.

  It’s the hug of bonded mates before they give you to the pride as a clawling.”

  She struggled, frustration threading her voice as she tried to explain something that wasn't meant for words.

  “There’s just… the word. In Beast kin, there is only the word. Closest you have in common tongue?”

  Her jaw tightened. “Conqueror.”

  Then, a softer, sadder translation.

  “Or… how we explain it to whelps—‘one who takes the roar.’”

  Her shoulders drooped.

  “I was going to kill you,” she confessed, voice low. “When you traded a secret for a secret. That was the plan.”

  A pause.

  “But your scent spiked. And I reconsidered.”

  She went quiet then. Quiet like shame.

  “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You can’t understand.”

  She looked at him—really looked—and her voice broke.

  “When I see you, I see flesh and blood. Human. So I turn away.”

  She did.

  “But when I smell you—”

  She shivered. “I smell a First Fang. No… something more. I feel authority. I feel dominance that doesn’t bend. And I…”

  Her voice cracked.

  “I feel small.”

  She turned back toward him, eyes burning with the long, unspoken history of the Battle-Born.

  “Do you understand?” she asked again.

  Then she stepped closer.

  “No, you don’t.

  No, you can’t.”

  Each word was a finger pressed against his chest.

  “You are the death of me,” she said.

  “The longer I’m around you, the more of you I can smell. It’s like a trial laid over the city.

  I knew which bridge you walked this morning.”

  Kael frowned. “Then why aren’t all beast kin reacting like you—and Runt? I’ve fought many Battle-Born. Many. None of them acted like this.”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “At first… it was faint.

  Before battle—there’s something.

  During battle—Ancestors, it’s powerful.

  But after…” Her breath hitched. “It’s strongest after.”

  She hesitated.

  “And then… there’s Runt. A runt. She should be weak. Aura stunted. Fated to die early.

  Maybe survive. Maybe grow into something—maybe a First Fang, or a shaman, though it’s unlikely.”

  “But Kael…” Her voice cracked again.

  “She’s strong. Stronger than any whelp I’ve ever seen. Her aura—it pushes out through her skin. And there are no scars.”

  She pointed to her own—marks carved deep.

  “These? These are how our aura escapes. How we release it. The pain is part of the power.”

  She stared, as if searching for an answer he didn’t have.

  “I don’t know how she’s doing it.”

  Then she stepped up to him again and jabbed a finger into his chest.

  “For what you did to me—intentional or not…”

  Jab.

  “Where you go, I go.”

  Jab.

  “Where you sleep, I sleep.”

  Jab.

  “From now on, I’m your shadow.”

  She stopped. The words seemed to echo back at her.

  Surprise flickered across her face. Her voice softened, shocked.

  “Ancestors…” she looked away and clutched the hem of her dress with her hand

  Kavari blinked, realization dawning. “A Shadow Fang…” she said.

  He nodded, but he finished it for her.

  “Is a Pridelands spy.”

  He looked at her. “That one I know.”

  Her eyes met his—uncertain, but steady. Then she spoke quickly, as if the truth were burning to escape.

  “I told the Ash Claws about our meeting. They’re sending for the High Shaman.”

  “A High Shaman?” Kael asked, but she stepped even closer—chest to chest—and spoke with deliberate intensity.

  “No.”

  Her voice dropped.

  “The High Shaman.”

  She looked up into his face and took it in her hands, holding him still, anchoring him with her touch.

  “Kael, she told me to stay close to you. To bring you to her—and bring Runt when she arrives.”

  Her hands trembled slightly against his skin.

  “She told me to do anything to stay near you.

  To abandon everything I’ve built as a Shadow Fang.

  Dissolve the entire information network I spent years creating.

  Quit the Adventurers’ Guild if I have to.”

  She paused, eyes searching his.

  “All of it… just to make sure you reach that meeting.”

  Her words settled between them, sharp and heavy.

