The voice of a "customer" echoing through the dim hair salon was enough to make everyone freeze.
In the Black Night, there were Voidstriders.
But the people capable of walking freely through that absolute dark were infinitely more dangerous. Especially given their current predicament. Who in their right mind would show up at the door of a rundown, back-alley salon at this hour?
"Get in the back room," the proprietress said, offering Flint Voss a tight, parting smile. "Let me stand the last watch."
Flint refused to budge.
He shot a glance at Dean Brennan. "I have the coordinates. Can you open a gate right now?"
"I could," Dean muttered, his brow furrowed in a tight, desperate calculation. "But this close..."
Before they could reach a decision, a searing white line sliced through the center of the metal shutter.
The moment the cut appeared, its edges began to burn. It looked like a sheet of paper being parted by a blade of pure fire. Except the flame wasn't real heat—it was a harsh, crystalline light shaped like a flickering candle-flame.
"No. 12 Willowbrook Road Scrapyard, Northgate!" Flint hissed, throwing the escape route out before it was too late.
But Dean didn't conjure The Passage.
Flint stared at him, bewildered.
The hesitation in Dean’s eyes slowly evaporated, replaced by a reckless, mocking grin. He took a step forward, drawing his dagger.
"Fuck it," Dean muttered. "I'm done running. If they tracked us here, they'll find us anywhere."
Deep down, he knew the truth. Against the absolute might of the Lampbearers, running was just delaying the inevitable. But if he was going to go down, he was going to give the Nightbound some goddamn pride.
Ethan Kane’s throat went bone-dry.
This was, without a doubt, the most terrifying moment of his life. Even with his emotions mostly suppressed by his condition, he could feel his pulse hammering like a war drum.
The Nightbound versus the Lampbearers. It was a clash of titans he had never dreamed of witnessing.
But watching a show of this caliber carried a steep ticket price. Usually, it cost your life.
Ethan subtly lowered his hand, his fingers brushing the wrist beneath Warren Calloway’s oversized sleeve. The Voidthread was there. His only card.
The glowing tear in the shutter widened, parting the steel like wet paper. A single figure stepped through.
Petra Marlowe's breath hitched.
Felix Grayson.
Through the gap, the street outside was flooded with harsh, artificial light. Columns of Duskwardens stood in silent, rigid formation. Inside the dim salon, they were just shadows.
"Miss Marlowe," Felix said, his gaze sweeping over the room. "Seeing you unharmed brings me great relief."
Wreathed in a shroud of light that burned like a candle-flame, he looked like a savior.
Yet, Petra took a sharp step back.
The safety she should have felt evaporated. Looking at Felix, she felt a cold dread that she hadn't even felt around her captors.
Dean Brennan had threatened her, yes, but now that the trap had sprung, he didn't even look at her with murderous intent. What was the point of killing her now?
And Ethan, despite his harsh treatment, had fed her.
Felix, on the other hand, spoke of concern, but his eyes were dead. There was no urgency, no genuine relief. It was a performance.
Felix's gaze drifted from Petra, passing over the others, and stopped on Ethan.
Ethan frowned. Why would an elite Lampbearer spare a glance for a nobody like him? Surely it wasn't because of his fresh haircut.
A ghost of a smirk touched Felix’s lips before vanishing. He turned his full attention to the man with the dagger.
"A Nightbound?"
"A Lampbearer?" Dean spat back.
"Indeed," Felix said smoothly. "I told you I would find you within two days."
"Yeah. Fucking congratulations," Dean scoffed. "We doing this or what?"
"There is no need. You lack the capacity to resist." Felix’s voice dripped with effortless, chilling confidence. "But if you wish to try, I will oblige."
He parted his cloak, drawing a blade from his lower back. It was broad-faced, barely thirty centimeters long, with a flat, squared-off tip that gleamed with a faint, oily sheen.
"Before we begin our little wager, might we allow Miss Marlowe to reunite with her family?"
Outside, Mayor Marlowe and his wife stood anxiously behind a wall of Duskwardens. Felix had assured them he had found their daughter, but the heavy militaristic buildup suggested a bloody siege, not a rescue.
Inside, Dean weighed his options before giving a curt nod. "I have conditions."
"Granted," Felix replied, as if expecting it. "A life for a life. You may choose one person to walk out of here alive, Mr. Brennan."
Dean’s brow furrowed.
Felix chuckled. "Surely you didn't expect a three-for-one trade? Do not be greedy."
"The mayor’s daughter is worth far more than any of us," Dean growled.
To his surprise, Felix conceded. "Fair point." He raised two fingers. "I will grant you two lives."
Before Dean could push further, Felix’s tone turned ice-cold.
"I despise pointless negotiation. If this bargain displeases you, you are welcome to slit Miss Marlowe's throat right now."
"Of course, if you do, not a single soul in this room leaves alive. Unless, of course, you believe you can cut me down and fight your way through the fifty-two Duskwardens waiting outside."
"The hour is late. Thirty seconds should be plenty of time to decide."
Petra’s face drained of color.
Felix had just invited her captor to kill her. There was no hesitation, no bargaining for her life—just cold, transactional utility.
