The streets of Embershade looked different at night.

  The smog that made everything orange during the day sank lower once the sunlight disappeared, turning the town into a dim corridor of chimney silhouettes and wet stone. Lamps burned weakly. Rainwater clung to rooftops and ran in thin streams down the sides of buildings, collecting in potholes that reflected dull light like broken glass.

  Lief kept to the narrow paths between homes and storefronts, cloak pulled tight, hood low.

  He had gotten used to moving quietly these past two months.

  Not because he wanted to be sneaky by nature, but because sneaky had become necessary. Knights asked questions. Miners stared. People whispered less now, but the silence felt worse than the gossip. Like the town was waiting for the next excuse to point a finger.

  The bakery was behind him. Audree was somewhere else, probably training, probably not sleeping enough. Lief told himself he was only going for air. Only going to clear his head.

  He did not tell himself the other truth.

  The woods were calling again.

  Not the deep ache they used to be, not the helpless pain that made his stomach twist. This was sharper. Focused. Like someone pressing a fingertip into a bruise and holding it there until you could not ignore it anymore.

  Lief stopped near a closed mill, one of the old ones that creaked even when the wind was calm. He rested his hand against the wooden wall and breathed.

  Slow.

  In.

  Out.

  The way Velra drilled into him.

  For a moment, the pull eased.

  Then the hair on the back of his neck lifted.

  Lief froze.

  There was someone behind him.

  He turned quickly, staff coming up from under his cloak.

  A man stood in the street like he had been there the whole time. Not a miner. Not a town guard.

  A knight.

  The armor was cleaner than anything Embershade produced. Dark steel with pale trim, rain beading on it instead of soaking in. A long spear rested in one hand, the tip angled toward the ground like he was not threatening Lief, but could if he felt like it. His cloak was heavy and travel-worn, and his posture carried a tired sort of readiness.

  His face was sharp and unreadable, with eyes that looked like they had seen too many bad decisions.

  Lief’s throat tightened.

  He did not know the knight’s name. He only knew, instinctively, that this was not someone he could talk his way around.

  “Out late,” the knight said.

  Lief forced himself to speak. “So are you.”

  The knight’s gaze flicked over Lief’s staff, then to Lief’s hands, then to Lief’s stance.

  “You’re trained,” he observed, like he was stating the weather.

  Lief’s heart beat harder.

  He took one step back.

  The knight did not move. “Put the staff down.”

  “No,” Lief said, voice shaking more than he wanted.

  Silence stretched.

  Then the knight sighed, like this was already annoying.

  “Fine,” he said. “Show me.”

  Lief did not wait.

  He moved the way Velra taught him to move. He planted his feet and pulled mana up, not in a wild rush, but in a controlled channel. Verdancy answered immediately, thin threads of power spreading into the wet ground.

  A vine snapped up from the cobbles, slick with rain, reaching for the knight’s ankles.

  The knight’s spear shifted.

  The vine split cleanly, not hacked apart, but separated as if it had always been two pieces that simply forgot to fall away from each other.

  Lief’s eyes widened.

  He tried again, sharper. He pushed Verdancy into the street like a net, thorns forming, a hedge-wall instinct taking shape.

  The knight stepped forward.

  One step.

  The pressure in the air changed.

  The hedge did not shatter in an explosion. It failed like a lie being corrected. The shape collapsed in on itself, parts of it simply not holding together anymore.

  Lief stumbled back, breath catching.

  He raised his staff and tried the blood-arrow frame Velra had taught him to trigger. The runes in the staff warmed. A thin line of blood formed, trembling.

  The knight flicked his spear upward.

  The air stuttered.

  Lief felt it more than he saw it. Like something in reality had been nudged at a weak seam. The blood-arrow wavered, then snapped apart into harmless droplets.

  The knight closed the distance with terrifying ease.

  Lief tried to swing the staff like Ina’s basic drills taught him. Not elegant, but enough to create space.

  The knight caught it with the shaft of his spear and twisted.

  Lief’s grip broke.

  The staff clattered to the ground.

  A hard shove struck Lief’s chest and sent him into the mill wall. The impact drove the air out of him. Before he could even gasp, cold rope wrapped around his wrists.