  Kael didn’t speak. He only looked back at her—and in both their faces, the uncertainty bloomed like a wound.

  They walked the rest of the way back to the Iron District in silence.

  Just the sound of their boots on stone. Alone with their thoughts.

  As they reached the Tangled, the air shifted.

  Voices, laughter.

  The clink of mugs.

  The warm, heavy scent of fresh food wafted out to meet them.

  Kavari leaned into him again, arm sliding through his, her body flush against his side.

  “My payment for today,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

  Kael sighed—too tired to argue, too wary to pull away.

  They stepped inside, and at a back table on the open patio overlooking the water, he spotted Runt.

  She was hunched over a bowl, scooping mouthfuls of stew like someone who hadn’t eaten in days.

  Wendy sat beside her, and Merry was just setting something down.

  Runt looked up first.

  “KKKAAAEELL! COME GET FOOD!!”

  Kael winced at the volume.

  Wendy turned next—and promptly slapped a hand over her mouth as a blush crept from her cheeks all the way to her ears.

  Merry turned last.

  She looked.

  Looked at their tousled hair.

  At Kavari’s emerald-green, low-cut dress.

  At their interlocked arms.

  At the space—or lack of it—between them.

  She didn’t say a word.

  Didn’t scowl. Didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

  She just looked.

  Kael felt fear.

  Real fear—for the first time in a long time.

  That look was dangerous.

  It looked like Lucien’s eyes.

  Gods... is that how I look at people?

  They made their way to the table, and Merry turned and walked off.

  Not slowly. Not quickly.

  Just... deliberately.

  Every inch of her posture said. Fuck you.

  Kael slid onto the bench next to Runt, putting space—any space—between himself and Kavari.

  Merry returned a moment later, carrying a bowl of stew and a mug of beer.

  She placed them in front of him.

  The stew was lukewarm.

  The beer was flat.

  She didn’t say a word.

  She sat down next to Kavari and Wendy, adjusted her skirt, folded her hands politely… and then looked up to meet his gaze.

  She smiled.

  A smile so sweet, Kael nearly flinched.

  He barely kept himself from recoiling.

  “So…” Merry said, voice like silk on steel.

  “Have a good day?”

  Kavari leaned forward with a smile in her eyes and trouble in her voice.

  “Oh, a wonderful day. We spent it together. We went to the Weeping Market in the middle district. Had a date. Did a little shopping. Lots of fun.”

  She looked at him with a coy grin that promised more than she said.

  “Didn’t we, Kael?”

  Wendy choked on her drink and scrambled to wipe her mouth.

  Merry didn’t react.

  She just stared.

  “Oh, that does sound fun,” she said slowly. “A date.”

  Her eyes dropped to his disheveled hair.

  “Must’ve been so much fun.”

  Then Runt piped up, voice innocent and eager.

  “I wanna go on a date with you, Kael! Then maybe I can smell like you too!”

  Kael dropped his face into his hands.

  Kavari laughed.

  Wendy spit out her drink again.

  Merry’s smile didn’t break.

  But her eyes glittered with murder.

  “Runt,” Kael said, rubbing his temples, “what you’re saying… it can have more than one meaning. It’s called innuendo.”

  Runt tilted her head, clearly trying to chew on the unfamiliar word, as if she could taste its meaning.

  “Inn-u-en-do…” she said slowly, like it was a spell she wasn’t quite sure how to cast.

  Kael exhaled. “Kavari. Please. Enough. Just… explain the scent thing to them.”

  Kavari looked at him like she’d just won a duel—proud, smug, triumphant.

  Then, with slow deliberation, she leaned toward Merry and Wendy, one hand cupped to shield her mouth from Kael like a conspirator whispering state secrets.

  She mouthed something just quiet enough to be frustrating, but clearly intended for effect.

  Like he couldn’t read lips across a table.

  Merry’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  Wendy’s voice was a gasp. “That good?”

  Kavari didn’t even blink.

  She just nodded once.

  “Better.”