In a war-scarred realm where shadows whisper secrets and magic is everywhere, Riley-a legendary thief and shadowmaster-is captured after a failed heist inside the manor of Lord Calvin Hayes Alessio. Riley is offered a cruel bargain: assassinate a fo...
The lantern flickered low, its flame whispering against the half wall of the woodshed. It was the first thing Percevin had found to shelter Riley, to stop traveling in his state. It had a roof, and the almost walls were enough to shield them from the wind. The only sound was Riley's breath—uneven, but alive.
The knight-to-be sat beside him, knees pulled up to his chest, chin resting on his knees, cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He'd been there for hours. He hadn't meant to stay unmoving so long, but he couldn't look away from the man. He hadn't stirred since passed out on the horse's back, and now laid stretched across the makeshift bedroll, pale and still. Fever dreams flickered behind his eyelids. Percevin didn't know what kind of visions haunted the shadowmaster's sleep, but he doubted they were peaceful.
And it was all his fault.
He hated how useless he felt.
He gently put his palm to Riley's forehead. The fever had broken, mostly. Sweat clung to his brow, and his breathing had steadied, but his hands still twitched now and then. Fighting ghosts. Fighting memories.
Their whole journey played in his mind non-stop, trying to make sense of how he was feeling about everything. How their first real interaction was after they were attack by the Wraith-Dog. When the shadows lashed out that night in the woods, Percevin's heart had thundered in his chest, hand white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword, but Riley had moved without hesitation, terrifying and magnificent. He had positioned himself between Percevin and the threat. And part of Percevin envied that.
Even now, his hands still remembered the weight of the sword in that moment—useless, like a child's toy. He had stood there, frozen, while the darkness pulsed around them, thick and heavy. Not because Riley told him to stay still, but because he couldn't move. Couldn't think.
Watching Riley whisper a prayer over a dying beast, tenderness in his calloused hands. Or seeing him dig a shallow grave, alone in the woods, as if trying to bury not just a body, but something of himself. It unsettled Percevin.
Because somewhere in that storm, he had begun to believe Riley wasn't the enemy.
And that terrified him.
It would have been easier if Riley had stayed monstrous. If he'd snarled and threatened and confirmed everything Percevin had been taught to expect. But instead, the man had shown cracks—raw ones. The kind you couldn't fake. The kind that made it harder to draw clean lines between right and wrong. Percevin kept trying to sort through it the way he was trained to, the way a knight-to-be was supposed to: duty, code, loyalty. But none of those words helped when he thought of Riley alone in a prison cell, branded as a child, buried under orders no boy should survive. None of those words felt like enough.
And then there was the mission. The weight of it still sat in his chest like a stone. He told himself there were reasons. That maybe the girl really was dangerous. That maybe this was about protecting the realm, not vengeance. But with every mile, that faith grew harder to hold. The more he watched Riley—stubborn, battered, still moving—the more the story twisted. What if he was being lied to? What if they both were? Percevin didn't have answers. Only questions. Too many. And a fear that no matter what choice he made, something inside him would break.
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