Fletcher was thrown up before slamming chest first to the ground as pieces of glass and stone rained down on him. People screamed. Smoke filled the air, making it hard to see and breathe. His ears rang from the blast. A pounding pain in his head prevented him from forming any kind of cohesive thought for a few moments.

  Something else exploded, rocking the floor he lay on as more screams echoed through the room. He regained enough of himself to properly panic as he raised his head from the ground to see a dozen fires raging among the remnants of the building. Chaos filled the space as the attendees ran about, some shouting for help and others yelling in anger or hurt.

  “Beam,” he muttered as he scanned the room, unable to catch sight of her golden form.

  Grimacing, Fletcher pushed himself off the floor, gasping in pain as he moved. His hand went to his stomach and came back red with his blood. Upon further investigation, he discovered a jagged slice along his abdomen which luckily didn’t seem overly deep.

  As he reached his knees, his eyes fell on Addy, red blood pooling around her from a variety of serious looking injuries.

  Red.

  [Elves] had silver blood. If hers was like his then… she wasn’t an Unhuman. Not completely.

  “A Mixhuman,” he murmured as he crawled to her.

  She was a terrorist, perhaps part of this plot given how ardently she’d tried to get him to leave.

  He glanced around at the bodies. The scents of blood, death, and smoke hung in the air, burning his lungs and nostrils. She was responsible for this. He needed to tell someone.

  “Fletcher,” she croaked. “Please. I need… your help.”

  As much as he wanted to leave the terrorist to her fate, she was a friend. Or had been a friend.

  “What is it?” he asked warily.

  “There’s a knife…strapped to my leg,” Addy said between wet coughs. “I-I need you to take it a-and kill me.”

  “So you can avoid justice?” he bit at her, clutching his bleeding stomach.

  She slowly shook her head. “Not us. Humans. Did… this. I was sent—to stop them… Too late. Please.”

  Fletcher looked around. He didn’t want to believe her, but he knew from his own experience that the Human government wasn’t anywhere near as at peace with the Unhumans as they led their citizens to believe. And if the Hexed Humans had done this, why would they have blown up their own?

  “I can’t kill you,” he said after a moment of consideration.

  A third explosion rocked the building, and Fletcher instinctively placed himself over the top of Addy to block any more debris from falling on her. Once it had settled, she coughed for several seconds before speaking again.

  “Please,” she begged. “I’d rather die than let… the Unhumans have—me. You don’t… know what—they do… to us.”

  He frowned. She was obviously scared, terrified even, if she wanted to die rather than face the Unhumans. For a split second, he wasn’t looking down at the [Elf] form of Addy but the overly brave ten-year old he’d grown up with, and that image settled the debate in him.

  “Where’s the safehouse? I’ll take you there,” he offered.

  “I-I can’t ask—”

  “Give me the address,” he said more firmly as he got his arms underneath her.

  They both groaned in pain as Fletcher lifted Addy up, and he did one last sweep of the rubble to ensure no one was watching him too closely. The Unhumans were busy helping others or running for their own lives, and neither Knarf or Beam were in sight, leading him to believe he had a chance of sneaking out with his friend amidst the confusion. He’d come back to find Beam once Addy was safe, and then he could worry about coming up with a plausible story.

  “5776 Watchermakers Way, the lower door around back,” she murmured as he started through the remnants of the disaster. Anyone who saw him would assume he was helping an [Elf], and the red blood could easily be mistaken for his own as long as he kept anyone from looking close.

  “Stay with me,” he said as he made his way to the nearest opening.

  Someone was shouting for him to stay put, talking about rescue coming, but he ignored them as he pushed onwards, his chest complaining against each breath and the cut on his stomach still freely bleeding.

  As he escaped the collapsed building, he took one last glance back and mentally cursed his own people. A large banner was draped over one of the few remaining upright walls, declaring in wide lettering: FREEDOM FOR ALL.

  He turned away, disgusted at the thought of so much death just to make a political statement.

  The streets were in as much or more chaos as the gala had been, with attendees, regular citizens, and emergency personnel rushing in every direction to try to assist. Fletcher kept to the walls and away from the biggest crowds in hopes no one would notice him as he slipped away.

  Given his frequent jogs through the city and his basic understanding of the Unhuman language, he was able to trace his way to the address Addy had given him without further directions.

