Cain crouched atop the crumbling archway, eyes scanning the narrow streets below. Smoke lingered from yesterday's fires. The city had begun waking, but none of its inhabitants knew what had passed through the alleys while they slept. That was the advantage. That was the quiet leverage he thrived on.
Hunter moved like a shadow along the rooftops, bow ready. His steps were measured. He paused only when Cain paused, adjusting for every possible angle, every potential threat.
Susan perched on the ledge above the marketplace. The faintest ripple of her cloak caught the morning light. She didn't breathe heavily. She didn't move unnecessarily. Cain didn't need to remind her. She had always understood the rhythm of his hunts.
Below, two figures emerged from a side street. Not scouts, not phantoms—yet. They were assessors. Sent to measure the damage, to understand what had gone wrong. Cain's lips curved into a subtle, almost imperceptible line. Their hesitation told him everything.
