Ethel had more than just his mother’s linens. She had a whole stack that needed to be delivered to various folk nearby.

  “Otter, be a dear and take these for me,” the old woman said, plopping a bundle of neatly folded cloth into his arms. “There’s two dregs in it for you.”

  Otter raised an eyebrow. Two dregs wasn’t much—not with nine alms already in his pocket. But Ethel had always been good to him and his mother. She’d given him work when no one else would, even when there wasn’t much work to give.

  He shifted the linens in his arms. “Alright,” he sighed. “But I have somewhere to be before sundown, so I might not come back until tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine, dear.” She pinched his cheek. Otter groaned. He hated when she did that.

  Ethel just laughed and patted his arm. “Now off with you, before I find more work to pile on.”

  He wasted no time heading back into the streets, moving quickly between deliveries.

  The first few stops went smoothly. He handed off linens to shopkeepers and dockworkers’ wives, exchanging quick pleasantries but not lingering long. The sun was already hanging lower than he’d like.

  At the fourth stop, old Mrs. Trask decided she wanted a chat.

  “You’ve been off at that Academy, haven’t you?” she asked, peering at him from behind heavy lids.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Otter bounced on the balls of his feet, eager to move on.

  “I knew your father,” she said, out of nowhere.

  Otter stilled. “You did?”

  “When he was just a boy. I remember when he went off to the Academy, too. I was a young woman then. Not this lumpy old thing you see now. Tell me, how is your father? I haven’t seen him in…well, it’s been a long time.”

  Otter stared, mouth half open. “I, uh… I haven’t seen him either.”

  “What?” She blanched. “Oh dear. Oh my, that’s right. I’m so sorry. This old brain of mine forgets so easily these days.” She shuffled back inside, muttering to herself.

  Otter watched her, continuing to stare at the door after it closed behind her.

  He shook off the shock and rushed through the rest of his deliveries, his pace quickening as the sky deepened into gold.

  By the time he dropped off the last bundle, the sun was dangerously close to the horizon. He cursed under his breath and broke into a run. Halestorm would be leaving any minute. He had to get there now.

  He cut through the narrow backstreets, dodging carts and late shoppers. He was going to make it.

  Then a figure stepped into his path.

  It was Bran still in his city watch uniform, arms crossed, a sour look on his face.

  “Oh. Hey Bran,” Otter said. He didn’t have time for this. Halestorm was about to leave, and if he missed it, he’d lose his chance to find Holloway.

  “Hey yourself, rat.” Bran sneered. “You ran off before we could finish our conversation earlier.”

  “I didn’t run—”

  Bran cut him off. “Is that right? But you think I did?”

  “What? No. I…”

  “Who’s been flapping their jaw?”

  Otter hadn’t heard anything, but Bran had pretty much confessed. Otter must have made a face because Bran narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t run,” he hissed. “I stood my ground. I did my duty. I—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Otter crossed his arms. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

  Bran’s eyes flashed. “Oh, look at you. Mr. Academy. Now you think you’re better than the rest of us, huh?”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Otter sighed, his patience wearing thin. “I don’t think anything, Bran. I’m just trying to get to the docks.”

  Bran stepped sideways, blocking his path. “Not yet, you’re not.”

  Otter’s fingers twitched toward his belt, where his father’s knife rested. He never would have done that before. But months of training and battling Kaosborn had changed him. He wasn’t the same pushover he used to be. But he didn’t want to hurt Bran, so he dropped his hand.

  Bran stared him down, waiting for Otter to flinch, to step aside, to show some kind of weakness.

  But Otter just stood there, staring right back at him.

  The moment stretched between them, tense and unmoving.

  Then, a voice broke through the silence. “I wouldn’t, Bran.”

  Both boys turned.

  Torrin stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

  Bran’s eyes flicked between them. “Stay out of it Torr.”

  Torrin shook his head. “No. Kaosborn attacked the Academy about the same time they attacked here. A bunch of us got cornered. Otter saved our lives. Most of us anyway.” There was a hint of bitterness in his voice, but also appreciation.

  Bran’s eyes widened. “Otter? Fought Kaosborn?”

  Torrin nodded. “Yeah. He also made it to the semi-final round of our combat class tournament. I lost a bunch of coin on that.” Bran’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came. “Whatever was between you before, you need to let it go. It’s ancient history.”

