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Aiden took one look at Taly and sent her home. That’s not where she went.

The Cage wasn’t just a bar. Claimed by the salvager’s guild, it was a shrine to bad decisions and worse company—the last stop before a job, the first stop after one went south.

The walls were a patchwork of old ship hulls and broken machinery.

Battle scars from past brawls were etched deep into the wooden beams. Some looked fresh.

Firelamps swung from rusted chains, their uneven glow pooling across mismatched tables.

She shouldn’t be here—sitting at this bar, drowning in rotgut.

Counter point? She’d been dead twelve hours ago.

She tipped the glass back, liquor scorching its way down.

She could still see it. The grimble. Every time she closed her eyes, those white voids met her in the dark.

But each sip blurred the image. Every swallow softened the shape into something easier to ignore.

The tinkle of glass, the slosh of amber liquid—they unraveled the horror enough to breathe around it, bit by bit. Burn by burn.

And since that was working so well, why not lobotomize a few other pesky memories?

Like Bill. His latest gift came that morning, timed perfectly to catch her on her way out. This time, it was a silver Gnoven music box. One she’d held just last week, turning it over in a dusty junk shop, debating the price.

The glass hit the bar harder than she meant it to. She reached for the bottle, missed the neck the first time, tried again, then dragged it closer.

He was getting bolder. He wanted her to know he’d been there. Watching. Close enough to see her hesitate. To see the moment she decided to leave it behind.

She scanned the room, half expecting to spot him in the shadows. Her pulse ticked faster with every glance that lingered too long. He could be any one of them—the man behind the bar, the loser sulking over his cards, even the woman serving ale.

He could watch her from any angle, in any crowd.

He always found her. But she could never find him.

And now she couldn’t even scry? Couldn’t even reach for the one thing that gave her an edge?

Glass. Fire. Swallow.

Skye was probably installing the dreamspindle at that very moment.

“Stupid, smug, self-righteous, motherfucking, overgrown pain-in-the-ass…” She poured another, sloshing half of it onto the bar.

“Shadow-skulking, hero-complex—ugh, dumbass .” Another swallow.

“Big. Damn. Idiot.” The words tangled up in her tongue now, slurring into, “Stupid. Beautiful. Bastard.” She scowled into her glass.

“Hope you choke on your own concern, you absolute—mmph—prince of pricks.”

Seriously, she was in the middle of a gunfight, and he’d taken her only damn weapon! What was the plan there? Was he going to fight her nightmares for her now? Maybe wrestle the psychic parasite right out of her head?

She fumbled for the bottle. The world had gone soft around the edges. Almost there. Almost quiet. This fey body needed so much more liquor to reach this point— rock bottom .

She shouldn’t be here. Not just the bar—this entire Shards-damned life. Magic had ripped her out of her own story and shoved her into someone else’s mess. Now it was all just survival. Just bracing for whatever fresh hell came next.

Every day, she waited for it—the next piece to slip. How many more secrets were tucked away in these bones, waiting to rewrite her all over again?

She tried to pour another, but the bottle was dry—just like her luck.

She shouldn’t be here.

And then that pesky little voice, yet another hunter chasing her—one she hadn’t heard this loud since she’d bolted from the townhouse, too scared and lost to think straight, back when she’d had no idea what else to do…

Maybe it would be easier if she wasn’t .

Maybe… everyone would be better off.

Taly curled in on herself, knees bumping the bar, arms hugging her middle. She gritted her teeth, biting down on the whimper.

She wished Skye was here… and then hated herself for it.

Yes, there’d be a lecture. He’d grind his teeth and shoot her those infuriating looks.

But he’d also be the one holding her hair back when she inevitably ended up over a toilet.

He’d be pissed the whole time, muttering about her terrible choices.

And he’d still do it. Because that’s who he was. Predictable. Unshakable.

Hers, even when she didn’t deserve it.

And Shards, wasn’t that the worst part?

Apparently, it wasn’t—a point the Universe wished to drive home.

A ripple passed through the room. Not a hush—just a shift. Voices dipped. Bodies near the door edged back, space opening where none had been.

Taly didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. In the mirror behind the bar, polished black armor caught the light. Red capes draped like fresh-spilled blood. And their faces—if you could call them that…

Shadows churned where a face should’ve been, thick and restless, shifting like storm clouds before a breaking sky. No eyes, no mouth—just a writhing abyss of black vapor, twisting and flickering like sentient smoke.

