I am Maribel Holloway, D-rank adventure and today is my 16th birthday.

  I stand in front of the mirror hanging on the wall of my room at the Rabbit’s Paw Inn.

  Dressed in my form-fitting black suit, a belt snug at my waist, a bandolier of crossbow bolts across my chest, and a black cowl draped over my shoulders, I barely recognize the person staring back at me. I’ve come a long way. I’m bigger now—stronger, more confident, more capable than I was a year ago. I almost don’t see that sad, broken girl I used to be.

  I adjust my gauntlets, tightening them against my forearms. These—along with the custom daggers at my hips—are equipment I never could’ve dreamed of affording back then. Now, I’m well-equipped, and my magical bag of holding is stocked with potions, the tools of my trade, and more gold than I currently need.

  As of today, I’ve been alive for sixteen years. For the last four of them, I’ve struggled—every day, scraping by, surviving. That all changed when I met Shadow.

  Because of Shadow.

  Having someone strong and reliable by my side—someone I can trust—has allowed me to grow. To blossom into someone I never thought I could be. He said he needed me, and maybe that’s true. But I suspect the real reason he offered to work with me in the beginning was to make sure I’d protect his secret.

  Whatever his original reason, it doesn’t matter now.

  Since then, he’s proven to be the kindest, most generous, and considerate person I’ve ever known.

  Back then, I was pathetic. He didn’t need me—I know that. That’s why I’ve worked so hard every day since, to become someone worthy of being his partner. Over time, Shadow and I have become close. He’s a great friend—always there when I need him. But because I care about him, I’ve made it my goal to become someone he can rely on too. A true partner. Not just someone leaning on him as a crutch.

  Today is important for another reason.

  Today, I finally take my revenge on the creature that killed my parents.

  Four years ago, they—both experienced B-rank adventurers—accepted a quest to hunt a monster known as a nightshade. It’s a deadly, plant-type creature that uses illusion and deception to lure in prey. It ambushes with venomous, spined tendrils and waits in hiding for its victims to die before devouring them. My parents escaped the initial attack… but not the poison. They died anyway.

  I turn away from the mirror as I hear heavy footsteps ascending the stairs just outside my room. I recognize them instantly—the distinct, rhythmic clank of my metal friend approaching. Over the past year, it’s become our routine: Shadow meets me each morning, and we head to the guild together to pick up our quests for the day.

  I glance out the window and let out a quiet, resigned sigh.

  Sorry, Shadow. Not today.

  Before he reaches the door, I focus my mana and silently cast a portal just large enough to fit myself. It opens beneath my feet—and I drop through it without hesitation.

  I emerge six feet above the ground, dropping from the second portal into a narrow alleyway two buildings away. I land with practiced ease, knees bending to absorb the impact. A sharp gust of cold air stings my cheeks, a sudden contrast to the cozy warmth I left behind in the inn. From this spot, I can still see the window of my room.

  One year ago, I never could’ve made that jump in a single portal.

  I glance back toward the inn, heart tugging with guilt. Shadow might be knocking on my door right now—or, more likely, given his incredible perception, he already knows I’m gone. The thought of him worrying, not knowing why I’ve gone, gnaws at me.

  But I can’t let him follow me today.

  Turning away, I stride briskly toward the north gate. I need to move quickly—before Shadow finds me. Because if he does, he’ll want to know where I’m going. And if I tell him… he’ll insist on coming with me.

  But this is something I have to do alone.

  This isn’t just a quest. It’s a reckoning. A personal journey to avenge my parents—and more than that, a test to prove that I’ve grown. That I’m no longer that weak, frightened street rat I used to be. That I’ve become strong enough, capable enough…

  To stand beside Shadow not as someone who needs his protection, but as a true partner.

  I reach the North Gate and make my way to the first wagon I see preparing to leave town. The driver is a kindly-looking old man, bundled up against the winter morning chill and dressed in the layered garb of a merchant. A quick glance at the back of his wagon reveals sacks of grain—likely bound for market in the city of Carcuv.

  “Sir, could I offer you five silver for a ride north?” I call out as I approach.

