CHAPTER ONE

The stars that once painted stories in the night had vanished. It was as if they refused to shine any light on the horrors unfolding beneath them. In their absence, the sky had turned into a canvas of black, pierced only by the distant glow of burning buildings and flares for SOS.

I stepped away from the front window, leaving the fringed curtain to fall back into place.

"Are you sure you should go out there?"

"I have to. What if she's hurt and needs help?" I adjusted my long-sleeved tunic and lifted the hood of my cloak as I walked towards the door.

"But—"

"I'll be fine, Effie." The reassurance came out braver than I felt. I placed my hand on the brass knob and hesitated.

"Kore?"

I forced a smile and looked over at my sister. Her deep blue eyes appeared almost obsidian due to the lack of light in the cabin.

"Remember, if anyone tries to come through this door that isn't me or Grandma, shoot without asking questions."

She nodded and clutched our shotgun tightly, a look of fear and determination crossing her face. I stepped into the night just as a chilling wind blew, carrying with it the acrid scent of burning wood and the unsettling undernotes of charred flesh. Every instinct screamed at me to turn back and hide away in the illusion of safety the weathered cabin offered. Thoughts of my grandmother somewhere out here alone steadied my resolve.

The well had run dry the day prior, and our stomachs echoed the same sentiment. She had ventured out hours ago to fetch food and water. Her prolonged absence grew heavier with every passing moment. I didn't tell Ophelia, but truthfully, I had no idea where to begin searching for her. Finding her in these conditions would be next to impossible, but I had to try. I made my way to the overgrown path, grateful the soles of my worn leather boots were sturdy enough for the uneven terrain.

The haunting orange and red glow that emanated from the distant burning structures cast flickering shadows upon the ground. It was the only light I had to guide me. Fallen leaves crunched under my feet, their brittle decay a reminder of the seasons change. Gunfire echoed like a sinister symphony, punctuated by the occasional boom and distant screams—some agonized, mostly enraged. It was the cacophony of a turf war in full swing, and every gust of chilled wind seemed to carry with it whispers of sorrow and despair, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Grandma had foretold this.

Weeks before the notorious crime families began vying for power, painting the city red and cutting down anyone that stood in their way, she'd told us great change would come in the aftermath of violence and carnage. Rarely was Grandma wrong.

I had to find her.

She was my anchor in this tempest of chaos.

The thought of her being a casualty, snuffed out in this relentless quest for dominance wasn't a thought far from my mind, but it was one I refused to accept. So I pushed onward, each step a gamble. Sometimes my boots would land on solid ground; more often than not they'd sink into a soft mound of decaying foliage, causing me to stumble.

As I continued, the nagging voice of reason grew louder. What if she wasn't even out here? What if I'd started this search too late? I tried to silence it with logic. Grandma was strong and resilient; she knew these woods like the back of her hand. But that very familiarity could be working against me. If she had hidden herself, this was truly pointless, and I would have left my sister alone for nothing.

I could've brought her along, but the idea of us lost together, or worse, had me deciding not to. She's strong too, I reminded myself, clinging to the belief that Ophelia could hold down the fort until I returned. The shotgun gave her a fighting chance against any threat.

It was me, wandering these endless woods with nothing but a pocketknife, who felt utterly vulnerable. Yet, I continued, making sure I stayed as far away from the menacing glow of the city as I could manage. The depth of grandma's warnings, and the way her eyes clouded with fear whenever she spoke of that place, had always kept me rooted to our sanctuary out in the woods. Her tales painted vivid pictures of a world filled with danger, deceit, and darkness. Through her words, I could almost see the feuding families, the violence that touched every street corner, and the manipulative games.

I froze, hearing the rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs. My heart raced as I tried to pinpoint which direction it was coming from. Suddenly, a man came crashing through the trees, nearly knocking me over. He was haggard, days' worth of stubble and dirt smeared across his face, wearing a shirt stained with blood. There was an air of desperation about him that immediately put me on edge.

He didn't seem to notice me at first.

I remained where I was, a large tree at my back. As he staggered, trying to regain his bearings, our eyes met. He straightened and turned in my direction. My mind instinctively labeled him a threat, the kind Grandma always warned me about.

"Hey there, sweetheart." His voice was shaky as he tried and failed to feign calmness. "You wouldn't happen to know of a safe place to hide out, would you?"

"I'm sorry, but no," I replied firmly.

He continued to stare, causing a cold shiver to race down my spine.

