Abolisher [Drothiker #2]

1.

Syrene Evreyan Alpenstride knew she was being followed again as she walked down the dark alley. Cloaked and hooded, armed to teeth.

The cobblestone street leading to her building was empty and disconcertingly silent as usual, despite the patter of rain on the puddled water. Apart from that patter, there was another sound, one she could catch only thanks to her hemvae hearing.

Footsteps. One person. Vegreka. A man.

Ugh.

Syrene casually let her one gloved hand slide closer to the dagger sheathed at her hip, as the other hand straightened her shirt's collar, mounting it up to her jaw, to hide the sides of her neck.

She let her fingers curl and uncurl at her sides.

Syrene was aware of it all too well—being shadowed and having a bounty on her head, those assassins all those years ago had given her a grip on these skills—though not intentionally—to know when she was being hunted, when the danger was near. And Syrene was never mistaken.

Especially not since the day she'd been forced in her hemvae form, ripped of her Grestel life. In this form, with these heightened senses and edged instincts, it was hard to miss what was taking place in her surroundings. Hard to not hear the breaths that were registered around her, movements that had the air rustling.

It had taken her months to adjust to this advanced body—months—but only because whatever now rushed through her veins was in a deep slumber, had been for a year now. And frankly, Syrene planned to keep it that way.

Syrene slowed her steps, let her follower near her, let him start panicking and sketch out his attack—she surely couldn't lead him to her apartment. No, she wouldn't let him anywhere near Navy. She wouldn't risk another friend, not after—

She felt a pang in her heart, an ache in her throat.

Not after Deisn.

Deisn ...

Syrene mentally shook herself. No—she wouldn't think about Deisn Rainfang, now of all the times. She'd promised herself she'd never dwell over her past, what happened a year ago, and all the years before. She'd started a new life in this town, far from Cleystein, that wretched country—far from Jegvr and the tribes. She'd left her past, left everyone.

But these memories ... they were like a thorn jutting out of her heart—one she couldn't jab in.

She mentally crumpled her thoughts like a paper and hurled them out. And it was only then she noticed the steps had ceased behind her. She couldn't hear the breathing, couldn't scent the Vegreka over the onslaught of rain.

Syrene groaned in frustration and halted. She whirled.

The alley stretched out before her, yawned at the other end, where people passed the gap, going along with their lives, no one sparing a second glance in this unnerving alley's direction. She knew someone was hiding in the shadows along the walls, could feel his presence like a lion sensing its prey—

Before even the new drops of rain had a chance to meet the puddle, the man dashed for her like a weapon with preternatural speed.

Unfortunately for him, Syrene's hemvae instincts were sharper.

One moment, the man was a blur hurtling towards her. And the next, he was pinned to a wall nearby, in the same shadows he'd been hiding in, Syrene's forearm against his neck, her dagger's blade's tip pressing in a side of his neck.