  He startles at the sound of my voice but recovers quickly. After a moment, recognition dawns in his eyes.

  “Oh! Dear young lady, I usually pay adventurers like you to escort me, not the other way around,” he chuckles.

  “Well then,” I counter with a smile, “how about I escort you for free—if you’ll take me north toward the Forest of Erwin?”

  “I’m headed as far as Carcuv,” he replies, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “But that'll get you most of the way. Hop in.”

  “Mind if I sit in the back?” I ask.

  He nods politely, and with that, I vault gracefully into the wagon, settling atop the sacks of grain.

  When I travel with Shadow, I usually ride up front beside him—I feel safe there. But with strangers, I prefer to keep my distance. That’s why I asked to sit in the back, among the merchant’s wares. It also helps that the grain sacks are far more forgiving than the stiff wooden driver’s bench. With the long, bumpy ride ahead, my tailbone will be grateful for the extra cushioning.

  With a flick of the reins, the merchant’s two horses ease the heavily laden wagon into motion. We rumble down the road, the wheels rattling and the frame vibrating as we accelerate into a steady pace.

  I lean back against the sacks of grain, letting my body settle into their uneven comfort, and glance up at the sky. It’s a clear, vivid blue with only a few fluffy white clouds drifting lazily across the horizon.

  Looks like I’ll have good weather for the hunt.

  This day has been a long time coming—ever since a few days after my parents died. The initial agony and grief eventually gave way to something sharper: a reckless hunger for revenge. That fire in my soul couldn’t be soothed by mourning. It could only be extinguished by spilling the blood of the thing that took everything from me.

  Even back then, I began planning and preparing. I gathered supplies, information—anything I could. And then I set out, far too soon and woefully unready, to hunt the beast on my own. Truthfully, I expected to die. If the nightshade had still been active, I probably would have.

  But I was lucky.

  By the time I set out to find it, it had already eaten its fill and returned underground to hibernate. These monsters live in cycles. They rise to the surface once every few years to lure in prey, feeding on anything unfortunate enough to fall for their traps. Once sated, they retreat—deep into the earth and far from where they last fed—entering a long, undisturbed slumber.

  The length of that hibernation depends on two things: the size of the nightshade and how well it fed during its last active cycle.

  If my suspicions are correct, and the one I’m hunting today is the same creature that killed my parents, then it’s been asleep for nearly four years. That would mean it’s a particularly dangerous one.

  But I’m not afraid.

  While it slept, I prepared. While it grew hungry, I grew stronger.

  I watched the quest boards closely, searching for any mention—any hint—of a nightshade. The telltale sign was always the same: a sudden surge of missing persons in a very localized area. This monster operates like an antlion, lying in wait in areas of frequent travel, ambushing victims, and dragging them underground. No screams. No bodies. No evidence.

  I studied how they hunted. I learned their patterns. And then, I developed a plan to turn the tables.

  It took six months before I found my first nightshade. It was a young one—barely mature—and I just barely managed to kill it. But I learned a lot. That first hunt gave me the insight I needed to refine my strategy.

  That first kill led to the next. Since then, I’ve slain four nightshades.

  So how have I succeeded where many others, including my own parents, failed?

  Because I was willing to do something no normal person would ever consider.

  I preserved a small amount of venom from the wound that killed my father—nightshade poison—and I used it to poison myself. Repeatedly. Over months.

  Each time, I would take only a small dose. I let my body fight it off for as long as I could bear before curing myself with expensive curing potions. I could only do it when I had the coin to spare—coin I scraped together by skipping meals, stealing whatever I could, and casting aside my morals more than once.

  The result of those countless hours of agony—of willingly enduring the very poison that took my parents from me—was a hard-earned tolerance to this specific venom. I took away the nightshade’s most dangerous weapon. And that gave me an advantage few others had.

  It’s how I survived my previous hunts.

  It’s how I’ll survive this one.

  “What awaits you in the Forest of Erwin?” the kindly old merchant asks, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Destiny,” I answer flatly.

