When the door opened, a gust of air escaped, heavy with the rancid stench of stale beer and sweat. Straw crunched beneath boots. Tables and benches were scattered throughout the room, their surfaces scarred with knife marks and stained with grime. Behind the counter, a stocky old man traced the grooves in the wood with his fingertips. A bead of sweat rolled down his back. He grabbed a bottle from the shelf and poured the amber liquid into a glass.

  “Drink, then leave,” Barca said.

  Rouis brought the glass to his lips and drained it in one swallow. As he stepped through the door of the bar, darkness closed in around him. In the alley, heaps of filth quivered. Rats slipped between the debris. One of them paused, sniffed the air, then vanished into a crack in the wall. The building fa?ades were streaked with gutters where black water stagnated. Windows revealed interiors drowned in shadow. On clotheslines, tattered garments snapped in the wind. A flickering light trembled.

  “Amarielle…”

  His little sister twirled around the candles, her hands sticky with wax. Their mother watched them, a smile on her lips. A shiver passed through his chest, this memory belonged to another time, to a world long gone.

  The numbness in his legs pulled him back to reality. Cold sweat slid down his spine. He scanned his surroundings, seeing no one. And yet, with every step, the feeling of being watched grew stronger. He slipped into an alley and drew his sword.

  “I know you’re there,” he called out.

  Mist rose from the ground, clinging to the stones. It curled around his boots before sliding up his legs. He tightened his grip on the weapon and moved forward. Around him, the pale veil swallowed everything the ground, the walls, even the sky faded from sight. At first faint, sounds began to draw closer. Then a silhouette emerged: a hunched old man draped in a long dark coat. A black top hat sat atop his head. Gray glimmers rippled across his skin, slithering over his brow, vanishing for a moment into the hollows of his cheeks before reappearing along his chin.

  “I was looking for you, Mr. Rouis,” Morven said.

  “You have the honor of meeting me in flesh and blood,” Rouis replied dryly.

  “I need you for a mission.”

  An albino colossus took shape at his side. His skin, deathly pale, was scored with gashes. Between the scars, whitish cracks spread. A black thread stitched his mouth shut, pulling his lips tight.

  Draxis tossed a coin purse to Rouis. He opened it, and coins glittered inside.

  “Consider this an advance. You’ll receive three more once the mission is complete,” Morven continued.

  “I accept,” Rouis said.

  The mist coiled around them until it swallowed them whole. When it cleared, nothing remained.

  Rouis fastened the purse to his belt, his thoughts drifting to Falk’s place. Once a feared highwayman, Falk had traded his sword for an apron. The image of him as a perfect housekeeper, scrubbing pots or lining up tankards, drew a faint smile from Rouis.

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  The tavern stood at the corner of an alley, its sign swaying in the wind. Inside, a din filled the room, laughter mingling with the clatter of mugs. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and beer. When Rouis crossed the threshold, voices fell and eyes turned away. Two men seated at a table rose at once.

  He sank into his seat. Around him, the waitresses hurried between the tables, but not one of them met his gaze.

  “Hey, over here!” he called.

  One of them approached, dragging her feet.

  “Two glasses of whisky and the meal of the day,” he said.

  “R-right away,” she stammered before hurrying off.

  Falk emerged from the crowd.

  “Get lost, Rouis. You didn’t pay the last few times,” he growled.

  Rouis reached into his purse, pulled out a gold coin, rolled it between his fingers, then tossed it to Falk.

  “Happy now?” Rouis said.

  Falk’s fist slammed down on the table. Rouis opened his mouth, but before he could add another word, the tavern keeper vanished back into the crowd.

  The waitress returned and set a steaming plate in front of him, along with two glasses of liquor. Rouis drained the first in one swallow, then the second. The lamb, tender and juicy, released a spicy aroma.

  A man placed a hand on the waitress’s backside. Rouis stood and crossed the room.

  “Got a problem?” he said.

  The bald man turned his head, and one of his companions grabbed his shoulder. “It’s Rouis,” he whispered.

  “Don’t give a damn,” the man said, spitting on the floor.

  Rouis’s fist smashed into the man’s temple. He toppled backward and crashed into a table. A thin stream of blood leaked from his ear, ran down his jaw, and splattered into a puddle on the floor.

  Rouis dodged a blow and struck back, his fist drove into the second man’s liver, folding him in half. But before the body even hit the ground, pain exploded in his lower back. He staggered, a metallic taste flooding his mouth, and swung blindly.

  “Out. Now,” Falk growled.

  “Can’t we talk this out, Falk?”

  Falk grabbed him by the collar.

  “I don’t talk to thieves.”

  Falk hurled him out of the tavern, and Rouis slammed into the ground. The door slammed shut, and the laughter, the clatter of tankards, the warm golden glow of the lanterns, all of it vanished.

  He lay there, staring up at the sky. When he tried to rise, his muscles protested and pain radiated along his back. His balance faltered, and he collapsed again. A shadow leaned over him; when he looked up, he met a pair of pale blue eyes. Golden curls fell messily across the figure’s forehead.

  “Need a hand?” Kald said.

  He held out his hand.

  “No,” Rouis snapped.

  “You’re a real clown.”

  “I took one of them down,” Rouis growled.

  “Bravo, jester. Next time, try staying on your feet.”

  Rouis raised his arm, but Kaldr caught his wrist.

  “Still just as predictable. You really planning to hit me in this state? You can barely stand.”

  Kaldr sighed before slipping an arm under Rouis’s shoulder.

  “Lean on me.”

  “Shut up and walk,” Rouis muttered.

  They entered a park where thick roots burst from the ground. Mud clung to their boots as the cracked paving stones of the path disappeared beneath invading weeds.

  “Hold on to that tree.”

  Kaldr withdrew his arm. Rouis staggered, barely catching himself against the trunk.

  “I know you like sleeping under the open sky,” Kaldr joked.

  He slipped a hand into Rouis’s purse.

  “You’re not moving fast enough, so I’ll help myself,” he said.

  “Bastard,” Rouis growled.

  “Maybe,” Kaldr admitted with a crooked smile.

  He pulled out a gold coin and spun it between his fingers before making it vanish into his palm. He closed the purse and tossed it back near Rouis. Rouis tried to push himself up, but pain speared through his ribs, pinning him to the ground. Kaldr brushed dust from his coat.

  “Get some rest, Rouis.”

  His footsteps faded away, leaving only the crack of branches behind. Rouis pressed against his ribs, clenched his teeth, and pushed harder, hearing no telltale crack. He rolled onto his side and closed his fingers around the purse.