The city was quiet.

  Not the kind of quiet that meant safety, but the kind that meant something was about to die.

  Jarek moved like a ghost, his form blurring at the edges as the Umbral Veil pulsed beneath his skin. The mist thickened around him, swallowing his steps, smudging his presence into half-existence. His breath was steady. His heartbeat even. His instincts screamed.

  Something was wrong.

  Cyrille had disappeared a few streets back, slipping into the alleys the way she always did—silent, precise. That was her way. But Jarek wasn’t alone.

  He felt it before he saw anything.

  A pressure. A weight in the air, pressing down on him like the world itself had turned against him. A presence, sharp and predatory. Not the mindless hunger of a Ravager. This was different. This was a killer’s gaze.

  Jarek kept moving, adjusting his pace. Not stopping. Not hesitating. Letting them think he hadn’t noticed. His fingers twitched near the hilt of his blade. He kept his breathing even. The mist curled around his body, reacting to his pulse.

  A voice drifted through the fog.

  "That was a nice dodge."

  Jarek’s steps slowed. His grip on the hilt of his blade tightened. Not an ambush, then. A game.

  A figure materialized from the mist—a tall, lean man clad in dark combat leathers, a blade lazily hanging from his grip. Gold insignia glinted on his shoulder.

  House Halvark.

  Not one of the main family. But a hunter in their service. A Predator-tier executioner.

  Jarek didn’t speak. He let the silence stretch.

  The assassin smirked. "Don’t look so tense, Zero. This won’t take long."

  Jarek exhaled slowly. Testing him. Watching his stance. Every muscle in the assassin’s body was relaxed, but Jarek could tell—it wasn’t laziness. It was the stillness of a creature at the top of the food chain.

  No wasted energy. No doubt.

  This wasn’t some hired blade. This was a professional.

  The man tilted his head. "I have to admit, you lasted longer than I expected. Usually, your kind dies in a single strike. But I suppose even failures get lucky sometimes."

  Jarek said nothing. His grip on his weapon didn’t change. His breathing didn’t shift. But inside, something cold unfurled.

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  Failure.

  He had heard that word too many times before.

  The assassin twirled his blade absently. "House Halvark is generous, you know. They let people like you live, despite your existence being an insult to the system."

  Jarek’s jaw tightened.

  The assassin smirked. "Ah, hit a nerve? Don’t worry. Your kind always begs in the end."

  Then he moved.

  The strike came too fast.

  Jarek reacted on instinct, pivoting as the blade slashed where his ribs had been a fraction of a second before. Not fast enough. The edge of the weapon cut through fabric and bit into flesh. A sting. A line of fire across his side.

  Too shallow. He missed a vital.

  Jarek’s mind latched onto the detail even as his body screamed at him to move. This assassin was precise—so why miss a clean kill?

  He’s measuring me.

  The assassin struck again, shifting effortlessly into the next motion. A downward slice, clean and merciless.

  Jarek couldn’t dodge.

  He brought his blade up instead. Too slow.

  Steel met steel. The impact rattled through Jarek’s bones. The force sent him stumbling back, his muscles burning from the strain. His ribs ached. His stance had broken. Wide open.

  A perfect moment to end him.

  But the assassin… stopped.

  He exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Not bad."

  Jarek’s eyes narrowed. He’s playing with me.

  The assassin had let that exchange happen. He was toying with Jarek, bleeding him slow, letting him exhaust himself.

  Not just a killer. A sadist.

  Jarek steadied his breath. Think. Adapt. Survive.

  If the assassin wanted a slow hunt, he would give him one.

  Jarek stepped into the mist.

  His breath was steady. His mind sharp.

  He didn’t need to win in a single strike. He just needed to test the limits of his new ability.

  Jarek slid through the fog like a whisper, his body half-there, half-illusion. The Umbral Veil wrapped around his presence, smudging his existence into something uncertain.

  He circled.

  Waiting.

  Watching.

  The assassin’s stance didn’t change. He stayed loose, casual. Unconcerned.

  Then he laughed. "You’re new to this, aren’t you?"

  Jarek stilled.

  The assassin rolled his shoulders. "I know how your kind fights. Tricks. Illusions. You think this mist makes you untouchable?"

  He took a slow step forward. Then another.

  Jarek tensed.

  The assassin closed his eyes.

  What is he—?

  And then he moved.

  Faster than before.

  A single step, a brutal slash through the mist—aimed exactly where Jarek was standing.

  Jarek dodged, barely, the blade carving through empty air just as his body flickered back into full reality.

  The assassin grinned. "Thought so."

  Jarek exhaled sharply, resetting his stance.

  The assassin hadn’t even needed to see him.

  He had tracked Jarek purely by sound, air displacement, the slight pressure shift in the mist.

  He’s countering my power before I’ve even mastered it.

  A realization settled in Jarek’s gut.

  This wasn’t a test for the assassin.

  This was a foregone conclusion.

  The Halvark hunter exhaled, shaking his head. "You should’ve run, Zero."

  Jarek took another breath.

  He couldn’t run.

  Not from this.

  His stance shifted. He adjusted his grip on his weapon. His ribs ached. His side was burning. His lungs were tight from the strain of using his ability.

  But he wasn’t dead yet.

  The assassin lifted his blade again, rolling his neck. "Time to put you down."

  Jarek exhaled. No thoughts. No hesitation. Just instinct.

  The hunger inside him stirred.

  And then they clashed again.