  Not normal rope.

  It was dark, thick, and threaded with small runes that pulsed faintly as they tightened. The moment it touched his skin, something inside Lief went quiet.

  His mana pool felt muffled.

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  His connection to the plants vanished so suddenly it felt like someone had stuffed cloth into his ears.

  The woods went silent.

  Lief’s breath hitched in panic.

  The knight tied the rope with practiced speed, then pulled Lief forward like he weighed nothing.

  Lief struggled, instincts screaming.

  The knight tightened his grip and spoke calmly. “Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  Lief bared his teeth. “Let me go!”

  The knight did not answer. He guided Lief down the street, past dark windows and sleeping doors, to an expensive carriage parked where no carriage belonged in this town.

  Black lacquered wood. Brass fixtures. A crest on the door Lief did not recognize.

  The knight opened it and pushed Lief inside.

  The interior smelled like expensive leather and clean linen. A small lamp glowed behind glass. The contrast to Embershade’s grime was almost insulting.

  The knight shut the door and climbed in after him.

  Lief sat there, wrists bound, shoulders tense, breathing too fast.

  He tried to feel the plants outside.

  Nothing.

  That absence made his stomach drop.

  The knight sat across from him and rested his spear beside his knee. He looked tired now that the fight was over, like catching Lief had been an errand.

  He studied Lief’s face.

  Then he said, almost casually, “Your father told me you weren’t a mage.”

  Lief went still.

  “He insisted,” the knight continued, eyes narrowed. “Very confidently.”

  Lief swallowed. He did not answer.

  The knight leaned back slightly. “That was a lie.”

  Lief’s fingers curled against the rope. “He didn’t want trouble.”

  “Hm,” the knight said. “Or he wanted to keep you hidden.”

  Lief glared. “Who are you?”

  The knight held Lief’s gaze for a moment, then shrugged like names were less important than outcomes.

  “I am a knight,” he said. “That should be enough.”

  “It’s not enough,” Lief snapped.

  The knight’s eyes softened, only a fraction. “Fair.”

  He looked down at the runes on the rope, then back up.

  “You have a keyword,” he said. “That’s obvious. You’re also trained.”

  Lief’s stomach tightened. “I’m not dangerous.”

  “I did not say you were,” the knight replied. “Your control is good. Not amazing. But very good.”

  Lief blinked, caught off guard by the blunt assessment.

  The knight continued. “The gap between you and me is not talent. It’s experience. And assignment.”

  He shifted, posture loosening like he had decided Lief could not escape anyway.

  “Do you know why I’m here?” the knight asked.

  Lief hesitated. “To arrest people.”

  The knight let out a dry breath that might have been a laugh. “No.”

  He leaned forward slightly. “I’m here to make sure people like you don’t get up to anything.”

  Lief’s expression tightened.

  The knight raised a hand, palm up, as if he was explaining something simple.

  “Mages in places where magic is not common tend to warp the town around them,” he said. “People get scared. They get jealous. They get violent. Power becomes the only story anyone can tell about you.”

  Lief stared at him, heart beating hard.

  The knight’s voice stayed steady. “Then it grows. Rumors turn into mobs. Fear turns into justification. Someone ends up dead, or someone decides they like being feared and becomes a small dictator.”

  Lief’s throat felt dry. “That’s not… I’m not…”

  “I know,” the knight said, almost gently. “But I have heard things. There have been disappearances. There has been fighting. There has been talk of dark magic.”

  Lief’s stomach dropped again. “Audree has nothing to do with the disappearances.”

  The knight watched him closely. “Does he.”

  It was not a question. Not really. It was a demand dressed up as a conversation.

  Lief opened his mouth, ready to argue, ready to defend.

  Then something in him pulled back.

  A deep instinct.

  Not fear exactly. More like a pressure in the air that made lying feel like stepping onto thin ice. It felt wrong to twist words in front of this man.

  Lief swallowed.

  “No,” he said, firm. “He doesn’t.”

  The knight’s eyes narrowed slightly, reading him.