  I don’t feel like explaining. As a general rule, the less people know about you, the easier it is to lie to them later. And you never know when you’ll need to.

  “A young girl’s destiny, huh?” he chuckles. “Is there a man waiting for you in that forest?”

  I raise an eyebrow at the assumption.

  I don’t know if love is in the cards for someone like me. If there is a man waiting for me, it wouldn’t be in the Forest of Erwin—it would be back in Stonebrook. As for the idea that a man might be my destiny… Shadow is important to me. More than I can express. I want him to be a part of my future.

  But my destiny?

  That’s going to be something much greater than just being Shadow’s friend.

  “No. Just a quest like any other,” I lie smoothly.

  The truth is, I never officially accepted a quest to kill this monster—because there was no quest for a nightshade. What did appear on the board was a vague report about six missing persons, all of whom vanished while traveling separately down the same stretch of road over a two-day period.

  That’s the pattern that often goes undetected until they’ve already moved on.

  And when they are confirmed, they’re rated as Rank-A threats or higher.

  The Guild would never let someone of my rank take that quest.

  But I don’t need their permission.

  I know what I’m walking into. I’ve studied the signs. I know it’s a nightshade.

  And whether the Guild sanctioned this or not… I’m going to finish it. I will avenge my parents.

  I sit up, glancing around. At some point during my wandering thoughts, the scenery has shifted—from the endless farmland surrounding Stonebrook to the open, wild grasslands of the north. The wagon barrels steadily down the cobblestone road, stretching toward the mountains on the distant horizon. Aside from the road itself, there's no sign of civilization—just untamed wilderness on both sides.

  Looking around the wagon for something to distract my mind, I notice several trunks among the sacks of grain, each one secured with large brass locks. Tucked between two of the sacks I’m sitting on, I spot a small leather pouch. It’s about the size of a coin purse, cinched shut with a drawstring and—unlike the trunks—unlocked.

  I glance toward the driver. His back is still turned, and he appears to be dozing slightly, trusting the horses to follow the road without his guidance.

  That seems dangerous. You really shouldn’t drive if you can’t stay awake.

  With the merchant distracted, I quietly reach down and loosen the drawstring with one hand, moving as little as possible. Peeking inside, I find a collection of rings, each set with a different gemstone. One, in particular, catches my eye—a sleek black gem so dark it seems to swallow light. Without hesitation, I slip it into my pocket, eyes flicking back to the driver to make sure I haven’t been spotted.

  I guess I’ll be getting paid for this escort quest after all.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Several hours pass before the wagon reaches the fortified town of Carcuv. Nestled in the northern wilds, it sits along Arcadia’s border near the dense expanse of the Forest of Erwin, and just beyond that, the frontier of the neighboring kingdom of Hyperion. Because of its isolated and often dangerous location, the town is built like a stronghold—its high stone walls reinforced with guard towers at regular intervals.

  I part ways with my ride before we reach the gate. My path veers west, following a smaller road that splits off from the main route just outside the town.

  The old man and I exchange a final wave goodbye before I set off on foot. As I walk away, I feel the lump in my pocket—the ring I quietly lifted from him still nestled inside.

  A small smile plays across my face, the little spark of exhilaration still fresh. It’s not that I have anything against the old man. And it’s not like I need the ring. I could’ve bought it if I really wanted to.

  No, stealing things of value has just become second nature—an old habit from a time when I had no other way to survive. Back then, if I didn’t steal, I didn’t eat. I got good at it. Too good. And now, even though I don’t need to anymore, the impulse still lingers.

  I do feel a little guilty about it.

  But I’d be lying if I said it isn’t still a bit exciting.

  My destination lies another hour ahead, where the trees grow thick and the trail is well-worn by hunters and adventurers gathering game and rare herbs. It’s the ideal territory for a nightshade to stake out—a place with consistent foot traffic, yet far enough from Carcuv to avoid immediate discovery.

  As I walk, the cobblestones gradually give way to dirt, and the canopy overhead begins to close in. That’s when I feel it.

