Page 44

H.A.Z.E

T he clock strikes twelve, and the Saviour leaps off the rooftop with my cuff in his hands. I perch low, resting my forearms on my knees and peer down at the scene before me.

Alissa passes out, her golden blonde hair whipping around her as she sinks into the shadows.

Time seems to slow as the Saviour's form cuts through the air with fierce determination.

Taking the cuff out as they near the ground, its golden glow snakes through the darkness before curling around her body as the darkness swallows them up.

I don’t take my eyes off them, watching coldly.

The seconds tick by slowly, painfully. When I think they must have hit the bottom, my breath catches in my throat.

At first, he's nothing more than a shadow, a silhouette blending with the night.

But then his eyes catch the faint light, glowing like molten gold in the darkness, piercing through the gloom with an intensity that makes my stomach twist.

He moves, and suddenly, he isn’t just a shadow anymore.

He shoots upwards with explosive speed, his figure blurring against the backdrop of the city.

For a heartbeat, he seems weightless, defying gravity with a grace that is both unnatural and mesmerising.

The wind whips around him as he climbs, his body sleek and controlled, as if the chaos of the world below him can’t touch him.

I stiffen as his golden eyes lock with mine, unyielding and unafraid. And suddenly, he’s there. He lands beside me with a smooth, effortless precision. The faint scrape of his boots on the surface is the only sound, a whisper in the heavy stillness of the night.

My cuff clatters to the ground between us, and before it can bounce off the roof, I catch it and slip it onto my wrist before standing to my full height, where I meet the Saviour's gaze.

He straightens, his golden eyes holding mine before the light flickers out, just as a large wolf breaks through the rooftop door, his hulking frame outlined by the faint glow of the moonlight.

Slick, black blood is matted to his brown fur, dripping from his muzzle and clinging to his powerful limbs, leaving a trail of inky smears behind him.

Each step he takes is slow and deliberate, the ground beneath him sinking under the weight of a predator who has just torn through a battlefield.

His eyes—burning with an unrelenting fire—connect with mine as I glance over my shoulder. Seth runs towards me, his large and sharp canines glinting promisingly, but before he can reach me, the Saviour stands in his path with Alissa in his arms.

"Take care of Alissa." He walks around him, places her on his back, and then turns to Reece. There is a sadness in his eyes as he stares at her blank, complacent face.

I stare at Reece, but she just stands there as Riot whispers, "What did you do to her?"

I continue to watch Reece, her smile no longer there, whether it was real or fake. She barely exists. She’s just there. "I let her darkness win."

Right as I say it, the void I had sensed shifts— fast. My reflexes kick in before I even realise what I had done. Damien stands right beside her as his dagger slams into my palm with a sickening force. I barely register the pain as the steel bites into my flesh, the blood slicking my grip.

Damien's golden eyes meet mine, sharp and calculating, flickering with annoyance. I tilt my head, staring coldly even as I feel a sharp ache radiating from my hand.

"I thought I told you... You can't touch her," I whisper, as the cold phantom ache of my power rushes into my hand, and I brush my fingers over her temple to pull her out of the darkness.

Like a dam shattering, she gasps—sharp and ragged —her chest heaving as though she’s taking her first breath in years. It’s raw and desperate, the sound of someone drowning and finally breaking the surface.

Her lips tremble, and her eyes begin to glisten, tears pooling before spilling down her cheeks in silent, endless streams. When the first sob escapes her, broken and choked, she collapses. Her body almost topples over the rooftop before Riot catches her and sweeps her off her feet.

"You really thought I'd stay by your side, didn't you?" Damien sneers, his voice dripping with venom, "How sweet. How Na?ve."

There he goes again, listing insults that I'm simply not.

I narrow my eyes at him and clench my jaw. "I thought we both wanted the same thing. Him…" I point to Riot as he settles an unconscious Reece onto Seth's back. "Dead."

"Of course," he says, his eyes darkening, and his voice deepens, "but I wanted you both dead. You were standing in my way. Now, thanks to you, I know someone who can do just that."

The General.