  “He is just a boy who likes alchemy,” Lief added, as if that simplicity mattered. “He’s reckless and annoying and intense, but he isn’t a kidnapper. He’s not some monster.”

  The knight sat back.

  He looked almost… satisfied.

  “I believe you,” he said.

  Lief blinked. “You do?”

  “I do,” the knight replied. “You didn’t hesitate in the way liars do. You hesitated in the way people do when they want to be believed.”

  Lief did not know how to respond to that.

  The knight’s gaze drifted to the carriage window, toward the dark line of trees beyond the town.

  “The woods,” he said.

  Lief stiffened.

  The knight’s mouth tightened. “Something is wrong out there. I can smell it in the way this town talks around it. Like everyone knows it, but nobody wants to say it.”

  Lief’s voice went quiet. “Then why aren’t you doing anything?”

  The knight’s eyes flicked back to him, tired and sharp at the same time.

  “Our orders are unclear,” he admitted. “We are told to maintain order. Calm rumors. Investigate aberrations.”

  He paused, then said the part that felt like a confession. “We are also told to leave the woods alone.”

  Lief stared. “That makes no sense.”

  The knight’s expression hardened. “It does if someone is being paid.”

  Lief’s chest tightened.

  The knight leaned forward again. “Do you know an old wizard named Haldo?”

  Lief blinked at the sudden shift. “I know of him.”

  “Have you spoken to him,” the knight asked, “recently?”

  Lief hesitated. “Once.”

  The knight nodded slowly. “Figures.”

  Lief frowned. “Why are you asking about him?”

  The knight’s jaw clenched. “Because I can’t look into him. Not properly.”

  Lief’s confusion deepened.

  The knight continued, voice low. “His family is woven into this town’s money. Their investments. Their influence. Their reach. Every thread leads to wealth.”

  He glanced out the window again, toward the woods. “This whole task stinks of corruption. It annoys me.”

  Lief swallowed.

  The knight’s eyes returned to him, intense now. “There is a larger narrative here. Something I can feel, but I’m not allowed to touch.”

  Lief’s bound hands tightened. “So you grab me instead.”

  The knight’s mouth twitched. “You are easier to grab.”

  Lief glared.

  The knight sighed, then reached into his cloak and pulled out a small charm on a thin cord. It was simple. A smooth piece of dark stone wrapped in wire, plain enough to be mundane, but the weight of it felt deliberate.

  He leaned forward and set it gently in Lief’s lap.

  “A luck charm,” he said.

  Lief stared at it. “Why?”

  The knight studied Lief’s face. “For being honest.”

  Lief’s throat tightened. “Are you… letting me go?”

  “I’m not arresting you,” the knight said.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  The knight stood, opened the carriage door, and paused with one foot on the step.

  “Stay safe,” he said, voice flat again. “And tell your friend to stop pretending he can outsmart people who do this for a living.”

  Then he stepped out into the rain and shut the door.

  Lief jerked forward, panic spiking.

  “Wait!” he shouted, yanking at the rope. “You can’t just leave me here!”

  No answer.

  The carriage rocked slightly as the knight walked away.

  Lief’s breathing went fast again.

  Did he expect Lief to sit here until morning?

  Was he coming back?

  Was this a trick?

  Lief fought the rope, twisting his wrists, trying to pull free. The runes bit into his skin, the suppression making his whole body feel wrong. Like a limb had fallen asleep, except it was his entire sense of connection.

  He shifted, trying to reach the door handle with his bound hands.

  The rope tightened, then loosened.

  Lief froze.

  He pulled again.

  The rope fell away like it had never been tied at all.

  It slid off his wrists and vanished before it hit the floor, dissolving into nothing.

  Lief sat there, stunned, hands free, heart pounding.

  He stared at his wrists. No rope. No runes. No marks.

  He grabbed the door handle and shoved it open. Rain slapped his face. Cold air rushed in.

  He climbed out onto the street and looked around wildly.

  The knight was gone.

  No footsteps. No armor glint. No spear.

  Just wet stone, dim lamps, and the distant hush of the town.

  Lief stood in the rain for a long moment, holding the charm in his fist, trying to understand what just happened.

  Then, far off, past the rooftops, the woods pulsed in his awareness again.