The Dawn Court claimed the masks were for protection—to safeguard their members from the weight of the acts they were forced to commit in the name of duty. A kindness, they called it. A mercy for those who served.

It was bullshit, of course. Cowards. That’s what they were. Too afraid to look their victims in the eye, to carry the burden of the suffering they caused.

Somewhere beneath the liquor, deep in the animal part of her brain, alarm bells started screaming. Taly kept her head down, a breeze ghosting across the back of her neck as their cloaks whispered past.

Ivain loathed the Sanctorum—hated even more that they were on his island. But as long as they stayed within the bounds of decency, his hands were tied. By law, by honor, he had no choice but to shelter them.

The Sanctifiers took a table in the far corner.

The people around it suddenly found elsewhere to be, and Taly followed their lead. This bar was suddenly feeling a little crowded. She reached into her coat, fingers brushing against the grain bags she’d tucked away earlier. One. Two. That should cover the tab.

As she pulled them free—

THUD.

A glass landed in front of her.

“A round for the bar, courtesy of the Savior,” the bartender announced.

A ripple of approval rolled through the room. Half cheers, half clapping—a few drunken whistles cut through the noise.

Damn it. Taly flicked a glance to the Sanctifiers. Yup. They were looking at her now. Shadows tilted toward her, curiosity piqued.

Her jaw tightened. She cut her gaze to the bartender, but he wasn’t looking at her. Just kept pouring as patrons crowded the bar for a refill, nudging his chin at the folded slip of paper beneath the glass.

Taly hesitated. Then pulled it free.

Two words:

good “Luck”

It took her a moment. But when it hit—

Her fingers clenched around the paper. Oh, that little bitch. She scanned the bar.

Luck was already at the door. Taly twisted just in time to catch the flick of her coat as her smirking profile vanished into the street.

“To the Savior!” a younger salvager, barely past twenty, called out as he raised a mug to Taly—drawing even more attention her way.

Someone else chuckled, low and knowing. “Still remember when you nearly lost a hand trying to strip a live core. Never thought you’d live long enough to be the one doing the saving. Guess even the clumsy ones get lucky.”

Taly smiled—tight, distant—as others raised their glasses and mugs.

As they hailed her with her new title, a sharp, manic giggle broke free.

Somehow, she’d convinced a town full of desperate people that she was a hero. A Savior . If only they fucking knew…

Twice now, Bill had made her an offer. Twice , she’d walked away.

And sure, maybe he’d been lying… but if he wasn’t?

If he wasn’t, she could have finally lived up to the name. Saved her family, her island—everyone in this damn bar, now slurring their praise. All it would have cost was a world full of strangers.

Taly tossed back the rest of her drink before the bitterness could settle. It barely even burned now.

Then she turned, sliding off the stool, intent on getting the hell out of here—and walked straight into a wall of black armor.

A hand clamped around her arm. “Easy now. Where you off to, little bird?”

Great. This was exactly what her day needed.

Taly blinked slow, letting her gaze drag upward. His face wavered beneath the glamour—not quite solid, not quite there. An impression of a smirk rather than something real.

She swayed. Just a little. His grip didn’t budge.

“Just stretching my wings,” she murmured with only a little bit of a slur. “I hear the air is nicer outside .”

His thumb brushed lazy circles against her wrist. “Stay a while. It’s not every day I get to drink with a legend. Savior of Ebondrift. Hero of Vale… and damn, even prettier up close.”

Ahh, so it was bang-your-local-Savior night at the bar. That was… unfortunate.

But, also… how would that work?

Seriously, did the shadows come off? Was there a moment where his face just—flickered back into existence? Did he have to shake them off like a dog in the rain? Or was it worse? Did they stay? Did they just… hover there the whole time, looming ominously.

These were the important questions. And while Taly was still pondering them, blinking up at him blearily, the Sanctifier leaned in—taking inaction for consent.

“So, what’ll it be, Savior? A toast? A dance? Or something a little more… personal?”

Taly smiled like she hadn’t just swallowed bile. “Mm. Tempting.” Her free hand drifted casually to her hip—not to her dagger, not yet. “But have you considered: none of the above?”

She twisted, sliding free. Got two steps.

His hand caught her waist.

“We’re not done.”

Well, fuck.

Taly glanced over her shoulder, still playing the game, still keeping it light. “I thought we were.”