  A familiar pressure tightens in my chest—an eerie sense of wrongness, like the gaze of something ancient and hungry watching from every direction. It’s not loud. Not overwhelming. Just there—quiet and persistent, brushing the edges of my awareness like cold fingers on the back of my neck.

  It’s the aura of a nightshade.

  Most people sense it too, even if they don’t realize it. They pass it off as unease or nerves. They ignore the warning their instincts are screaming at them.

  But I know better.

  Predator Sight. I cast the spell without a word, channeling mana into the enchantment laced into my eyes. The world sharpens as the spell activates, and everything living within range now glows with a faint red aura—even through earth and stone.

  To my left, I see a snake halfway through swallowing a rodent. In a nearby tree, a bird dozes inside a hollow.

  And below me…

  Thick glowing lines twist and pulse beneath the soil—living roots, tangled like veins beneath the path. They stretch forward and converge somewhere ahead, farther down the trail.

  It’s close.

  I keep walking, my pace steady, my expression neutral. If I give away even a hint of awareness, the creature might retreat deeper into the ground and wait for another victim.

  No. If I want it to surface, I need to play my role: an unsuspecting traveler, alone and vulnerable.

  A perfect meal.

  Each step I take down the path draws the tangled mass of red vines beneath me tighter together. I can see them subtly shifting in response to my footsteps—tracing my position through the vibrations in the ground. It’s watching. Waiting.

  Up ahead, I hear voices—frantic, panicked. Through the undergrowth just beyond a curve in the path, I spot two human-shaped red glows through my enchanted vision. One lies motionless on the ground. The other is kneeling beside them.

  I round the bend quietly, keeping my expression neutral.

  There, now in plain sight, is a young hunter with short brown hair and a bow across his back, kneeling beside what looks like a blonde maiden lying flat on the dirt path. Her breathing appears shallow. A bloodstained gash spans her abdomen.

  “Hey—Miss, can you help?” he calls out, his voice cracking with panic as he turns toward me.

  I see through it instantly.

  The creature has taken the form of a beautiful young woman with long blond hair, seemingly wounded, a gaping injury across her stomach. It’s pretending to be one of its own victims—dying, helpless, and in desperate need of saving.

  “Some kind of monster poisoned her,” the hunter pleads. “Do you have a curing potion?”

  He’s shaking. Pale. His words slurred just enough to betray the truth I already know.

  “Have you been stung as well?” I ask, voice flat.

  It’s clear I’ve interrupted the beast mid-meal. I already know the answer before he nods.

  “Yeah... it got me too,” he says, gesturing weakly to a bloody laceration on his calf.

  The poison is working.

  It kills within a few hours, but long before that, it muddles the mind, dulls reason, and strips away the will to run. That’s how it feeds—not with fangs, but with lies.

  I glance from him to the creature beside him.

  Up close, the illusion unravels. Her skin has the wrong texture—too smooth, too waxy—and her clothes aren’t fabric at all, but a part of her body. Her back is fused to the ground, anchored by a thick vine-like tendril that burrows deep into the earth, connecting her to the true body of the nightshade.

  But the hunter doesn’t see any of that. The venom’s already corrupted his senses, making the illusion perfect in his eyes. He believes he’s staying to help.

  But really, he's just waiting to die.

  Shink!

  A sharp sting slices through the back of my left calf. I wince as pain flares up my leg—one of the nightshade’s tendrils had burst from the ground in a blink, slashed me, and vanished back into the dirt just as fast.

  I recoil instinctively, but the attack was expected.

  Planned, even.

  Now, the monster thinks I’m just like the boy beside me—wounded, poisoned, slowly dying. Another easy meal.

  “Looks like it got me too,” I say, feigning concern as I reach into my bag of holding. From within, I retrieve two of Shadow’s healing potions and a small metal sphere etched with runes on all sides.

  I drink the first potion. Instantly, my wound seals with an unnatural sound like pulling the scaling of a fish in reverse. The blood retracts into my skin, which knits itself back together in seconds.

  Then, I hand the second potion to the hunter.

  “You drink this.”