Something was off about him, and I couldn't reach into my pocket for the folding knife Grandma had given me without making it obvious.

"Have we met before?"

"No." I eased away from the tree; he took a step closer, his eyes roaming over me from head to toe, making my skin crawl.

"Yeah, you're right. I wouldn't have forgotten a face like yours. A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be out here alone."

Ugh . His voice was dripping with sleaze.

"I'm not alone," I lied, despite it being pitifully obvious I had no one with me.

He took another step closer, holding out one hand. "Come here, let's find somewhere safe."

I wondered if he thought I was stupid and na?ve, or if he was somehow unaware how bad off he looked. "That's all right. I really need to go. I have people waiting on me." I crab walked away, knowing it would all be over if I put my back to him.

He watched me and began to nod his head. Up and down one too many times. "Okay, yeah. You should get back, then."

I'd only put a few feet between us when he suddenly lunged toward me. I screamed so loud a critter that had been hiding in the brush took off. A paralyzing fear threatened to overtake my senses as he managed to get one arm around me. His sweat and grime-covered hand collided with my face. Pain bloomed across my cheek and my mouth.

I ignored it, latching onto him with my teeth. The revolting taste of sweat and dirt filled my mouth, along with a hint of blood from my split lip.

He jerked free with a curse and held me tighter. I didn't know if he was trying to pick me up or take me down. We grappled and lost our balance, falling to the cold ground. The air was knocked from my lungs as he landed on top of me. Leaves and twigs dug into my spine as I continued to struggle. "Get off!" I reached up and raked my nails down his face, hissing as one broke in the middle.

"You little bitch." He bellowed in pain and slammed a fist into my side.

I cried out, my vision flashing white, tears swimming in my eyes. I couldn't hold him off. I was too weak and far too small. Practicing self-defense with Ophelia didn't come close to this. I let myself go limp, praying his blatant lack of intelligence would work in my favor.

"Have you had enough?" he growled down at me like some kind of geriatric bear.

I nodded and forced myself to remain lying still as he reached for the button of my cloak. Adrenaline was the only thing that kept me from succumbing to the soul-crushing fear I felt. He kissed my cheek, hot breath fanning across my face. God, what the heck was that? I tried—failed—not gagging. The stench combined with his body odor had nausea churning in my stomach.

He continued to fumble with my buttons, and I took advantage of the distraction. With a last-ditch effort, I managed to pull my knife from my pocket. I engaged the thin blade and thrust it into his side, aiming blindly. He howled in pain and recoiled, blood dripping onto the ground. I sucked in a breath and scrambled to my feet, intending to run. A tight grip on my ankle halted my escape. It felt like the weight of the world latched onto me as I was dragged backward. I couldn't keep my balance. I hit the ground with a cry of frustration, landing on my stomach.

"Let go!" I rolled and kicked at the man with my other leg, catching him in the chin. "Just let me go," I pleaded, my voice breaking.

His bloodshot eyes filled with rage. Whatever he was on made his wound nothing more than a minor annoyance despite how much it was bleeding. I fought as hard as I could, exhaustion threatening to take hold. Branches began to snap around us, growing louder with each passing second. Before I could process what was happening, the man's shackled grip was abruptly broken.

Disoriented, I fumbled into a sitting position, breath coming in ragged gasps. An imposing figure stood over him, one distinctly different from my attacker. When he tried to get up, a boot connected with his chest, sending him sprawling. The man tried to speak and was cut off by a deafening bang.

The sound echoed, reverberating long after the noise itself had faded. The precision was chilling—a single bullet, right between his eyes. My ears rang, and I felt a numbing sensation, as if the universe had momentarily lost its grasp on time. The man's body slumped lifelessly to the ground with a dull thud, blood that almost looked black in the moonlit dark pooling around him.

I remained cemented in place, panting heavily, torn between relief and a new, deeper-rooted fear. My focus was interrupted when my savior crouched in front of me and with a firm yet gentle hand tilted my chin, forcing my attention to him. Right away, I knew this was not a mere boy or one of the men Grandma complained of when she went on supply runs. This was a man crafted from the dark tales she whispered on cold nights, a figure from myths.

The tactical gear he wore hugged a physique that spoke of strength and discipline. His eyes were unlike anything I'd ever seen, a red flecked with gold. They carried the weight of things I couldn't even begin to understand.

Wisdom. Pain. Power.

