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They left the young man’s lodgings and headed back into the alleyways of the slums.

“Viggo, these shadow creatures—how powerful would a mage need to be to control them?” Solomon frowned. “Could any dark practitioner summon such things?”

“No,” Viggo said firmly. “Shadow manipulation at this level requires significant power and knowledge. Even Renwick needed his corrupt device to manifest the ones that attacked us when we fought him. For someone to deploy them across London, hunting specific targets…” He trailed off, the unpleasant truth sinking in reflected in Solomon and Finn’s eyes.

“We’re dealing with a dark mage of considerable power.

Someone who’s found a way to extend their reach beyond normal limitations. ”

“What happened to those thralls?” Finn asked sourly. “Since no bodies were found, we can presume those shadows took them somewhere, correct?”

Viggo dipped his chin reluctantly. “Solomon and I saw what shadow manipulation could do in that church where we fought those dark mages. Evander believes shadow creatures are used for transportation as much as attack. They can envelop a person, then move through darkness to deposit them elsewhere.”

“So they could still be alive?” Finn pressed.

“Possibly.” Viggo frowned. “We need to move quickly regardless.”

The fog had thickened considerably, shrouding the streets in an impenetrable veil that distorted the glow of the gas lamps into eerie halos. They walked in silence for a few blocks until they came in sight of the Broken Lantern .

The tavern was half empty, the usual raucous atmosphere subdued by the late hour and the fear spreading through the thrall community. Hawk was waiting for them at a corner table.

“Well?” he asked when they joined him, his grip tightening imperceptibly on his pint of dark ale.

“Fletcher’s story confirms our suspicions.” Viggo signalled to the barkeep for drinks. “He’s one of the lucky ones. It seems he was ambushed by shadow creatures.”

Hawk frowned faintly as Viggo briefed him on the ghastly manifestations and what Fletcher had revealed. “They don’t sound like the kind of things I want to meet in an alleyway somewhere on a dark night.”

“You and me both,” Finn muttered.

The barkeep, a weathered woman with shrewd eyes, brought over three pints of ale. She lingered a moment longer than necessary, her gaze on Viggo.

“Word’s going around,” she said quietly. “People are frightened, Viggo.” She paused. “Two regulars of mine have gone missing this past fortnight alone.”

“We’re working on it, Vera,” Viggo assured her grimly.

“See that you do. After all, Nightshade is the only one us thralls can rely on.” She returned to her post behind the bar, her words leaving a bitter taste in Viggo’s mouth that could not be washed down by the ale he drank.

“So what’s our next move?” Finn asked after a short silence. “We can’t simply wait for more thralls to vanish.”

Viggo lowered his brows and finally voiced the idea that had been brewing at the back of his mind. “We need to catch the culprits in the act. They may take us to where the missing thralls are.”

Solomon sat back, his expression growing calculating. “You want to set a trap.”

“Precisely.”

Solomon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Then we should plant a thrall in the employ of a noble household and have them walk alone at night through the areas where the disappearances have occurred.”

“That’s madness,” Finn protested, his gaze swinging around the table. “Even with our anti-magic devices, whoever plays that role would be in serious danger.”

“I’ll do it,” Solomon volunteered calmly.

Unease coiled through Viggo. “Are you sure?”

“I’m the most logical choice,” Solomon replied with a shrug.

“I can move silently, I know how to defend myself, and I’ve got the best chance of anyone here at surviving if things go wrong.

” He cut his eyes to Finn. “Besides, someone like Finn wouldn’t last five minutes in a noble household without insulting someone important. ”

“Hey!” Finn protested.

Hawk hid a smile behind his pint.

Viggo studied Solomon’s resolute expression. “It’s not a decision to be made lightly, Sly.”

“I know the risks involved, Viggo,” Solomon said quietly. “But we need answers and this is the fastest way to get them.”

A heavy silence fell over the table as Viggo weighed the proposal. The thought of putting Solomon in harm’s way made his stomach churn, but the alternative—waiting helplessly as more thralls disappeared—was equally unthinkable.

“You need to be employed by someone of sufficient standing to make you a target, but also a person we can trust completely,” he said reluctantly.

“How about Lady Hartley?” Finn suggested. “She’s already involved in this business with the dark mages and she has the social standing.”