  Bran adjusted his belt, sniffed, and spat on the street. But he didn’t move out of the way. He seemed torn, like he was considering Torrin’s words, but was having a hard time reconciling the Otter he knew with the one being described.

  The air thickened, pressing against Otter’s skin like an unseen weight. The usual nighttime symphony of Brighthaven’s docks—the rhythmic crash of waves, the creak of mooring lines, the occasional distant call of a sailor—dulled to a suffocating hush. Even the flickering streetlamps dimmed, their warm glow strangled by the unnatural stillness.

  A deep, instinctual part of Otter’s brain screamed wrong.

  As one, they turned.

  Across the street, half-hidden in the shadows between two buildings, stood a hooded figure.

  They weren’t moving. They weren’t trying to hide.

  Just watching.

  A shiver crawled up Otter’s spine.

  His breath shallowed, his pulse an unsteady drum in his ears. There was something off about this figure—not just their eerie stillness, but something deeper. Something that scratched at the edges of recognition.

  He’d seen them before.

  Hadn’t he?

  The thought was hazy, like a half-remembered dream. A whisper of familiarity, buried beneath layers of something else. Something alien.

  Bran stiffened beside him. His face paled.

  Then—without a word—he bolted.

  Otter barely registered it. His eyes remained locked on the hooded figure, a thousand thoughts colliding in his head. Who were they? Why were they watching him?

  And why did they feel like a storm on the horizon?

  “Otter,” Torrin whispered.

  Otter ignored him.

  Slowly, deliberately, he took a breath—steeling himself—then stepped forward.

  The figure vanished.

  No flicker of movement. No sound.

  Just gone.

  Like they had never been there at all.

  The moment they disappeared, the oppressive weight lifted. The air lightened. The streetlamps flared back to life, their glow warm once more. The sounds of the docks returned—the crash of the tide, the groan of wood, the distant murmur of voices.

  Normalcy resumed.

  But Otter felt anything but normal.

  He stared at the empty space where the figure had stood, his hands curled into fists at his sides. His gut twisted, his mind racing.

  That hadn’t been an accident.

  Whoever—whatever—that was…

  They’d wanted to be seen.

  Torrin let out a breath. “What the hell was that?“

  “No idea,” said Otter.

  “You’re not gonna follow that, are you?

  “No way. I have somewhere to be.”

  “Yeah, I should probably get going, too.” Torrin turned and walked in the opposite direction of the alley where the shadowy figure had stood.

  “Hey. Thanks for what you did,” Otter said, almost as an afterthought.

  Torrin glanced back over his shoulder. “I didn’t do it for you. I don’t want Bran to get hurt.”

  Otter didn’t know what to say to that, so he nodded and took off running.

  The cobblestone streets blurred beneath his feet as he sprinted toward the docks. His breath came in ragged bursts, his lungs burning from the exertion. The masts of the Halestorm loomed ahead, its sails catching the moonlight.

  The masts of the Halestorm loomed ahead, its sails catching the moonlight. Unfortunately, Otter could see it was fully unmoored and drifting slowly away from the pier. The wind wasn’t in the sails. It was being oared.

  Maybe he could still make it.

  He skidded to a stop at the very end of the pier. The Halestorm was just out of reach. The gap between the pier and the ship widened, inch by agonizing inch, as the tide pulled it out toward open water.

  “No, no, no—”

  There were people moving around on deck. Maybe if he could get their attention… They would what? Turn around? Fat chance.

  Then one of the men on board turned around. Illuminated under the glow of a singing lantern stood Holloway.

  “Varek!” Otter shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Varek Holloway!”

  The bounty hunter didn’t react.

  Otter waved frantically. “I need to talk to you!”

  Nothing.

  He took a step forward before his brain caught up to his body. His toes teetered over the edge of the dock. Below him, the dark waters of the bay churned.

  The Halestorm drifted farther away, the wind catching its sails at last. As the only lead on his father’s whereabouts drew farther out of reach, the bounty hunter tilted his head down, making eye contact with Otter. And he waved.

  The bastard knew he’d been there the whole time.

  “…Damn it,” Otter muttered under his breath.

  There was nothing left to do.

  With one last look at the disappearing ship, he turned and walked away.