  He accepts it without hesitation and gulps it down. The gash on his leg closes quickly, but the color doesn’t return to his face. He’s still trembling, still pale. Healing potions don’t cure poison—they only mend the damage. The venom remains.

  “Thank you, ma’am. But what about her?” he asks, eyes flicking to the creature beside him—still posing as a dying girl.

  I stare at it coldly. “I don’t think it’s long for this world.”

  “It…?”

  He looks confused, but I ignore the question.

  Instead, I lower myself to sit beside him.

  “Relax,” I say softly. “This’ll be over soon. You’re going to be fine.”

  “You’re… sure?” he murmurs, trying to mimic my posture. But his body gives out, and he collapses onto his back, his limbs heavy. His eyelids flutter as the venom tightens its grip.

  I have a curing potion, but I can’t give it to him just yet.

  It’s important that the monster believes we’ve been weakened. If it senses me using a curing potion, or if we act too healthy, it will remain in hiding. As dangerous as nightshades are, they’re cautious above all else. They only surface when they believe their prey is too weak to fight back. They prefer their meals defenseless.

  So, to complete the illusion, I lie on my back beside the hunter.

  I keep the metal sphere clutched in my right hand as I let my limbs go limp. My breathing slows. I suppress my pulse, letting my body mimic the sluggish rhythm of one succumbing to the venom—even though it barely affects me.

  Only a few moments pass before the ground begins to tremble.

  The rumble grows louder, the vibrations more intense. Then comes the distinct, sickening sound of soil tearing and shifting as the massive nightshade emerges from its burrow.

  I tilt my head just enough to see it.

  It rises like some grotesque pitcher plant, towering above us, its leathery green hide gleaming with moisture. A long tendril extends from its open mouth, still attached to the false maiden, now hanging limp like a broken doll.

  All around us, more tentacles erupt from the ground.

  One wraps tightly around my legs and lifts me into the air. I let my body dangle limply, upside-down, playing the part. The hunter, too, is being drawn upward—his pale, unconscious form drifting toward the same fate.

  Then—finally—the moment I’ve been waiting for.

  The monster’s lips part wide, revealing a tunnel-like throat lined with glistening muscle, leading down into a bowl-shaped stomach filled with churning digestive fluid.

  Without moving my upper body, I summon a tiny portal below the metal sphere dangling just past my head. The exit portal opens deep within the beast’s belly, right at the base of that foul pit.

  I pour mana into the sphere as I release it from my fingers.

  It falls—glowing red-hot—straight through the portal and into the nightshade’s gut.

  For a heartbeat, nothing happens.

  Then the creature shudders, violently. Its mouth clamps shut, and the tentacle holding me snaps downward. But it’s too late.

  I spring upward, twisting through the air, and draw my daggers in a fluid motion. With a single slash, I cut through the tendril that binds me.

  Still riding the momentum of the downward swing, I twist midair and flip, landing in a low crouch.

  A few meters away, the unconscious hunter slams into the ground like a rag doll with a sickening crack. Blood pools beneath his body as he lands face-down, arms and legs splayed awkwardly. The tentacle that held him, panicked by the growing heat, releases him and begins to retract into the earth.

  I rise to my feet, shaking off the shredded vine still wrapped around me, and turn to face the monster. It writhes in agony, releasing a high-pitched, monstrous scream as it tries to retreat back into the ground.

  But it’s far too late.

  A bright red light pulses from the seams of its trembling jaw, flickering violently between the folds of its thick hide. Smoke begins to pour from its mouth as loud cracks and pops echo from deep within, the heat of the sphere rapidly cooking it from the inside out.

  Quickly, I open a portal beneath the hunter’s broken form, causing him to fall through and reappear at the farthest clear spot above the ground I can see from here. The moment his body vanishes through the portal, I reposition the entry beneath myself and drop through.

  I exit directly over him—his bloodied body draped across a thorny bush in the middle of a tall patch of grass. My fall drives him deeper into the thorns as I land atop him. I roll off his back immediately, into the grass beside him.

  My hand dives into my bag for the curing potion he desperately needs—

  BOOM.