  The disarray died down significantly a couple of blocks from the building where the explosions happened, but by that time, Addy had fallen unconscious and her breathing was shallow. He needed to get her help fast if she was going to live.

  Despite the pain it caused, he forced his feet into a run, his arms shaking as they held Addy’s dying body. With every step, he felt part of her fading away.

  “No, no. Hang in there, Addy.” Fletcher broke into a full sprint. He wouldn’t let her die. There’d been too much death already in the world.

  His vision was growing blurry and his muscles no longer wanted to respond to his commands when he finally reached the address, a thin two story house with a small yard. He easily slipped through the open gate and stumbled around back to where a set of stairs led to a sturdy, wooden door.

  Fletcher staggered down to it and then used his foot to kick it repeatedly until it opened.

  A [Shade] opened the door, with his inky black skin, hair, and eyes.

  “Whatever you want—” He froze as he caught sight of the woman Fletcher carried. “Lieutenant Baltic,” he murmured.

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  The [Shade] stepped out of the way, pulled Fletcher inside, and slammed the door shut.

  “Medical assistance, now,” the man demanded as he took Addy from Fletcher’s arms. He looked at him. “You’re a Human. A full Human. What in deities’ names are you doing here?”

  “I have to go. People will be missing me. Take care of her,” Fletcher said as he backed towards the door. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

  More Unhumans entered the hallway. A yellow-scaled [Dragonist] and a [Gnome]. Only the [Gnome] was too tall for her species, and her flesh wasn’t quite bright enough for a regular one. More Hexed Humans. He needed to get out of here, and fast.

  “Dart,” Addy whispered.

  “I’m here, Lieutenant,” the [Shade] said. “You’re going to be okay.”

  She shook her head. “T-that’s Fletcher Anders.”

  Fletcher’s hand found the handle to the door as he faced the shocked faces of the other three. As to why they cared about him, he had no idea, but he had enough sense to know that that could only be bad news.

  The [Dragonist] held his hands up. “Look. You’re injured. Let us help you, and then we’ll explain everything.”

  Fletcher shook his head. “I have to go.”

  The hallway was narrow enough that they couldn’t easily pounce on him due to Dart, the [Shade] holding Addy, inbetween. As the [Dragonist] attempted to pass by the pair, Fletcher flung the door open and ran into the cold night.

  Shouts followed after him, but he didn’t dare look back as he bolted back to the street, not caring at the moment where he went so long as he put distance between himself and the Hexed Humans who pursued him.

  Exhaustion was deep in Fletcher’s body as he moved, every step feeling forced due to the mixture of blood loss and earlier workout of carrying Addy to the safehouse. Two earlier workouts actually. He’d already gone for a jog that morning as well, but he didn’t intend to go running for a long time after this. He figured he’d earned a break—assuming he made it out of this with his freedom given he did just save the life of a terrorist.

  After about a block of sprinting, Fletcher took a moment to slow down and figure out where he was so he could plot a course back to the gala disaster. He needed to find Beam, and Knarf would be looking for him so the sooner he made it back the better. It would only be a small deviation from the truth to say he was helping an injured woman and got separated from them. He might not even need the excuse if the chaos of the attack had kept his absence hidden.

  Confirming the nearest street, Fletcher took off at a steady jog, risking a single glance back only to find no one in pursuit. He slowed to a walk to give his aching body a rest and clutched a hand to his stomach which had yet to stop bleeding. Luckily the adrenaline was keeping his energy levels high and the pain at bay. He could already imagine how upset Beam would be when she found out he went out on a small adventure while wounded. That was, if she wasn’t injured herself… or worse.

  He shook his head. There was no need to think about such dark things, even now. Beam was fine, she had to be fine, and in a few days, once they both healed, they could forget about this whole thing.

  As he went, Fletcher noticed people in the streets stopping to point at the plumes of smoke coming from his desired destination. Would the city kick him out for this? Surely the Unhuman-Human relations would hit a new low after this kind of targeted attack, even if the Unhumans believed it to be from the Mixhumans.

  He was approaching the next intersection when an abnormal sound caught his attention. Footsteps were approaching him. Without waiting to confirm his suspicions, Fletcher took off in a run again and heard a faint curse from behind. He wouldn’t go down that easy.

