[Rowan's POV]
My eyes slid toward Talia first—couldn't help it. She stood stiff, jaw clenched, like she was fighting some invisible enemy just to stay still.
Shock pulled her features tight, but it was the grief in her eyes that cut the deepest. Not loud, not dramatic.
Just there, constant, gnawing, every time she looked at me. Like I was a wound that wouldn't close.
Didn't bring me any satisfaction. Didn't tear me apart either. A small pang, like a distant echo of a feeling I used to know. That was all.
Then Elias. He met my gaze, but there was nothing behind it—no anger, no relief, just emptiness.
Like I was a ghost passing through a man already half gone. Something about it made my skin crawl, but I pushed the feeling down. He made his choices. Just like I did.
That's when Tobias spoke up, his voice slicing through the air like a blade just out of the forge—hot, sharp, controlled.
A voice I used to hear crack jokes and mutter curses during card games now carried a layer of caution I'd never heard before.
"So, you're saying that you two either die or get your ass on the caravan leaving in a week?"
I turned toward him slowly, studying the set of his shoulders, the way his hands curled slightly even at rest, like they wanted to grip something.
He felt different. Like there was pressure building behind his eyes, something primal pacing just beneath the surface.
"You awakened?" I asked, already halfway sure of the answer.
Three of us. Three sparks in a world soaked in kindling.
What the hell kind of coincidence was that?
Tobias hesitated, just for a heartbeat. Maybe surprised I saw through him so easily. I hadn't, not really—but I wasn't about to admit that. Let him believe whatever gave me the edge.
He gave a short nod, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Pretty insane story." His voice dipped into something softer, like he was about to spill it all—then stopped.
A flicker of something crossed his face, something between nostalgia and regret. Maybe he remembered what we were. Or what we weren't anymore.
"I'll tell you some other time," he said, brushing it off with a shrug that didn't quite land.
I let out a slow breath, enough to steady my voice before I spoke. "Best to keep it quiet. Until this whole mess sorts itself out. Otherwise, they'll come for you next. Just like they're coming for us."
He glanced down, jaw tight, eyes locked on some invisible crack in the floorboards.
I could see the war playing out behind his eyes—the pull between sticking by us and keeping himself safe. Between what's easy and what's right.
Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze, and the look he gave me wasn't uncertain anymore.
"I'll follow you," he said, straightening. "No way I let you lunatics go unsupervised. Not making that mistake again."
There was a weak smirk on his face, a thin layer of humor laid over something raw. It was the kind of joke that used to land, but no one laughed now.
The air was too thick, like we were all holding our breath at once.
I turned toward the others, my attention shifting. My eyes scanned them, but my question was meant for one person.
"What about you?" I asked, landing on Elias.
But it wasn't Elias who spoke.
"We already got it figured," Handy chimed in, his voice casual, but not careless.
"Alicia's got family back in Vanceford. They run a church out there. We'll crash with them, lay low until this storm passes."
That caught me off guard. Alicia? A church girl?
Of course. It made sense now. The way she carried herself—too polished, too soft for a place like this. She never belonged here, not really.
Always felt like she'd wandered into the gutter by accident and forgot how to leave.
Guess she just remembered.
I let out a breath, slow and heavy, the kind that digs its way out from somewhere deeper than your lungs. How the hell did it all get here?
I knew what I was signing up for the moment I made that choice—knew I'd be painted the villain in someone's story.
But this? This cold distance, the way they looked at me like I was something they couldn't quite trust anymore? It stung more than I'd admit out loud.
Still. No use crying over what's already broken. The only way was forward.
Tobias shifted beside me, breaking the silence. "You're really going through with it?" His voice wasn't judgmental, just tired. Like he already knew the answer.
Handy gave a small nod, arms crossed, gaze steady. "Yeah. We are."
That was that, then.
I pushed myself to my feet, brushing invisible dust from my coat. "Alright. I'll be at the southern border, two in the afternoon. Don't be late—we won't get a second shot at this."
I half-expected them to turn away, go back to whatever lives they were trying to piece together. But instead, they stood there, almost awkward, almost human.
A few glanced my way with something close to hesitation. Regret, maybe.
At least they weren't eager to be rid of me—that had to count for something.
Maybe the camp would give us time to mend whatever was left. Or maybe not. But I'd take the maybes over nothing at all.
One by one, they followed me to the door. No one spoke.
Just the sound of footsteps on old wood, the creak of the hinges, the weight of a moment that none of us really knew how to hold.
I stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind me with a soft, final click.
"Goodbye," I muttered, more to the street than to them.
And just like that, I was walking again.
Onto the next stop. Time to say goodbye to the only people I ever hit with love.
The walk was quiet—too quiet, like the slum was holding its breath the second I stepped out. People noticed. They always did now.
Some caught sight of me and vanished into doorways, slamming them shut with a little too much urgency.