  I’m blasted off my feet as a massive explosion tears through the earth behind me. The shockwave shakes the ground and sends a scorching wind and a rain of dirt slamming into my back. I hit the earth hard and black out for a moment.

  When I open my eyes, I’m staring up at the sky, framed by tall grass swaying in the heated wind. Dust hangs in the air, and everything feels disoriented. I blink grime from my lashes and sit up slowly, trying to process what just happened.

  The hunter lies nearby, bloodied and tangled in the brambles. My bag of holding rests in the grass beside me, a few potion bottles spilled from its open mouth. And far off in the distance, a thick column of black smoke rises into the sky.

  The blast must have knocked me out.

  I scramble over the grass and snatch up one healing potion and one curing potion from the bottles that spilled out of my bag. I uncork both as I push to my feet and rush to the hunter.

  Up close, his injuries are even worse.

  Half his face is crushed—his skull likely shattered. The flesh is torn and mangled like raw meat. I can see straight into the nasal cavity where the bone has caved in. His mouth is bloodied, several teeth missing, and both eyes are dark red from burst vessels. Still… I see the rise and fall of his chest. Shallow. Strained. Wet.

  He’s still alive.

  I don’t waste a second.

  I pour the contents of both bottles into the gaping ruin that was once his mouth, gripping his jaw to hold it steady. He gurgles, coughs violently, nearly ejecting the potion—but I clamp his jaw shut, forcing it down. No time to be gentle.

  Moments later, soft glows—green and gold—begin to spread across his body. I pull my hands away as his skin starts to mend, his face reshaping with a sickening series of cracks and pops. New teeth grow in. Torn muscle reknits. Bone reforms beneath the skin.

  As he begins to stabilize, I grab him by the collar and drag him off the bramble bush. The thorns tear into his back as I pull—deep, ugly cuts—but I don’t stop. If I left him there, he might’ve healed with the thorns still embedded in him.

  He slumps forward onto the grass, breathing ragged but clearer. Even the fresh wounds across his back begin to close.

  He’ll forgive me for that. He has to.

  I collapse backward beside him, chest heaving.

  He’s breathing. That’s enough—for now.

  Potions can fix the body. But the mind… especially after trauma like that… that takes longer.

  I stare up at the sky, trying to calm my racing pulse. The adrenaline won’t leave my system. My hands are trembling. My heart won’t stop pounding. And then—

  “Heh… haha…”

  Laughter slips out.

  Quiet at first. Then louder. Raw.

  Unfiltered joy. Relief. Vindication. And something darker.

  I laugh harder, tears pouring freely down my cheeks. I can’t stop. My shoulders shake. My lungs burn. My face is wet with snot and tears, but I’m still laughing.

  I did it.

  I killed the monster that murdered my parents.

  For four years I’ve dreamed of this moment. I’ve imagined the beast dying in pain, in fear, in confusion—and now, finally, I’ve seen it. I watched it writhe and panic. I made it suffer.

  And gods, it felt good.

  My laughter grows ragged. It breaks apart into choked sobs and sharp gasps as my voice gives out. My throat is raw. My ribs ache. My body is spent—but I still can’t stop crying.

  Eventually, the laughter fades. What’s left is silence… and tears.

  I lie there, staring up at the sky, letting the last of it drain out of me. My chest rises and falls. My hands finally still.

  And I think of them—my mother, my father.

  Their faces are blurry now, like smudged memories on old paper. I think about them often, but remembering the exact lines of their faces gets harder every year.

  Still… I’m glad I was able to do this before they disappeared completely from my mind.

  I swallow hard, my voice barely more than a whisper.

  “I did it, Dad. I did it, Mom.”

  That little gadget had worked perfectly.

  It was a very expensive piece of tech crafted by Hyperion artificers. I bought it for 80 silver coins from a merchant named Rodrick, whom I met through Lord Griswald. The device houses four mana crystals, all powering six compact heat runes. Normally, a single heat rune only generates enough warmth to boil water—but when several are overcharged with concentrated mana in a confined space, the result is... explosive.

