Jarek moved fast, the girl right on his heels.

  Despite her injuries, she moved like a shadow, her breathing steady. She shot him a sidelong glance, sharp and calculating. Like she was trying to solve a puzzle.

  He ignored her.

  The ruins sprawled ahead—jagged roads, broken towers, the air thick with old decay. Somewhere behind them, the hunters were still prowling.

  No shouts. No frantic orders.

  Just silence.

  They were patient. Predators.

  Jarek kept to the shadows, his body moving on instinct. Shadow Step whispered through his veins, guiding each step, making him part of the dark.

  She wasn’t so subtle.

  Her foot hit a loose rock—a tiny sound, but in the dead stillness, it was a gunshot.

  Jarek shot her a glare.

  She winced. “Not all of us are part-time ghosts.”

  He motioned for her to keep moving. Talking could wait.

  They slipped into the maintenance tunnels—crumbling, half-collapsed veins beneath the city’s corpse. Darkness swallowed them, the air damp and tight, heavy with rust and stagnant water.

  She moved quieter this time, her breathing even.

  “So,” she whispered, “gonna tell me what your deal is?”

  Silence.

  She huffed. “Alright, let me guess—ex-Hunter? Washed-out merc? Or just some guy who got tired of being weak?”

  Jarek’s jaw tightened.

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  Cyrille’s lips curled. “Ah. That last one stings, huh?”

  He pushed forward, every step deliberate.

  Her words clung to him, sharp and persistent.

  The tunnels spit them out into the slums—the Safe Zone’s lowest ring. Neon lights buzzed over uneven streets, shadows slithering through alleyways.

  Jarek slowed. The hunters wouldn’t follow here. Not unless they had a death wish.

  She dusted off her jacket, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “Well, that was fun.”

  Jarek shot her a look. “You nearly died.”

  She grinned. “Yeah, but I didn’t. So, win-win.”

  Impossible.

  She stretched, her joints popping. “Alright, mystery man. You saved my ass. I owe you one.”

  Jarek crossed his arms. “And?”

  She leaned in, her grin sharp. “And I pay my debts. Business is business.”

  Finally. They were getting somewhere.

  “You never told me your name,” he said.

  Her grin widened. “Didn’t I?”

  Jarek’s stare didn’t waver.

  She sighed, feigning exasperation. “Fine. Cyrille Ashford.”

  The name hit him like a knife between the ribs.

  Ashford. One of the biggest independent guilds. Not an Apex Clan, but close.

  She caught his reaction and smirked. “Ah. So you do know who I am.”

  “You’re with the Ashford Mercs.”

  “Technically.” She shrugged. “But the whole ‘survival of the fittest’ vibe? Not really my thing.”

  Jarek exhaled. Another kid running from a name. How original.

  Her eyes sharpened. “And you? What’s your story?”

  Nothing.

  She chuckled. “Alright. Be mysterious.”

  Then, her smirk turned businesslike. “Since we’re friends now—”

  Jarek’s glare could’ve frozen stone.

  She ignored it. “I’ve got an offer. You get cores or loot? I’ll make sure you get paid. Better than the black market.”

  Jarek narrowed his eyes. “Why help me?”

  She tossed him a small device, the metal cool against his palm.

  “Relax,” she said. “It’s not a bomb. Unless you criticize my hair, then all bets are off.”

  Jarek rolled his eyes. “You always talk this much?”

  “It’s part of my charm.” She leaned against a broken wall, her expression slipping from playful to serious. “But real talk—you know who you killed back there?”

  His grip tightened around the device. “Does it matter?”

  Her sigh cut through the air. “Oh, it matters.”

  Cyrille’s arms crossed over her chest. “His name was Dain Halvark. Predator-ranked. And more importantly? His father is one of the Apex Clan leaders.”

  Jarek’s gut twisted.

  She pressed on, her voice a cold blade. “They won’t announce his death. Can’t afford to. If word gets out about what he was doing out here…” She let the implication hang. “But they’ll come looking.”

  Jarek’s mind raced.

  “They’ll send someone strong,” Cyrille said. “A Predator, for sure. Maybe even an Apex.”

  He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

  He had just painted a target on his back. A big, bright, fatal target.

  Jarek’s fists clenched, nails biting into his palms.

  He needed to evolve. Faster. Stronger. Deadlier.

  His gaze turned back to the slums—the shadows between the neon, the secrets buried in the alleys.

  The hunt wasn’t over.

  It had only just begun, and this time, the prey had fangs."