Elias did not follow openly.
He let the city do the work for him.
Winter crowds moved differently—thickening around market arteries where braziers burned and bodies clustered for warmth, thinning along the residential slopes where frost ruled unchecked. Breath bloomed pale with every exhale. Boots struck stone with sharper echoes, sound carrying farther in the cold. Elias kept to reflections—shop windows rimmed with ice, polished metal fittings dulled by frost, thin sheets of refrozen meltwater trapped between cracked cobbles.
He layered Suppression over his integration, damping his presence until even his Flow felt like a background echo.
Jamie walked ahead, far enough to pass as just another stranger, close enough that she never fully slipped from sight.
She wasn't going straight to any particular destination.
That was the first thing he noticed.
She turned down a side street that curved unnecessarily wide, then doubled back through a clothier's lane heavy with steam vents and the sour-sweet smell of wet wool. She emerged two streets over, paused beside a chipped shrine crusted with snow, then crossed the road for no apparent reason, boots crunching over salt and ice. She slowed just enough to let a merchant's cart rumble past before slipping in behind it.
Elias narrowed his eyes.
'She knows?'
The thought cut sharp, edged with equal parts relief and irritation. Jamie wasn't careless. She never had been. Reckless, impulsive—yes. Emotionally volatile—certainly. But not unaware. The pattern was there if one bothered to look: wide turns, broken sightlines, routes that forced anyone following to either commit or abandon the chase.
He adjusted his pace, widening his arc slightly, testing.
The pale young man followed without hesitation.
No rush. No impatience. He moved like someone strolling through a familiar neighborhood, hands tucked casually into his pockets, shoulders relaxed against the cold. His breath barely showed. When Jamie crossed into a cluster of people, he drifted to the edge. When she slowed, he slowed. When she picked up speed, so did he.
Too clean.
Jamie suddenly veered toward a fruit stall where frozen apple candy sat piled beneath burlap and frost. She reached out, plucked one free, turned it once in her gloved hands—
—and bit into it without paying.
Elias nearly slipped on a patch of ice.
She chewed thoughtfully, breath puffing white, then grinned at the stunned merchant and jogged off, apple still in hand.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
'Never mind. She's just being Jamie.'
If she'd noticed, she wouldn't be doing this. Jamie didn't test danger quietly—she challenged it. If she sensed a threat, she'd confront it, argue with it, or explode at it. Not wander off stealing fruit like a bored cat.
His gaze slid back to the stalker.
The pale boy had stopped.
He stood still for a heartbeat, watching Jamie disappear around a bend. Then he shifted direction—not toward her, but away, slipping into a narrow service passage between buildings. It lay half-buried in shadow, crusted with old snow and refuse, the kind of place sunlight rarely touched.
Elias hesitated.
'Good. He's leaving.'
Then Jamie turned again.
A sharp, unnecessary turn—one Elias recognized instantly. There was a connecting route through that passage, a backway sometimes used when main streets clogged. If the boy took it, he could reappear ahead of her without ever being seen.
'Tch. What a pain.'
Elias broke from cover.
The passage was narrow and bitterly cold. Frost traced pale veins across the stone walls. Despite his care, his boots slid slightly on the ice. The smell of old oil hung heavy, thickened by the cold. City noise dulled, replaced by dripping meltwater and the low whistle of wind funneling through stone.
'Wait. What if—'
The thought came too late.
A shadow peeled itself from the wall.
"Hey," a voice said lightly. "Mind telling me why you're following me?"
Elias froze.
The boy stood barely an arm's length away, half-hidden between a wall and stacked crates dusted with snow. Pale skin, almost colorless. A fur-lined bomber hat pulled low.
And—
Elias blinked.
No eyebrows.
None at all.
It gave his face an unsettling smoothness, expressions sliding across it without proper anchors. His eyes were sharp, amused—far too alert for the cold.
'How odd…'
Elias straightened, breath misting.
"I could ask you the same," he said.
The boy tilted his head. "Me? I was just walking."
"You were following that girl."
Confusion flickered across his face—too fast, too practiced.
"What girl?"
Elias didn't answer.
A heartbeat passed.
Then the boy's lips curved. "Oh. You mean Jamie."
The name landed wrong. Too familiar.
Elias's grip tightened.
"What business do you have with her?"
The boy laughed softly, rubbing his hands together as if warming them. "Straight to the point. I like that. Business is business. Nothing you need to worry about."
"Stop following her," Elias said coldly. "Or else—"
Something left the boy's wrist.
The air screamed.
A blur crossed the narrow space like a fired bullet. Elias twisted on instinct, hand already reaching back.
Steel rang.
The jade dagger tore free in a flash of pale light, intercepting the projectile an instant before impact. The force numbed Elias's arm, Flow flaring reflexively to keep his grip. The object ricocheted wildly—wall, crate, stone—each impact sharp and metallic—before snapping back as if pulled by an invisible thread.
It seated itself neatly among the dark beads wrapped around the boy's hand.
The boy whistled, breath barely visible. "That was close."
Elias exhaled slowly, heart hammering.
'Too fast.'
"Impressive," the boy said. "But you're really not strong enough to pick fights like this. Stay in your lane, little man."
He slid his hands back into his pockets.
Elias didn't reply.
He lunged.
The first strike was a feint—high to low, shoulder to ribs. The second followed immediately, reverse grip, aimed where the body had to be.
The boy stepped aside.
Not rushed. Not strained.
It was as if Elias's attack had already happened.
"Whoa there," the boy said, sidestepping as the blade scraped stone instead. "Easy. Are you trying to kill me? We just met."
Elias pressed harder.
He shifted into Stellar Aegis, Flow reinforcing joints and balance, compensating for slick footing. His stance grounded. His strikes grew heavier, colder, deliberate.
The boy retreated, weaving effortlessly.
Strike. Miss.
Strike. Miss.
Each near-hit ended with the dagger biting into wall, crate, or frozen ground, sparks flaring briefly in the cold air.
'He's guiding me.'
The realization chilled Elias more than the winter.
The boy's footwork was flawless. Weight shifts economical, minimal. Elias's mind raced, dissecting posture, timing, Flow output.
This wasn't just a skill gap. The movements were too lazy. Too casual. Which meant a power gap existed between them.
'He's a Votary.'
The conclusion locked into place as he compared the boy to Roric and Sir Gable.
But the Trait—
He couldn't see it.
That unsettled him more than anything else.
He shifted again, folding Stillsword principles into Stellar Aegis—broken rhythm, deceptive angles, intent masked until the last possible instant. A sudden reversal, followed by a high snap kick meant to force an error.
The boy ducked, grinning.
"Oh, that's clever," he said. "But you're thinking too loud."
Elias grit his teeth.
Unpredictability was his answer to stronger opponents. It always had been.
But this—
This felt like fighting someone reading the spaces between his thoughts.
He slashed upward—
—and struck a hanging lantern.
Glass shattered. Thickened oil oozed sluggishly, flame flaring weakly before the cold strangled it with a hiss.
Elias stared.
Every near-hit ended the same way.
Never flesh.
Always something else.
The alley bore the evidence: gouged stone, splintered wood, cracked crates dusted with snow. Elias stood amid the wreckage, breath ragged, fingers numb around the dagger.
The boy hopped lightly onto a crate, crossing his legs, beads clicking softly.
"You're good," he said, almost sincere. "But I'm gooder. Is that a word?"
He paused, rubbing his chin.
"Better. Yeah. Better."
Elias tightened his grip.
'What's going on…?'
The question echoed as the boy smiled—pale, unreadable—while the distant winter sounds of the city slowly crept back in around them.