  Worth every coin.

  After I finally calm down, I gather the spilled potions, return them to my bag, and sling the strap back over my shoulder. Then I turn to the hunter.

  He’s breathing steadily now, but unconscious. I try shaking him, calling to him—nothing. Like I suspected, he’s going to be out for a while. The damage to his brain might take time to fully repair.

  He’s far too heavy for me to carry all the way back to Carcuv, so I settle for dragging him to the roadside. It takes a ridiculous amount of effort and far more time than I’d like. By the time I get him there, I’m drenched in sweat, every muscle aching. Honestly, dragging his unconscious body was more exhausting than fighting the nightshade.

  Still, I manage to leave him where someone traveling the road can find him.

  Once I’m sure the hunter is safe, I make my way back to the crater—what remains of the deadly nightshade. The earth is scorched and torn, its center still smoldering faintly. Among the destruction, I find a few intact tentacles, their spines still filled with venom.

  Carefully, I extract what I can, using ten empty bottles I had brought for this exact purpose. I work quickly but precisely—this is not something I can afford to waste.

  It’s a bitter sort of irony. The same poison that shattered my life… is now one of my greatest weapons.

  And yet, without it, I might not be alive today.

  With that task taken care of, I begin the long walk back to Carcuv.

  When I finally arrive, I head straight for the city gates and report what happened—the monster I killed, and the injured hunter who needs help. The guards are surprised, grateful, and quick to send someone on horseback to recover him.

  As for me? I set out again—this time for Stonebrook.

  I keep my eyes peeled for passing wagons going my way, but no such luck. Maybe the universe only hands out so much fortune in one day, and I already used up mine.

  By the time I finally reach Stonebrook, it's early morning the next day. The night air was bitterly cold for most of the journey, and my limbs ache with every step. I can barely drag myself up the stairs of the Rabbit’s Paw.

  I manage to unlock the door to my room, turn the handle, and push it open. The door creaks softly as it swings inward, revealing the space beyond. In the dim light of the moon filtering through the window, I can already tell—something is different.

  The room isn’t how I left it.

  Cautiously, I step inside, my eyes drawn to the desk against the far wall. There, illuminated faintly in the moonlight, is a large round object and a folded piece of parchment lying beside it.

  I walk over slowly and reach for the lamp sitting on the desk. With a quiet click, the crystal light flickers to life, casting a warm glow across the surface.

  And there it is.

  A cake. A large, round cake with pink frosting, decorated with red and white icing flowers. In red lettering across the center, it reads:

  “Happy Birthday Maribel.”

  I stare at it, unsure how to process what I’m seeing.

  It doesn’t make sense. Not after the day I just had. My mind struggles to reconcile this soft, sweet gesture with the pain, blood, and madness I’ve lived through in the last twenty-four hours.

  Exhausted and confused, I slump into the chair in front of the desk. My body aches. My heart is raw. Why? Who...?

  But of course—I can only think of one person who would do this.

  And he’s not exactly a person.

  My eyes drift to the parchment beside the cake. The writing is slightly oversized and uneven—clearly the handiwork of my friend.

  Shadow.

  I pick up the note and hold it close, letting my eyes adjust to the curves of his awkward but earnest handwriting.

  Dear Maribel,

  I’m sorry I missed you today. I had hoped to celebrate your birthday with you. I understand you were probably busy with something important. I do hope you spent your birthday doing something for yourself.

  Please enjoy the cake. I was told it tastes great, but I have no idea.

  P.S. If I did something to upset you, I’m sorry.

  Your friend,

  Shadow.

  Fresh tears hit the parchment as I read the letter, smudging the ink slightly. I stare at the words, unable to move, heart aching in my chest.

  Outside the door, I hear familiar footsteps approaching.

  My eyes linger on the final line: “If I did something to upset you, I’m sorry.”

  A sharp pang of guilt settles deep in my stomach.

  Then there is a knock at my door.

  I don’t bother to wipe the tears from my face as I draw in a shaky breath and force the words past the lump in my throat.

  “Come in, Shadow.”