Dean glanced at the others. His choice was made.
He nodded. "Deal."
Ethan’s heart plunged.
Two survivors.
He didn't need a math degree to know his name wasn't on that list.
Ethan slipped his right hand behind his back. The massive sleeve of Warren Calloway’s jacket completely concealed his wrist.
Underneath, the Voidthread began to squirm.
He had barely practiced controlling the thing. He had no idea what its limits were. But he didn't have the luxury of a training montage.
Dean’s first choice would be Flint Voss. That was a given.
The second slot would go to the proprietress.
Ethan had been a liability from day one in Dean's eyes. If Ethan didn't fight now, he was a corpse.
His only advantage was that neither Felix nor Dean knew he possessed a weapon. If he could find a single split-second opening during their clash...
"Let's go," Dean said, raising his dagger to his chest. His eyes flared with a desperate, emerald light. The blade shimmered with a faint, toxic green aura.
"According to our records, there are one hundred and forty-three known Nightbound active in this sector," Felix said, examining the weapon. "You are Venomfang Dean Brennan, yes?"
"Flattered you've heard of me," Dean sneered, his pupils fully dilating into vertical slits of brilliant green.
"It seems our intelligence is outdated," Felix murmured, raising an eyebrow. "Our files never mentioned you reaching the Eyeshift stage."
Dean didn't bother replying. He knew Felix was just stalling to analyze his capabilities.
More importantly, Dean had already resolved his own fate. If he lost, he would end his own life. He wouldn't let the Lampbearers take him alive. He didn't trust his own threshold for pain under their specialized interrogation techniques.
Most men thought they were unbreakable until the skin started peeling. Dean wasn't going to bet his soul on his own vanity.
Dropping his center of gravity, Dean coiled like a spring. Across from him, Felix stood entirely relaxed, his short, flat blade held loosely.
That arrogance was Dean's only window.
In a flash, Dean exploded forward.
He was blindingly fast. The gap was less than two meters. In a normal fight, the strike would have been clean.
CLANG!
A sharp metallic ring vibrated through the room.
Dean’s dagger spun violently out of his grip, embedding itself deep into the plaster of the ceiling. Thrown off balance by the brutal parry, Dean stumbled back, his defense wide open.
He looked up to see Felix’s polite, untroubled smile.
Schlit!
With a fluid, stepping lunge, Felix’s flat blade traced a seamless arc through the air. The steel entered just below Dean’s left collarbone and tore diagonally down to his right hip.
Thud.
Dean hit the floor, blood erupting from the massive gash. The metallic stench of fresh copper immediately choked the small room.
Felix gave his blade a sharp flick, painting a crimson crescent across the faded wallpaper.
Everyone froze, paralyzed by sheer disbelief.
They knew the Lampbearers were terrifying. But to see Dean—a veteran Nightbound who had unlocked Eyeshift—get dismantled in a single, effortless motion... It defied comprehension.
Behind his back, Ethan’s left hand clamped hard around his right wrist. His hand was shaking violently.
Just seconds ago, he had been plotting a backstrike. Now he realized the sheer absurdity of the thought.
Felix Grayson was the apex predator of this room. His relaxed posture wasn't arrogance; it was the casual ease of a man who faced no threats.
Worse, Felix looked back at Ethan, his eyes glinting as if he had read every desperate thought in the boy's head.
The proprietress pressed both hands over her mouth, stifling a sob. Even Flint Voss stared blankly at Dean’s bleeding form, his mind unable to process the gap in power.
"Miss Marlowe," Felix said, breaking the silence.
Petra flinched. The adoration she once held for the heroic Lampbearer had shattered into pure terror.
"Mayor Marlowe and your mother are waiting outside. Go to them."
Felix stepped aside, leaving the path clear.
Petra knew she was safe to leave. No one in the room would dare touch her with Felix standing there. But she felt no warmth from her savior.
"Do not keep them waiting," Felix prompted gently.
Petra tried to move, but her knees were like water. She took one step and stumbled forward.
Felix caught her by the shoulders, stabilizing her.
Ethan’s gaze sharpened.
Both of Felix's hands were occupied.
Now.
He began to slide the Voidthread forward.
"It seems Mr. Brennan is indisposed to make his selection," Felix said softly, his eyes locking directly onto Ethan’s just as the thread twitched. "In that case, I shall take the liberty of deciding who stays behind."
A suffocating weight pressed down on the room. Even with his emotions dampened, Ethan felt a cold spike of primal terror pierce his chest.
Felix gently guided Petra toward the exit, but she felt a strange, invisible force physically propelling her through the door.
In that final moment, a bizarre urge rose within her. She wanted to beg for their lives. These people had kidnapped her, yes, but they hadn't truly hurt her. The monster who killed the guards at the estate wasn't here.
Before she could find her voice...
SPLAT.
A wet, tearing sound echoed from behind.
Petra froze.
Ethan and Flint slowly turned their heads.
A thin red line appeared across the face of the proprietress, splitting from her forehead down the bridge of her nose, through her lips, and down to her stomach.