As the sun dipped behind Ancaster’s jagged skyline, the sky melted into hues of violet and smoky amber. Shadows stretched long across the cracked sidewalks, and with the light went the warmth. The air sharpened. Macaria pulled her coat tighter around herself, silently cursing her forgotten gloves as she buried her hands into her pockets. Her breath came in soft clouds, curling into the chill like fading spells.

  Somewhere in the distance, the clock tower struck ten. The sound rang out with measured authority, echoing through the city’s silence like a warning.

  Macaria picked up her pace.

  Along the sidewalk ahead, scattered groups of people walked in pairs and clusters—some with small conjured fmes cradled in their palms, others holding orbs of warm yellow or white magic like floating nterns. The elemental lights painted their faces in strange, flickering hues. Even with the outages, the city hadn’t stopped. But she noticed one thing: no one walked alone.

  Except her.

  A shiver cwed down her spine as the cold wind sliced beneath her jacket. She was nearly home. Just a few more blocks. The familiar safety of her apartment felt like a lifeline in the growing dark.

  Until a metallic ctter split the air.

  Macaria froze, heart leaping into her throat. She turned toward the source—an alley just off the main road. A trash bin had tipped over, its contents strewn across the pavement in a chaotic sprawl. She told herself it was just a stray cat or a raccoon. Nothing unusual.

  But the chill in her neck said otherwise.

  Then—light.

  A sudden, blinding fsh illuminated the alley like a camera bulb going off. In that brief moment, she saw movement—a blur, a shadow—someone darting deeper into the darkness.

  Instinct warred with reason.

  But curiosity won.

  She moved cautiously toward the alley mouth, drawn forward by the quiet hum of something unknown. A faint blue orb floated midair deeper in the alley, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. Macaria slipped behind a row of crates, pressing her back to the wall as her breath hitched.

  A figure stepped into view.

  A girl. Young. Maybe Macaria’s age. Her long, light brown hair swayed behind her like a banner of silk. Pale light traced her fingertips as she drew an intricate circle in the air. Starlike particles shimmered in its wake, fluttering outward like snowfkes before spiraling down another alley.

  Macaria’s eyes widened.

  Fox ears. A tail. Both twitching in alert.

  She’s not human. The realization hit like ice water.

  The girl’s features were sharp, otherworldly. Her sweater, oversized and pale gray, hung loosely over her form, and a pink ribbon danced at her throat as she moved.

  Then—a shout.

  Three figures in bck rushed into view, cutting through the shadows like bdes. Macaria ducked further behind the crates, barely breathing.

  The girl whipped around. Her movements were fast, instinctive, but weary. She was already injured. A streak of dried blood marred one arm. A bst of ice magic narrowly missed her, shattering a pipe overhead.

  One of the bck-cd figures raised a hand. A dark ring pulsed from his palm, whirring toward her like a spinning snare.

  The girl pressed both palms against a building wall. A pink circle of light bloomed outward—a portal, swirling and alive. As the shadow ring neared, she leapt. It clipped her fingers, and she cried out, tumbling midair, but managed to twist her body and dive into the circle.

  The portal snapped shut behind her, vanishing in a fre of white.

  Silence.

  One of the pursuers lowered his hand, frustrated.

  “She’s gone,” muttered the tallest, a man with white hair and narrow eyes. His voice was low, grim. Felix.

  Another cursed. “Portal magic again. Fox-freaks and their damn tricks.”

  “Quiet,” Felix snapped, not turning. “She was wounded. She shouldn’t have made it through.”

  His phone buzzed. He answered with a ft, “She got away.”

  A voice replied, slightly muffled but distinct—sharp, precise, with a British tilt. “How?”

  Felix’s jaw tightened. “Instinct. Raw survival. That’s harder to predict than power.”

  “You failed again.”

  “She used a portal,” Felix expined. “Clipped her with a shadow ring, but she forced her way through. The others are sweeping the east end now.”

  The voice paused. “And where is the portal now?”

  Felix didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled a small green card from his coat. It glowed faintly in his hand as he dropped it to the ground. The card shattered into shimmering particles, rearranging into a humanoid form.

  A hologram flickered into view—a teenage boy with blue hair styled to one side, dressed in a pristine off-white uniform. A purple stripe cut down the center, and a dark gray cloak hung from one shoulder. He looked no older than sixteen, yet his presence was commanding.

  “Looks like the new holographic cards work,” the boy said, examining the wall beside him. His gloved hand passed over the surface—and luminous handprints shimmered into view.

  Felix remained silent.

  Macaria, hidden just feet away, held her breath. Her knees ached, her thighs trembling, but she dared not move.

  “I have what I need,” the boy murmured. “Finish—”

  A soft meow cut him off.

  All heads turned.

  A bck cat padded into the alley, blinking zily at the glowing hologram. Felix rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

  The holographic boy knelt, distracted. “Well, aren’t you a handsome thing—”

  Felix snapped, “You’re a projection. You can’t pet it.”

  “This is important,” the boy muttered, reaching anyway. The cat sniffed the air in confusion.

  Macaria couldn’t help it. Her tension broke just slightly. The cat was real—alive, gentle, unaffected by the eerie confrontation.

  The blue-haired hologram—Vincent, she assumed—sighed as Felix barked his name. “Alright, alright. I'm done. Goodbye, little one.”

  The hologram dissolved in a fsh of white. The green card reformed from the swirling light and dropped to the pavement. Felix retrieved it, tucked it into his coat, and disappeared down the alley.

  Only when his footsteps faded did Macaria finally dare to move.

  Her joints protested as she stood, shaky and cold. She pulled her phone from her bag.

  A message from Natsuki waited on her screen.

  Did you make it home okay?

  Her thumbs hovered above the keyboard. Her mind raced with what she’d seen—the fox girl, the chase, the strange circle of light. The cruelty in those men’s voices. And the boy, Vincent, so young yet utterly unfazed.

  She began to type:

  Made it home. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.

  She stopped.

  The lie felt sour on her tongue.

  She erased it.

  Instead, she typed:

  Stopped by the store on the way. Running a little te—will text when I’m home.

  It wasn’t much better. But it felt safer. Easier than expining something even she didn’t understand.

  A reply came almost instantly:

  Take care, Macaria. Let me know if you need anything. Don’t stay out too te.

  She stared at the message for a long moment before sliding her phone back into her coat.

  The air felt colder now, more still. The alley behind her loomed like a sealed door. Whatever that girl had been running from, it wasn’t just danger—it was something deeper. Something more than magic.

  Macaria exhaled slowly and stepped back into the street, her thoughts a whirlwind.

  She wasn’t sure what tonight had set in motion.

  But something inside her knew:

  It had only just begun.