A pair of dark gray eyes locked onto his, sharp and cold, sending an unexpected jolt through Sylene's chest.
How did he recognize my gaze?
Panic gripped him, but the moment was fleeting. One of the hybrids—a soldier with a powerful, lizard-like tail—called out, breaking the intense eye contact.
"Sir Julien, the coal train passed through the underground cargo tunnel beneath vampire territory and the Darkwood area two days ago without any reported encounters with those creatures. It arrived safely this morning."
The man remained silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the station before he finally spoke. "Well, although we have a peace treaty with them, and they've been silent for the past twenty years, we must follow protocol," Julien replied, his tone cool and commanding. "We never know what those creatures are plotting. And there is no excuse for failing to conduct a timely inspection."
His piercing gaze flickered toward his subordinates, scrutinizing those who had been lax in their duties.
The hybrid officer stiffened, clearly uncomfortable under his superior's scrutiny. "Yes, sir. I've already sent soldiers to inspect the goods. We won't let this sort of negligence happen again!"
Julien's lips curved into a faint smile, but his next words sent a chill down his subordinate's spine. "Your team has been slacking in my absence. Thirty laps around the station. And once you're done, load four cabins of coal."
The lizard hybrid swallowed hard but dared not protest. Without hesitation, he turned and barked orders to his team. The soldiers took off running, their boots thudding against the station's cold stone floor, leaving Julien with a handful of subordinates standing at his back.
Despite returning his attention to the situation at hand, Julien's sharp gray eyes flickered once more toward the spot where Sylene had been only moments ago.
But the strange boy was already gone.
"Sir?" one of the guards asked, puzzled by Julien's sudden pause.
A faint chuckle escaped the commander. "Nothing—just a small animal."
His aide furrowed his brow, glancing toward the direction his superior had been watching.
Julien turned and strode into the station, his voice barely more than a murmur. "Just a little bird with particularly pretty eyes."
-----
Sylene slipped away as fast as he could, unable to catch the rest of their conversation. But from the fragments of their fading words, he gathered something valuable. The soldiers were inspecting goods that had passed through vampire territory—he was lucky they'd arrived late this time, perhaps delayed by the heavy snowfall. The weather had dulled everyone's senses; even the guards seemed too lax this morning. Moving quickly, the boy melted into the bustling crowd, weaving through clusters of people dressed in rags like his own.
According to the books he had read, Radscha City wasn't wealthy. Constant conflicts with vampires had drained its resources, and crime thrived in the shadows of its streets. The military presence was strongest in the first three cities near vampire territory, and the past conflicts had left countless orphaned children—both human and hybrid—to fend for themselves in the slums. But for the past twenty years, the vampires hadn't troubled the humans, as if preoccupied with something else.
That man—Julien—seemed dangerous. Well, everyone from the authorities felt dangerous to him right now.
So Sylene decided to stay away. He kept his gaze low, his presence swallowed by the restless streets of Radscha. Every movement felt calculated, every step a deliberate choice to avoid notice.
Luen City or Forschel City hovered in his mind—distant havens that promised safety—but for now, the shadows of this border town had to suffice.
Rosencraft's prying eyes wouldn't expect him to linger here, right? Though the razor-thin safety of proximity gnawed at his nerves. Adjusting his injured hand, the raw ache of his frostbitten thumb a stark reminder of how little time he had. He would stay hidden until it reattached—then move, before the net closed around him.
The marketplace buzzed with life, its chaotic energy a perfect camouflage. Sylene tightened his hold on a small leather pouch tucked beneath his coat. The sharp scents of coal dust, damp earth, and spice mingled in the air, almost masking the richer aromas of bread and roasted meat. Hunger clawed at him, sharp and insistent, but he kept his head down, his pale, dirt-streaked face blending with the soot-covered laborers.
His eyes caught on a vendor's stall draped with dark cloaks and travel goods. The old man tending it cast him a dismissive glance, his lip curling as if Sylene were a stray dog begging for scraps.
But that changed the moment Sylene pulled out a gold coin—the glint of it igniting a predatory gleam in the vendor's eyes as he measured the boy carefully.
"I need this. This bag, and the cloak," Sylene said, reaching for a few items.
The man's smile came slow and calculated, as if weighing the boy before him.
"Unusual for someone so shabby to carry gold," the vendor muttered, the words barely reaching Sylene's ears through his unfamiliar accent. His wrinkled hands moved quickly, piling items onto the counter—a heavy dark cloak, a satchel, a flask.
The goods were fair, their quality unremarkable but serviceable. Yet the vendor's sharp gaze lingered, assessing more than just Sylene's coin.