They stared at him.

“What?” the Irishman asked defensively.

“That’s a terrific idea, for a change,” Viggo grunted.

Finn looked pleased for about five seconds before he grasped the insult behind the Brute’s words.

“Ginny will be happy to help us,” Viggo observed while the Irishman groused under his breath. “Her reputation for employing thralls is well-established.” He hesitated. “We should coordinate with Evander as well. The Met must be informed about this, in case we need backup.”

Though Solomon’s expression remained carefully neutral, Viggo could sense his friend’s reservations.

“Are you certain that’s wise?”

“Yes,” Viggo replied firmly. “Evander has resources we don’t.” He clenched his jaw. “And there’s no way in hell I’d put you or any other thrall in a dangerous situation without having everything at my disposal to ensure you make it out alive.”

The fog had thickened to a soupy miasma by the time Viggo left the Broken Lantern , his mind heavy with the plans they’d set in motion. Solomon and Finn had returned to Nightshade to coordinate with their agents, while Hawk had departed to gather more intelligence from his network of informants.

Viggo pulled his collar higher against the damp chill as he navigated the warren of narrow streets on his way to the modest home he shared with his uncle Jack, in Stepney.

The gaslights struggled to pierce the murk around him, their halos diffused into ghostly spheres that barely illuminated the path ahead.

He shivered. It was the kind of inclement weather criminals loved.

The back of his neck prickled after he passed a dark alleyway off Old Bethnal Green. Years of surviving in London’s underbelly had honed his senses to a razor’s edge. And they were telling him he was being followed.

Tension oozed through Viggo as he maintained a steady pace. The footfalls behind him were too measured and too careful to be a random passerby.

Someone was making a deliberate effort to remain undetected.

He turned down a side passage, one that would lead him past the abandoned cooperage where barrels had once been made for the nearby breweries. The dilapidated building offered multiple points of concealment and was perfect for what he had in mind.

As he passed the sagging doorway of the cooperage, Viggo abruptly ducked inside and pressed himself against the wall in the darkness. The footsteps trailing him hesitated, before continuing forward more slowly. Whoever was following him had lost visual contact and was proceeding with caution.

Viggo waited, breathing controlled and silent, his muscles coiled like springs.

A cloaked figure paused at the entrance, slender form silhouetted against the meagre light from the street. There was something distinctly unnatural about its movements.

Viggo narrowed his eyes.

They were too graceful to belong to a thrall.

He lunged forward in a single explosive motion, hand reaching for his pursuer’s throat. His fingers closed on fabric.

The figure twisted with impossible speed.

The sudden chill in the air made Viggo’s skin crawl and his breath mist before his face. His shoulders knotted when he recognised the sensation.

His instincts had been right. His pursuer was a dark mage.

The figure’s outline blurred and wavered, as if the very substance of the man was dissolving into the surrounding shadows.

Though Viggo tightened his grip, it was like trying to hold on to smoke.

A low, sibilant whisper reached his ears then—not words, but a sound reminiscent of what Fletcher had described: many voices murmuring just below the threshold of comprehension.

“Who sent you?” Viggo demanded, his voice a threatening growl in the gloom.

The figure gave no answer save for a soft, mocking laugh.

There was a sudden surge of foul power. Viggo stiffened as the shadows in the cooperage coalesced around them both, the darkness icy cold against his skin.

He was reaching for the pouch of anti-magic devices inside his coat when he realised he was alone.

His quarry had vanished.

Viggo stood motionless, senses straining against the silence. Nothing remained of his pursuer but a lingering chill in the air and the acrid scent he now recognised as the telltale marker of shadow manipulation.

“Damn it all to hell!” he cursed under his breath.

Their investigation into the missing thralls had clearly stirred the hornet’s nest and quickly at that. It seemed whoever was behind the disappearances had eyes and ears throughout London.

A troubling thought brought a heavy frown to his face.

The enemy may even have infiltrated Nightshade .

Viggo exited the cooperage, his eyes scanning the fog-shrouded street with renewed vigilance. Their plan to use Solomon as bait had just become considerably more dangerous. If their enemies were already watching Nightshade ’s movements, they would need to be exceptionally careful.

One thing was certain. They were on the right track.

And someone was very concerned about what they might discover.