Nyx felt it before she heard a sound.
A tight, sharp coil in her chest, not her own but Pan's. The bond between them rarely screamed—Pan was steady, calm, a creature of patience. But now? His anguish throbbed like a struck drum.
Her eyes snapped open. She didn't wait for questions. She rose from the tavern bench, the scrape of wood against stone sharp in the noise.
"Get ready to leave," she said flatly.
Rowan's brow furrowed. "Nyx—what—"
But she was already gone. Shadows folded around her, the lantern-light dimming as if afraid to touch her cloak.
---
Havenmoor by night was a maze of polished streets and quiet wealth. Broad avenues gave way to alleys where the stone turned rough and the smells soured. Nyx ran them like she'd drawn the map herself, Pan's pull guiding her.
She found him at the edge of a courtyard behind the governor's hall. His eyes glowed faint gold in the dark, tail lashing with fury. He didn't move to her—he didn't need to. The bond painted the scene in her mind before her eyes drank it in.
Toren.
He stumbled, hands bound, the sack yanked from his head. He blinked, confused, breath quick.
The guard captain spat at his boots. "Big one, eh? Glow about him too. You'll fetch a fine price, boy."
The town leader emerged, silk robes brushing clean stone. Rings glittered on his fingers as he circled Toren like a buyer at market. "Yes. Strong stock. Broad shoulders. Still young. The buyers will pay very well indeed."
Toren stiffened, pulling at the ropes. "Let me go! You've no right—"
A cuff silenced him, sharp across the mouth. The guards laughed, careless, cruel.
Nyx's jaw tightened. She could kill them all now—but patience curled in her bones. The leader lingered. The others left. She marked him in the dark, a thread of shadow tying her will to his name.
I'll be coming for you later.
---
The courtyard emptied until only the leader and his prize remained. Toren tied to a post, chest rising too fast, the stink of fear around him. The leader smiled to himself, muttering numbers under his breath, already counting coin.
That was when Nyx moved.
One blink, and she was behind him. Another, and her dagger was at his leg. She slashed low, cruel, precise. Tendons cut like string.
The man screamed, collapsing onto the stones. His hands clutched at his ruined knees, his rings scraping against the cobbles. "You—" his voice broke, spittle spraying. "Do you know who I am? I run this city! I'll see you hanged, girl, I'll—"
Nyx crouched low beside him, her eyes black fire. The dagger rested against his throat.
"Well," she murmured, calm as the night, "then let's make sure I have enough time not to worry about it."
She drew the blade across his neck. Hot blood bubbled, then spilled, pooling black in the moonlight. His eyes bulged, then glassed over, his mouth still twisted in disbelief.
Nyx rose without a sound.
"Pan."
The panther padded forward. His muzzle lowered, teeth flashing once. When he stepped back, the man's face was unrecognizable, torn beyond recognition. No one would know it had been Havenmoor's leader sprawled in his own blood.
---
Toren was shaking. His hands rattled against the ropes until Nyx sliced them free with a flick of her blade.
He staggered, rubbing his wrists raw. His voice cracked. "I thought— I thought I was—"
Nyx's gaze pinned him. "You're not. Move."
He swallowed, nodding too fast. "Thank you. I… thank you."
"Don't thank me," she said coldly. "Thank the panther."
Together they slipped back through the alleys. Toren stumbled more than once, but Nyx's shadow seemed to pull him along. At the tavern's rear door she pushed him inside. Rowan sprang up, Brennar's hand already at his axe, but Nyx cut them off with a single gesture.
"Leave," she ordered. "Now. I'll catch up."
The look in her eyes stopped all questions.
---
The mark she'd placed on the captain tugged her forward, through the web of Havenmoor's alleys until torchlight painted the street. He swaggered with two guards at his side, laughing about coin, about boys sold for silver.
Nyx flowed along the roofline above, her cloak drinking the light.
The first man fell without knowing death had come—his throat opened in a whisper. The second spun, torch lifting, only for Pan to surge from the dark, claws tearing him down.
The captain froze. His sword lifted, trembling. "Show yourself, coward!"
Nyx dropped from the roof, her dagger finding his chest before his cry finished. She leaned close as his life leaked out.
"Your sum is paid," she whispered.
She twisted the blade once, then let him fall into the gutter with his men.
---
By the time she returned, the tavern was quiet. Rowan and Brennar had roused the others. Packs were ready. Ari and Lyra stood near the door, Tamsin hovering, her face pale with questions she didn't dare ask.
Nyx pushed Toren forward into the room. He was pale, shaken, but alive.
Rowan exhaled hard. "We thought—"
Nyx cut him off. "He's fine. We leave. Now."
No one argued.
They slipped out through Havenmoor's silent streets before dawn. The lamps still burned, the city still dreamed of its own wealth and safety. Only Nyx knew the truth buried in its alleys: the governor faceless in his own blood, the captain cold in the gutter.
The gates loomed ahead, creaking open with the slow shift of iron. Beyond lay the road, the forest waiting, the air sharper.
Brennar muttered under his breath as they passed under the arch. "Good riddance."
Rowan glanced sideways at Nyx. Her expression was as unreadable as ever, but Pan walked close at her heel, tail twitching, satisfied.
Toren followed last, his hands still trembling, though his jaw was set. He didn't speak—but the look in his eyes made one thing clear. Whatever else Nyx was, he owed her his life.
And Havenmoor would never speak her name aloud again.