Others—less lucky—slipped into alleyways, choosing a fast retreat to a different scavenging site.
I didn't blame them. Better they feared me than tried to test me again.
I kept moving.
The Hounds' place wasn't far. Used to be owned by the Angels, back when they ran this part of the slums.
Now the walls wore new flags, their edges burned. Typical Hound fashion—take what's already broken and call it theirs.
The guard at the door saw me coming. Gave a little nod, half-respectful, half scared out of his damn skin. Couldn't tell which, didn't care. He let me through without a word.
Inside, the air was thick with sweat and old blood, the scent of men who trained too hard and cleaned too little.
The building had history—bad history—but the Hounds didn't seem to mind.
I stopped outside the office door, didn't bother knocking more than once. Then I pushed it open.
There he was. The so-called most powerful man in the slums. The king of a crumbling hill. My little pawn, wrapped in muscle and an expensive robe.
He'd always been useful, the kind who followed orders as long as you fed him a cause.
His eyes widened for half a breath when he saw me, but he got it under control quick. Straightened his shoulders, squared his jaw, like he hadn't just flinched at the sight of me.
"Hey, Theron. How's it going?" I kept it flat—no warmth, no sharp edge. Just neutral enough to pass as polite, if you didn't look too hard.
He paused, brows pulling together for a beat like he was debating whether to chew me out for barging into his office uninvited.
But whatever storm was brewing behind his eyes, he swallowed it down. Let it slide.
Smart man.
"Rowan," he greeted with a nod, voice smooth but not too smooth. "Nothing much up. Things are steady. You here for something?"
Always so diplomatic, this one. Like a stray mutt that learned to play house pet. They called him the Hound, but honestly, he was more politician than predator.
Though to be fair, Victor had never been much of an angel either, so I guess it made sense.
"I'll be leaving town in a week," I said, watching him closely. "Might not be coming back. Thought I'd drop in. Say goodbye to the pups."
I let that hang, bait in the water, watching for a nibble.
And there it was. A flicker. A shift behind his eyes—too small to name, but not small enough to miss. Relief, buried under the mask. Subtle, but real.
Like he'd been waiting for this moment, praying for it even.
A ghost of ease in his posture, like he finally exhaled something he'd been holding in since the last time I walked through that door.
Yeah. He wanted me gone.
Funny thing, how time flips the script. Wasn't that long ago he was the one handing me a job out of pity, tossing scraps to the stray who didn't know where else to go.
Now here I was, walking in without knocking, making announcements like a storm on the horizon.
The tables hadn't just turned—they'd flipped, snapped, and buried themselves in the dirt.
"Oh, okay, go ahead. And while you're here, pick up this week's payment in Billy's office."
That was all he said—curt and professional, like he was already moving on in his head. Fine by me.
I gave a slight nod and walked out without another word. No small talk. No empty pleasantries. Just silence trailing behind me, the kind I could breathe easy in.
Billy's office was down the hall, past the cracked portraits and worn floors that hadn't seen polish in years.
I picked up my cut—fat stack, the kind that made you walk a little straighter without meaning to. Guess all that negotiating with Theron had paid off after all.
Money tucked away, I made my way toward the courtyard. The air out there was heavy with the scent of dust and sweat, familiar as breath by now.
The Hounds' training grounds weren't glamorous, just bare dirt, cracked walls, and sun-bleached targets, but it was home turf to me.
I spotted them almost instantly—my regulars. Six of them, all somewhere between scrawny and stocky, most still rough from the streets. Kids, really.
My sparring partners for the last couple of months. The ones who hadn't run away screaming yet.
Still clinging to the idea they could become something more.
"Hey, pups," I called out, voice sharp enough to cut through the haze. "Ready for a session?"
Their heads snapped toward me like a pack caught doing something they shouldn't. Eyes wide, bodies stiff. Yeah, they remembered last time. The bruises. The blood. The lesson.
Maybe I'd overdone it. Just a bit.
"Don't worry," I added, lips twitching. "This time, I'll go easy."
They didn't exactly relax, but a few shoulders dropped. Some exchanged uncertain glances, like they were trying to convince each other this wasn't a trap.
Still, they nodded. Reluctantly, sure—but they didn't back away.
They circled up around me, boots shifting in the dust, eyes cautious but locked in. Six kids trying to look dangerous, trying not to flinch.
"Today, we're going unarmed."
No one argued. One by one, they tossed their daggers, pipes, and makeshift weapons to the side, the clatter echoing faintly off the stone. I let the silence build for half a second longer.
Then I moved. No signal. No warning.
Mana surged through my legs, raw and fast, like a coiled spring unleashed.
In a blink, I was across the circle, right in front of the youngest—barely fourteen, lanky, face still soft with baby fat.
He blinked, stunned. Eyes wide, breath hitching like he wasn't sure if this was real.
This was going to be fun.