Chapter 72: An Invitation
The moment the figure landed, the street stilled.
He crouched low, one knee pressed against the cracked stone, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of one of the twin blades at his side. The fog parted around him like an obedient dog, revealing fiery orange hair that ran wild in every direction, untamed and wind-swept, barely held back by a fraying strip of leather that looked more symbolic than functional.
His skin was the soft golden-brown of scorched sand and his jacket was stitched with the crests of noble houses—all torn, scorched, and pinned back with glinting buttons like war trophies. Every muscle in his lean body thrummed with precision, a quiet readiness that pulsed through the night like a drawn bow.
I felt my heart skip a beat.
"Salem?" I whispered, voice cracking with disbelief.
He snapped up before I could even blink, movements fluid and feline. His eyes locked onto mine, fierce and burning, and then he shouted—not to greet me, not to catch up or comment on the disaster my face had become—but one sharp command:
"Duck!"
I dropped instantly, my body obeying faster than my mind as an arrow cleaved through the air right where my throat had been, its steel head whistling past with a whisper of death. It buried itself into the cobblestones with a vicious crack, quivering slightly from the force.
"What the hell—"
"Not now!" Salem shouted, spinning toward the rooftop with both blades drawn. "They’re here!"
I barely had time to process the warning before shadows began peeling from the fog—one, two, a dozen of them—crawling from the alleyways and crumbling ruins like ink spilled across parchment. Each figure was cloaked in heavy robes, their faces hidden beneath dark hoods. They moved with the silence of trained assassins and the fluidity of something... not quite human.
I heard Aria gasp behind me.