  The next intersection was coming up, and, to his dismay, Fletcher recognized the voided-form of the [Shade] from the safehouse waiting at it. He immediately ducked into the nearest alley to keep their paths from crossing, plunging himself into darkness.

  [Dark Vision: Active]

  Fletcher didn’t bother to worry about the notification, choosing to appreciate the single time in his life his one [Skill] might have an actual use. He could only see in vague outlines due to the low level of his [Dark Vision], but that was better than being completely blind.

  Onward he ran, praying that nobody was around to see the red eyes which marked him as one of the Hexed. He especially didn’t want the Mixhumans who followed him to see it or else there would be more trouble on the horizon.

  Unless they already knew… Perhaps that’s why they wanted him.

  No. It couldn’t be.

  If the Hexed Humans knew he was Hexed, they would have taken him all those months ago at the bus incident when Jeric was there. Whatever they wanted with him, it couldn’t be related to his secret Hexing, but for the life of him, he couldn’t place what it might be in that case.

  His lungs burned. His legs burned. Everything burned as he ran, eventually coming out of the long alleyway and back onto the street where plentiful light waited.

  [Dark Vision: Inactive]

  “So useful,” he murmured.

  Seeing other people around, Fletcher returned to walking, albeit at a fast pace. He was only a block and a half away from the gala and there—as ironic as it was to say in regards to the site of a recent terrorist attack—safety.

  A hand grabbed his arm as someone else fell in step with him.

  “You’re hurt badly. We don’t want to cause a scene. Come back with me, and we’ll get you patched up,” the [Dragonist] from the safehouse said.

  “No, thanks.” Fletcher increased his pace despite the pain it caused. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his shirt was entirely soaked through with blood by that point. A cold winter breeze blew, chilling him to his core.

  “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” the man hissed, his grip on Fletcher’s arm tightening.

  A quick scan of the area showed other people around, but none were looking directly at the pair as they walked since they were all preoccupied with the attack and explosions. Fletcher used his opening and slammed his elbow back into the [Dragonist’s] stomach. He gasped, and his hold on Fletcher failed just long enough for Fletcher to shake it off and start running again.

  Unpleasant memories from the assassination attempt two months prior surfaced as he sprinted away and towards where he hoped to find his friends. He could hear the [Dragonist] in pursuit, so he ducked into another set of alleyways, dipping into the shadows in hopes of losing the Mixhuman.

  [Dark Vision: Active]

  The notification accompanied the usual faint outlines that constituted his ability to see in the dark.

  He needed to get back to the gala soon and not just to avoid the Hexed Humans. His strength was fading, and he was starting to worry about the amount of blood he was losing from the slice along his abdomen. Even if it wasn’t deep, it had no trouble gushing out red, and it was only thanks to the matching color of his tunic that he didn’t look like a walking crime scene.

  Somewhere in the maze of extra turns, the [Dragonist] stopped pursuing him, and Fletcher was free to return to the streets.

  [Dark Vison: Inactive]

  The streets were getting crowded enough he didn’t have to worry about the Hexed Humans trying a forced kidnapping since they’d surely be caught.

  Emergency workers rushed around, ushering people away from the scene and taking in any who looked in need of assistance, but none paid attention to the lone Human.

  Fletcher continued to hold his wound as he walked, attempting to stand up straight and look healthier than he felt as he sought for a way back into the chaos of the gala explosion where he might find Knarf and Beam.

  He was close to the tents set up to process attendees and sort through injuries when he noticed an eight foot, black maned and purple skinned man standing at the edge, actively scanning those who passed through the line, including those on stretchers.

  Knarf. Fletcher was safe.

  Reaching his free hand up, Fletcher called out. “Kn—”

  Someone grappled him from the side, pulling him into the darkness of the alley. Strong, scaly arms held him in place as a wet cloth was pressed over his mouth and nose, muffling his shouts. Heavy fumes permeated his airways as he weakly struggled against his captor.

  The voice of the [Shade] came from nearby. “[Invisibility].”

  Fletcher felt something settle over him, a chill of sorts. His hands had a faint touch of fuzziness around them, marking him under the use of the [Skill].

  Whatever was on the cloth worked fast as it dragged Fletcher from the waking world. Through blurry vision, he stared out at the back of Knarf, willing the [Ogre] to sense something amiss and come save him. Spots swam along his vision, and within a few seconds, darkness clouded his sight entirely as he fell unconscious.

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