But it was the emblem embroidered on his clothing—the majestic, almost lifelike dragon —that made my heart skip a beat. A new kind of fear had ice skating down my spine. This man was likely the most dangerous person in these woods. More so than his subordinates who stood by, watching over us and keeping guard.

They too were armed to the max and donning tactical gear of a different variety. I'd heard of this family, but in the way one hears of distant storms: dangerous, powerful, and thankfully out of reach.

Until now.

"Are you all right?"

His voice was surprisingly melodic—deep and resonant with a slight accent but soft too, like the dangerous lull of a siren's song. There was an authority in it, one that demanded respect not by volume but depth. That perplexed me. He couldn't have been that old. In his twenties, I guessed. He seemed ageless in a way. As if time had chosen to be kinder to him, or perhaps he had mastered it.

For as dangerous as he was, his attention didn't seem predatory. There was curiosity there, maybe even concern. As he gently turned my head to the side, there was also something else. Something I couldn't put a finger on. One of the men with him approached, his face covered by a reinforced helmet with a sleek design.

"That was the last of the Trefkar ."

"Have the body skinned and strung up in the plaza alongside the others."

My heart was still racing, hammering against my ribs in the aftermath of the nightmare I'd just experienced. His words did little to help calm it. The way he issued such an order with indifference and sheer lack of emotion…

It was one thing to hear whispered stories of brutality; it was an entirely different experience to witness it firsthand. The helmeted man turned swiftly, a soft glow emanating from the side of his helmet. It was a bizarre and otherworldly sight for me, like watching someone speak to a spirit or summon magic from thin air. The realization dawned that this was some manner of advanced technology, leagues beyond anything I'd ever encountered. My isolated world had kept me blissfully ignorant.

But even with such a revelation, the lifeless man lying a few feet away, and the predatory gleam that had been in his eyes, the violent grip of his hands—no amount of horror at the issued command could coax an ounce of sympathy from me for him.

He would've shown me no mercy.

The man that ended his life forced me to meet his gaze once more. His piercing eyes locked onto mine, leaving me trapped, ensuring that I could focus on nothing else but him as his order was followed.

"Why are you alone in these woods?" His tone was soft, but there was an underlying coldness that made me feel obligated to respond.

"I'm looking for someone," I managed to reply, trying to steady my voice.

He studied me for a moment, his grip never wavering. "It's dangerous out here, especially for someone like you."

"Someone like me?" I repeated, confused.

His other hand rose, pulling free a set of chains that rested beneath his form-fitting shirt. One was a dog tag, embossed with the emblem of the dragon—the insignia of the family he served. They were said to have the same mythical blood in their veins. The other was a delicate pendant, formed in the likeness of the very same beast.

He removed it and with a fluid motion slipped the pendant over my head, the cold metal coming to rest against my skin, sealing some unspoken pact between us with a soft sting.

"This was my mother's. It's said to protect the wearer from harm."

"Why are you giving it to me?" I whispered.

He looked deep into my eyes, and for a moment, I felt as if he was peering into my very soul.

"Call it a hunch."

One of his companions, a tall figure, stepped closer. "Are you sure about letting her go?"

" Vedremo la di nuovo ," he replied in a cryptic tongue, a cascade of melodic, mysterious syllables that held no meaning for me. I could only guess their significance. "Segui-la in silenzio" Another exchange in that same language, and then, with a final weighted glance, he released me and stepped back.

"Return to where you shelter and stay put. No one will bother you again."

I didn't understand why he'd helped me or how he could be so sure of that, but I wasn't going to press further. I nodded and allowed him to help me stand. Despite my instincts telling me not to, curiosity got the better of me. "What's…what's your name?" I asked hesitantly.

A grin danced on his lips. "You'll know soon enough."

I turned away, inadvertently catching the gruesome scene unfolding behind him. The man who'd attacked me had been stripped naked and was now undergoing the chilling process of having his flesh removed. Curved blades flashed beneath the dim glow of lights the men wore as they worked. The way his flesh curled back reminded me of peeling potatoes. The underside of the skin was a mix of sinewy tissue, blood vessels crisscrossed like delicate, intricate webs, and patches of exposed muscle.

A visceral shudder surged through me, and I forced my feet to move. I could feel the weight of their collective gaze on my back.

A million questions flitted through my mind as the distance grew between us. I touched the necklace, feeling its cool metal against my skin. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to run from the mysterious man who'd saved me and his brigade. It took all the strength I had left to maintain a semblance of composure, putting one foot in front of the other, wondering why he'd let me go.