The edge of town was quiet, the kind of quiet that feels heavy and watchful. The main streets of Megiddo had a life to them even at nightâa drunk stumbling out of a tavern, a guard on patrol, a baker starting his work before dawn. But out here, there was only the sound of the wind rustling through the dry weeds and the distant cry of some night bird. Taliaâs own hurried footsteps sounded loud and intrusive on the packed-earth lane.
She saw the shack ahead, a dark shape against a star-dusted sky. It was unlit, looking just as derelict as it had during the day. A flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Maybe he wasn't even there. Maybe she was panicking over nothing more than the drunken ramblings of a sore loser.
Then she saw them.
Four figures, moving in a low crouch along the crumbling stone wall that marked the edge of the property. They were trying to be silent, but they were clumsy. One of them knocked a loose stone from the wall, and it clattered to the ground with a sound that seemed as loud as a thunderclap in the stillness. They all froze, looking around like spooked rabbits. Talia flattened herself into the shadows of a gnarled old tree, her heart hammering against her ribs. She recognized two of them from the guildâD-rankers who mostly took jobs clearing giant rats out of basements. Scavengers.
She needed to shout, to create a diversion, to give Stephen a chance to wake up, to run. But the words caught in her throat. What if shouting just started the violence sooner? What if they turned on her? Her hesitation lasted only a second, but in that second, the moment was lost.
One of the thugs, a big man with a short-hafted axe, was the first to step over the low wall and onto the property. He took two steps onto the overgrown grass.
And then he just folded.
There was no sound, no cry. One moment he was standing, the next his legs seemed to give out from under him, and he crumpled to the ground in a boneless heap. The other three stopped dead, their heads whipping around.
"What was that?" one of them hissed, his voice a raw whisper of panic. "Did he trip?"
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Before anyone could answer, a shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness near the shack's wall. It moved with a liquid silence that was unnatural. The second thug, who had a short sword drawn, saw the movement and let out a startled yell, lunging forward with a wild, desperate stab. He stabbed at empty air.
The shadow was already behind him. There was a sharp, dry crack, like a thick branch being snapped over a knee. The man shrieked, a high, thin sound of pure pain, and dropped his sword, clutching his arm which now bent at an angle it was never meant to. He went down to his knees, whimpering.
The remaining two were terrified. They pressed back-to-back, their weapons held out shakily, their eyes darting into the darkness. They were surrounded, but they couldn't see by what.
"Show yourself!" one of them yelled, his voice cracking.
The shadow obliged. It didn't emerge from the darkness; it simply appeared between them, a swift and sudden manifestation of violence. A leg swept out, hooking the ankle of one man and sending him sprawling onto his back with a winded grunt. The other swung his club, but his target was no longer there. A hand chopped down on the back of his neck, and he collapsed face-first into the dirt without a sound.
It was over. The entire "fight" had taken less than ten seconds.
The silence that fell was thick and absolute, broken only by the pained groans of the disabled men. Talia finally let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She pushed herself away from the tree and stepped into the lane, her legs feeling unsteady.
As she drew closer, the shadow resolved itself into the familiar form of Stephen. He was standing calmly in the middle of the yard, not even breathing heavily, looking down at the four broken men on the ground as if they were nothing more than a mess he now had to clean up. He hadn't killed them. He had simply, efficiently, taken them apart.
He heard her footsteps and turned. His posture was still coiled, his expression a mask of cold, lethal focus. Then his eyes registered who it was. The tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction, the icy look in his eyes softening to something merely distant and unreadable.
He looked from her, to the groaning pile of thugs, and then back.
"Looks like the trash takes itself out in this town," he said, his voice flat and devoid of any triumph. It was just an observation.
Talia just stared, her intended warning dead on her lips. She had run all this way to save the lamb from the wolves, only to find that the lamb was a lion in disguise, and the wolves had never stood a chance. He wasn't the one who had been in danger. They were.