His teeth flash in that wicked grin, and his laughter—a low, mocking sound—rolls through the air, sending a chill down my spine.

"You never saw it coming, did you?" he taunts, his voice a poisonous whisper as he leans in, his breath brushing against my skin.

"Poor little fool; Ricci would never forgive you for trusting so easily. "

"Are you done?" I raise a disinterested brow, my words low enough for him. "I was sceptical on a way to bring the General to me. I wasn't sure if you could handle it. It's a pretty important task, and well… You're a man."

Damien's brows furrow as he leans back, his smile slowly melting into a frown. I see the realisation on his face, watch his eyes widen as he turns his head, his mouth open just as a body crashes into mine, and suddenly, I'm weightless, tumbling into the abyss.

I barely register the cold sting of his hands around my throat nor the crushing force of his grip. It should be terrifying, the way his eyes burn with fury, his teeth clenching as we plummet. But it isn’t.

There is an odd serenity in the chaos. The wind rushes past me, tearing at my hair and filling my ears with a deafening roar, but all I feel is an unexpected calm that I can’t explain. Maybe it’s the inevitability of it all, the simplicity of knowing there is nothing left to fight against.

My lips curve into a faint smile, eyes fluttering closed as the world around us blurs into streaks of light and shadow.

The General's face, twisted in rage, is the last clear thing I see, and even that hasn’t disturbed my calm.

He looks desperate, so consumed by the darkness that had driven him to do this.

I want to keep falling; I want to stay exactly where I am, but Essy senses death rearing its ugly head as the ground rushes to meet us. Her eyes blink open in the darkness as a cold, phantom ache rushes to the surface of my skin.

I glance at the General, touching his head. His face pales, and his eyes roll into the back of his head. Dark magic pools beneath his skin and spreads across his face like broken glass that hasn't shattered yet.

As I'm pulling away, my body moves like a puppet dancing to the tune of someone else's song. My whip extends and curls into the darkness, shooting up into the sky. I feel the exact moment it latches onto the edge of the rooftop as it pulls us back up.

It feels as though time rewinds as we fly over the ledge. We land in a violent clash, rolling across the cold concrete as the General and I are separated.

I don't try to get up as I stare into the endless expanse of the night sky. It doesn't look right; it's never looked right. I just see darkness—cold, eternal, empty darkness.

“Haze…” Essy whimpers, fucking whimpers .

“Shut up.” And for once, she actually listens. Thank fuck for small mercies.

My head falls to the side, my cheek pressed into the cold concrete as the General stands in the distance.

His shoulders tremble, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as though he can’t decide if he wants to break apart or lash out.

His breaths comes in ragged gasps, every exhale sounding like it scrapes against the raw edges of his grief.

He watches me, his eyes roaming all over me. "You. I know you," he says, his voice hoarse and uneven, as if the words themselves are tearing him apart on the way out. "Did my sins kill my daughter…? Am I the reason you took her from me?"

I stay still, unflinching, though his pain hangs heavy in the air between us, sharper than any blade. It’s like a storm, wild and uncontrolled, battering at me. His words drowning in raw anguish, as I watch him.

I can only watch him.

Unfeeling.

Uncaring.

Dead.

"You ruined me. You broke me," he whispers, his voice cracking. His eyes connect with mine then, and the sheer weight of his sorrow, his fury, presses down on me. His eyes, bloodshot and hollow, carry a depth of agony that forces me to blink just so I won’t have to look at him, even if it is only brief.

"Why? You had already won— you won! Why wasn't that enough for you? !"

His question hangs in the air, choking me.

And then, slowly, he steels his spine, his body trembling and his fists shaking at his sides. The grief doesn’t fade, but something darker begins to surface, something stronger. He looks at me, his eyes hardening, as his broken expression shifts into something unyielding, dangerous.

"I'm not strong enough to kill you now," he says, his voice cold and deliberate, each word laced with promise. "But I will be. I swear on her memory, I will be."

The air seems to thicken, his vow settling over me like a storm on the horizon.

I meet his gaze, unreadable, unflinching, as the tension between us cracks like lightning.

