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ELIAS

T here’s blood in the air.

Fresh. Sharp. Terrified.

I crouch on the rusted fire escape outside the busted window of a crumbling tenement, listening. City noise thumps below—honking horns, a kid crying, somebody screaming at a busted coffee machine—but all that fades when you’re tuned to the scent of fear.

It always hits first, fear. Before the pain. Before the begging. It’s primal. Loud.

And right now, it’s coming from the third floor.

I drop silently, boots finding the steel railing like they belong there.

This city—Bronx side—is dying slow, like the rest of the world.

We’ve got internet and iPhones and overpriced boba joints—but also monsters in the alleyways and shadows that don’t follow the rules of physics anymore.

Supernaturals are out, technically. Shifters, vamps.

People know . But they only believe what they can film.

And they haven’t filmed anything like me .

I don’t make a sound as I slip through the cracked window. The stench of mildew hits hard, but underneath it—The Order.

Two agents, both human. I catch the glint of the Order’s insignia on the sleeve of one—black sunburst over a sword. They’re cornering a kid, maybe ten, all wiry limbs and wild hair, eyes glowing faint orange like a lit coal. Fire-shifter. Just a baby.

He’s trembling so hard his whole body rattles. No weapons. No fangs. Just dirty sneakers and fear.

“You sure this one’s on the list?” one agent mutters, pulling out a silver-lined restraint collar.

The other sneers. “Don’t matter. Hybrid registry says unaccounted. That makes him contraband. Same rules apply.”

My fingers curl around the hilt of the knife strapped to my thigh. It’s not silver—it’s obsidian, laced with ancient runes that hum when I’m close to death or violence.

Right now, they’re singing.

I move fast. Shadow-fast.

The first man never sees it coming. One second he’s reaching for the kid, the next—my blade’s buried in his ribs. He lets out a soft oof before his knees give out and he crashes to the floor.

The second man spins, gun raised.

Too slow.

I’m on him before he can shout. I don’t bite. I don’t shift. I just knock him cold with a punch that cracks his jaw sideways.

The kid shrinks back like I’m the monster now.

Maybe I am.

“You hurt?” I ask, sheathing the blade. My voice comes out lower than I mean it to, rough. I clear my throat. “Hey. Kid.”

He shakes his head. Doesn’t say a word. Just stares at me like I’m made of knives.

“Good. You need to go. South exit’s clear.”

He hesitates. Looks at the men on the ground. “You… you killed them?”

“No.” I crouch to meet his eye. “But I should’ve.”

He bolts.

Smart kid.

Back on the rooftop, I let the cold wind slap me in the face. My hands shake, so I stuff them in my coat pockets and try not to look like a walking contradiction. Not that there’s anyone watching. Not yet.

I should’ve left the kid. Let the Order have him. Safer that way. Cleaner.

But my wolf side doesn’t like cruelty, and my vampire side—well, he gets twitchy around blood.

The moon’s low tonight, a crooked grin behind the clouds. My mother always said that’s when the Veil thins. That’s when the old things stir.

I pull the small device from my coat—a Veil sensor, tuned to energy pulses. Velara gave it to me last winter, right after she kissed my forehead and told me I was the last hope of a doomed race.

Thanks, Mom.

The screen flickers, then glows.

Red.

Shit.

The Veil’s unstable tonight. Again . But this time the surge isn’t in the woods, or some distant mountain village. It’s here. In the city. Right under Order jurisdiction.

I scroll through the data feed. Coordinates. Pressure spikes. A signature I haven’t seen before—wild, bright, but familiar. Fae resonance, laced with something more chaotic.

It’s not just the Veil weakening.

Something, or someone is punching through it.

My gut tightens. I know what this means. Someone’s awakening. And that kind of raw power? The Order will want them caged. Or worse.

I run a hand down my face. The world’s not ready for what’s coming. They barely know about us. Sure, they’ve seen fangs on some nightclub security guards, caught a wolf on dash cam once or twice. But witches? Fae? Real old-world shit?

Still hidden.

Still behind the Veil.

If that curtain falls completely, humans aren’t gonna throw a welcome parade. They’re gonna panic. Lock us up. Burn our books. Erase us.

And me?

Hybrids like me don’t even make it to the panic stage.

They execute us.

I hop down the fire escape, hood up. Back into the night.

I need to find the source of that spike. The girl. It feels like a girl. I don’t know why. But her power sings in the air, like violin strings stretched too tight.

Whoever she is, she’s dangerous. Not just to herself. To all of us.

And I need to get to her before the Order does.

Or we’re all screwed.