The city at night was a living thing—ugly and alluring all at once. It pulsed with the beat of distant music from clubs that never closed, with the grating roar of engines on cracked asphalt, with the whispers of deals being struck in alleys too narrow for sunlight.
Ezra had thought he'd grown numb to it all after moving here three years ago. But walking under the sickly neon that sputtered above a liquor store sign, he realized he'd only gotten good at pretending. The night was still bigger than him, hungrier than him. He wasn't numb—he was just naive.
The street they were on now was almost deserted, a sharp contrast to the crowded blocks only ten minutes away. A lone lamppost buzzed overhead, casting a cone of light that barely reached the three of them. Water pooled in potholes, catching slivers of pink and blue from a broken sign across the street.
Ezra's heart was still unsteady, the aftermath of his first dare. He hadn't expected it to twist him inside out the way it had. On paper, it had been simple: slip a pack of batteries into the pocket of a stranger. No theft, not really, since he'd paid on his way out. A stupid prank. But standing so close to the man—an old one, with trembling hands as he scanned a shelf of bottled drinks—Ezra had felt something sharp wedge under his ribs.
It wasn't guilt. Not exactly. It was fear of exposure, fear of what it meant to let himself be controlled by another man's dare.
Now that fear lingered, sour at the back of his throat.
"You hesitated," Jace said, breaking the silence. He was leaned casually against the lamppost, the glow illuminating his smirk as he lit a cigarette. The first drag lit up his face, carving his sharp jawline into shadows. "That kind of hesitation gets people caught. Or killed."
Ezra clenched his jaw. He'd learned quickly that Jace thrived on needling him. "And diving headfirst into everything without thinking gets people stupid," he shot back, heat sharpening his words.
Jace barked out a laugh, smoke curling between his teeth. "Stupid's better than weak."
"Enough." Kai's voice cut through them like a blade, not loud but commanding. He moved between them, a calm wall of presence that instantly shifted the air. Where Jace provoked, Kai contained—like a storm contained behind glass. "This isn't about who's faster or bolder. It's about precision."
Ezra met his eyes, and for a brief second he thought he saw something flicker there. Not amusement. Not annoyance. Something heavier, like a warning no one else could hear.
But Ezra was too wound up to let it go. His fists tightened inside his jacket pockets. "Then tell me what I'm actually training for. Because right now it feels like I'm running errands for your entertainment."
Jace snorted. "Entertainment, he says. Cute."
Kai didn't look at Jace. His gaze stayed locked on Ezra, steady as a steel cable. "This isn't entertainment. It's survival."
Ezra felt the words stick to his skin. Survival. It wasn't a word Kai threw out lightly.
"Survival from what?" Ezra pressed, his voice tight.
Kai didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and withdrew a small black envelope, the same kind Ezra had seen before. The wax seal on the flap was blood red, stamped in a shape Ezra still couldn't quite place.
He held it out like an offering. "Your second dare."
Ezra took it, his pulse hammering in his ears. The envelope felt heavier than paper should. He ripped the flap open, pulling out the small folded card inside.
Three words were scrawled across it in jagged ink.
Follow the fear.
Ezra stared at it, his stomach tightening into a knot. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Kai's expression didn't shift. If anything, it grew colder, like the words weren't his but he knew exactly how sharp they were meant to cut. "You'll understand when you're standing in front of it."
Jace chuckled, exhaling smoke through his nose. "This one's my favorite. Let's see if the newbie actually has teeth or if he just likes to snarl."
Ezra shoved the card back into his pocket, his pulse refusing to settle. "This isn't a dare. It's a death wish. What if—" He cut himself off. He wasn't about to admit what—or who—haunted him most in this city.
Kai tilted his head, reading him without asking. His voice dropped lower, almost a murmur meant only for Ezra. "Then maybe it's time you stop running from it."
The weight of the words pressed down harder than the night air.
Jace flicked his cigarette into the gutter and clapped a hand onto Ezra's shoulder with mocking cheer. "Don't worry, darling. We'll make sure you don't piss yourself on the way."
Ezra jerked his shoulder free, shooting him a glare. But the anger was only a mask. Beneath it, dread clawed at his chest.
They moved together down the street, slipping into the veins of the city where streetlights thinned and shadows thickened. Every step echoed differently here, like the concrete itself was listening. Graffiti bled across the brick walls in layers of color, half of it illegible, half of it desperate declarations—names of crews, warnings, memorials for kids no one remembered outside these alleys.
Ezra tried to focus on the sounds: the faint drip of water from a busted pipe, the scuttle of something small in the trash, the shuffle of Jace's boots behind him. But the words wouldn't leave him.
Follow the fear.
It wasn't the vagueness that got him. It was the intimacy of it. Whoever had written that note—whoever was pulling the strings behind Kai and Jace—knew enough to carve right into Ezra's nerves.
Because Ezra knew exactly where fear lived for him. It wasn't some abstract idea. It had a name. A face. A voice that still scratched at the back of his mind when he least expected it.
And the thought of following it—of walking straight into that fire—made his mouth dry.
Kai walked ahead, his stride steady, coat catching the faint breeze like a dark sail. Jace hummed something low, a song Ezra didn't recognize, his mood irritatingly light. For them, this was just another step forward.
For Ezra, it was a cliff edge.
They turned a corner into an alley where the light completely failed, where only the faintest glow of the city's neon reached. The darkness wrapped around them, heavy and close.
Ezra slowed, his breath coming shorter. He hated how obvious it was—how his body betrayed him before his mouth ever could.
Kai glanced back, and for a second his features softened. Not with pity, but with a strange kind of acknowledgment. Like he'd expected this. Like he'd seen it before.
Ezra straightened his spine, forcing his voice to stay even. "So what now? You just point me in the direction of my worst nightmare and see if I break?"
Kai's lips curved slightly, though it wasn't a smile. "No, Ezra. You point yourself. That's the dare."
And that was when Ezra realized what true fear tasted like.
It wasn't sweat on his lip or bile in his throat. It was metallic, electric, the taste of adrenaline sparking before the fall.
And he knew, with bone-deep certainty, that the next step he took would drag him closer to the one thing he'd sworn never to face again.