The raw hatred in his eyes is undeniable, and I know this is far from over.

He’ll be back—stronger, deadlier, and with nothing to lose.

I turn then, and he disappears.

"Did you enjoy the show?" I ask, exhaling slowly, and then he's there.

The weight of his presence presses down on me, dark and suffocating. His knee hits the roof on either side of me with a sharp thud, and before I can blink, the cold edge of a blade kisses the delicate skin of my throat. I don’t flinch. Don’t move.

My eyes shift lazily, meeting his. The Saviour's face hovers over mine, twisting with anger, his breaths ragged and hot as they spill over me. Fury burns in his eyes—wild, desperate, and full of intent. The knife trembles in his grip, but not from uncertainty. It’s barely contained rage, so palpable I can almost taste it.

"All this," he hisses, his voice low and venomous, his hand pressing the blade just enough to draw a whisper of pain. "Just so that I would be forced to kill you."

"No," I say, my words calm and cold, "all this because I can."

"But you can't," he growls low. "Did you think I took the risk of enslaving you without understanding the consequences? Did you think I wouldn't be prepared? I'll stop you, Nightmare, always."

A familiar heat races through my veins, awakening something dark and destructive. "You're a Nightwalker, aren't you?" I snarl, pressing myself into the blade, feeling the cold trail of blood rolling down my neck. "We bleed the same, don't we? You should know the second rule."

His eyes narrow, and he grits his teeth as I drawl, "Anyone that stands between a Nightwalker and their mission dies— always."

He leans close, his breath hot on my lips, growling low, "You're in my way, Nightmare."

"Then kill me," I snap, "fight me. Do what you should have done in that clearing."

"Why?"

"Because I promise you, Saviour, it won’t be boring." I let my head fall back against the cold concrete as the Saviour shakes his head and eases up the pressure on my neck only slightly.

"Boring. Everything is fucking boring to you." He chuckles low. "Fighting me will be boring, because nothing matters to you, not even your life, because inside, you're already dead."

I stare at him blankly. "If you're going to kill me, get on with it."

He takes a breath, his words cold, dead, calm— too calm. "You knew, didn't you?"

Me? No, I wouldn't say that I knew he was a Nightwalker. I didn't know. It was that name. It hit me like a whisper in the dark, soft but impossible to ignore.

Umbra.

It rolled through my mind, echoing as though it had always been there, waiting to be noticed. He said it in the cupola, and for a moment, the rest of the world blurred at the edges as the word took hold.

Umbra.

It isn’t just a name; it’s a thread, thin and fragile, stretching back to somewhere I can’t see. Somewhere I can’t remember.

Umbra.

The name doesn’t conjure any memories, no faces or voices, no clear images to grasp onto. But it means something. I’m sure of it. My instincts told me as much, the same way they whisper when death is nearby.

Umbra.

The world around me blurs, dimming at the edges as the pain blooms deep within me. It’s a molten core of fire that spreads through my veins. It isn’t just heat; it’s an inferno, clawing its way out from the inside, relentless and unyielding.

My fingers clutch the fabric of the Saviour's shirt, trembling and desperate, as though holding onto him is the only thing tethering me to that name, that past, that warmth. I don't feel numb when I remember that name. I'm not empty. I'm not dead inside.

Umbra.

Umbra.

Umbra.

I want to go back to a time when I remembered that name. I want to be back in that warmth. I want it back. I want what was taken from me.

My breath hitches, a strangled sound escaping my lips as another wave of pain crashes through me. My grip on his shirt tightens, my knuckles no doubt turning white against the dark fabric, my nails digging in just enough to feel something, anything, beyond the emptiness consuming me.

His warmth surrounds me, curled up in his arms, tucked into his chest, and the weight of his head on mine as he shakes. He says, his voice a fractured whisper, "I hate hurting you, Nightmare."

Umbra. But it meant something different to me. I remember.

"I… know," I try to say, but the words catch in my throat, my voice thin and broken. "But you're the only one… who can."

Umbra.

My Umbra.

My Shadow.

Mine.