Sabine stood at Ayoka's door, taking a slow breath, trying to smooth the storm off her face. Viktor had no right to humiliate her like that, and yet she had to wear the mask—the pleasant, careful mask—because Ayoka didn't need to see the hurt.
If she'd been honest, she might have struck him then and there. But he hadn't been lying.
If Ayoka moved with them, back to the realm of Faters, she would have learned to survive in its brutal etiquette—and she would have been treated as property, especially with the mark of shadow upon her.
Race held less weight with Faters than with mortals, though it could still matter when dealing with certain mortals and immortals beyond their kind. What truly mattered in their eyes was where you came from and how you came to be.
Each Fater had their own taste for shaping destiny—some weaving it like cloth, others carving it like bone—and the judgment of those origins could be as binding as any chain.
Even then, Ayoka would still be seen as prime real estate, though her family's influence could shield her.
Sabine's gaze flicked to the line of shadow curling at the base of the door. They moved differently than she remembered—slower, heavier, almost as if they were listening. A knot of urgency tightened in her chest; she had to get Ayoka away from the shadows before it was too late.
Then a whisper slid into her ear, curling cold against her thoughts. It sounded like one of the Shadow Man's puppets, as he liked to call them: "Ou sèten sou sa, ti lanp?" The Creole words slithered, carrying the damp chill of a grave and the sly amusement of something that knew far too much.
She pushed the thought aside, reminding herself there was already one question she and Viktor had left hanging in that battle: who was truly Malik's father? Did it matter that he might not be mortal? Maybe not… but the thought lingered bitter on her tongue.
Ayoka's door swung open after her shadow sensed someone waiting. The shadow reached to play with Malik, a small, innocent motion, as Ayoka appeared, smiling wide at the woman she believed to be her friend.
Without warning, Ayoka rushed Sabine inside and covered her eyes. Sabine stiffened, her pulse kicking up—this had the flavor of an oh, fuck moment and she didn't even know why yet.
"I have something to show you, my dear Sabine," Ayoka murmured, her voice warm with anticipation and not a hint of worry. Malik giggled somewhere nearby, the sound mingling with the soft rustle of Ayoka's shadow.
When Ayoka's hands finally dropped, Sabine almost screamed. Malik was playing not just with Ayoka's shadow, but with a second, uncanny shadow—one shaped exactly like him. Her stomach dropped. Instinct took over; she scooped Malik up, clutching him tight, and the shadows melted away.
Her hands moved over him quickly, checking for harm, before her gaze snapped to Ayoka. Viktor's last command didn't just return—it crashed through her skull like a cold blade, sharp enough to make her throat tighten. She drew in a shaky breath, forcing her voice into that worried-auntie lilt, but the tremor beneath it gave her away: "Please… please… tell me that was the first time you ever did that? That is dangerous, Ayoka."
Ayoka rolled her eyes, utterly unconcerned. "It is power… imagine me, you, and Malik. No more bowing to anyone—if some KKK skinwalkers come, we'll be ready. Watch this."
Before Sabine could stop her, Ayoka let her shadow spill across the floor, splitting and shaping itself into forms. Together, Ayoka and the living darkness put on a show, graceful and eerie. Malik squealed in delight, clapping as one shadow twirled with him while another bowed to Ayoka.
Sabine held Malik tighter, her heart pounding. On the outside, she kept her face steady, but inside she wanted to cry—because this felt like the Shadow Man's victory already. Still, she forced herself to hold on to hope.
"I might have to hide that power when we get to my home," Sabine said carefully. "They don't take kindly to shadows."
Ayoka only shrugged, smiling. "Understandable. I mean, it's nice to have powers like this, but a stable home and protection for my son? That beats the power any day. Besides—who knows how long this will last? I think it's a side effect from when I let… well, you know."
And Sabine, in the silence after, finally asked, her voice low but edged, "Ayoka… why do you never question this? What happens if one day this kills you? Malik would be alone."
Ayoka stepped closer, touching Sabine's face with the tenderness of a lover, her fangs flashing in a slow smile. "I knew you would take care of him, Sabine. I had a feeling you would. Wouldn't you?"
Sabine hated how right she was—how she'd been helping raise the boy since the moment he was pulled from his mother's womb, how close she had grown to him. She felt Viktor's decision settle in her mind as the right call, though it twisted something deep inside her. She blinked once, quick, catching a strange shift in her own soul, then blinked again, deciding she would grant Ayoka one kindness—like she had started with—just to give her hope.
Ayoka's voice softened but carried a weight older than both of them. "I can't afford to ask questions, Sabine. You know that. Well… like me, mostly. You were kinda born with your freedom. I was made to serve and to endure, but now is the time." Her hand lingered against Sabine's cheek, eyes steady. "History's full of people—especially women like us—who lost everything because they stopped to question the cost. I can't risk it. I'd rather survive."
Sabine forced a bright smile, her voice steady as she said, "Before the first frost. I'll be waiting, after all the people leave—that's when we'll go."
Ayoka scooped up her son and jumped with joy, and Sabine joined her in the motion, matching her friend's energy. But behind the smile, Sabine knew the truth. A fragment of a poem surfaced in her mind: Don't save her—she doesn't want to be saved. And this—this exact moment—was why.