The light outside Rosebury's Finer Inn was beginning to fade into overcast gray. The sun, once radiant over the stone streets, now hid behind swollen clouds that whispered of an approaching storm.
Ewan Blair returned to the table at the café stand, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face.
"She had urgent business," he said of Lady Miren, folding his coat neatly over his arm. "But I do apologize for the interruption."
Elowen smiled faintly. "She seemed… interesting."
He chuckled. "That's one word for her."
They continued their conversation for a little while longer. He asked her about her favorite books and hinted once more—without pressing too hard—at his interest in something deeper between them. She responded kindly, always with grace, but her heart remained divided.
And no matter how charming Ewan was, he was not Julian Ravenshade.
When the sky began to dim, Elowen stood.
"I should head back," she said. "It's a bit of a ride to Greystone Dock."
Ewan nodded and called for her carriage, escorting her with gentlemanly courtesy and opening the door himself.
"Thank you for this morning," he said with sincerity. "Truly."
She smiled again, hand on the door. "It was… nice."
The carriage pulled away, wheels clattering as it left the refined edge of Rosebury behind. Elowen leaned her head against the window.
As they reached the outlying roads and crossed into the hills, the storm struck.
Rain came down in sheets. Cold wind howled through the trees.
"What a cold," Elowen muttered, pulling her cloak tighter. A shiver worked its way down her spine.
---
Back in Rosebury, far from polite conversations and gentle breakfasts, Julian Ravenshade stood on the outskirts of town. A forest path curved between moss-covered stones, and thorns clawed silently at the air.
He hadn't gone far. He hadn't needed to.
When he'd grasped Elowen's hand earlier, he'd caught it.
A scent.
Sorcery. Sharp and bitter.
And worse: Blackstones.
His eyes had narrowed, but he had masked the reaction with his usual smirk.
Now, he stood in the wooded edge of Rosebury, where town gave way to ruins and thickets.
He recalled the scene again.
That woman.
That handshake.
A flicker of magic. what was she doing with Blair? And why would a lady shook hands with another in such a manly manner- unless. He smirked.
Julian didn't need to guess.
He moved fast, following the trace like a predator, sharp and silent. The scent led him down cobbled alleys, past merchant stalls, and toward the ivy-wrapped stone walls of Rosebury's Old Museum.
The museum's western side opened into a hidden lane, dark and narrow. A perfect shadowed pocket for illegal dealings.
And there, stepping into the shadows, was her.
Julian moved faster than sight.
In a flash, he apparated in front of her, with vampiric speed grabbing her by the neck and lifting her clean feet off the ground.
She choked, legs kicking in the air. Her eyes were wild.
"Let me go!" she shrieked. "I'm just a lady!"
Julian's eyes glowed dimly. "It would take more than sorcery to fool me, creature."
The creature in front of him smirked and grinned in a wicked fashion as if knowing that it has been caught.
Her glamour flickered. And then it dropped.
What stood before him was no lady.
A young man, average in build, with pale ginger hair and slitted black eyes. His tongue flickered between his teeth—a forked tongue, split like a serpent's, dark and diseased.
Julian raised one brow. "A male witch. Of course."
The man writhed and summoned a flicker of dark energy. He lunged—but Julian sidestepped easily.
The battle was short.
Julian didn't need effort. He was faster. Stronger.
After a brief flurry of movement, a glowing claw grazed Julian's arm—tearing into his coat and shirt and cutting shallowly across his ribs.
Still, Julian didn't flinch.
No wince. No stagger. Just a cold aura that thickened like fog.
He grabbed the sorcerer's wrist and twisted it until bones cracked.
"Please!" the man gasped, eyes wide.
Julian didn't answer.
"I...I.. I ... please, no."
A swift blow to the temple knocked him unconscious.
Julian looked down at the torn coat, blood dampening the fabric. He tore the sleeve clean off, letting the injury air. He healed fast—faster than most. But the Blackstone-infused claws would slow that down.
"Seems Rosebury isn't as clean as it pretends," he murmured.
He dragged the unconscious man into the shadows and vanished.
---
A mile beneath the surface, hidden behind old roots and enchanted barriers, sat one of Julian's personal dungeons—a place known only to a handful of his most trusted allies. It had been carved deep under the cliffs near the Secretariat, veiled with layers of protective magic.
He stepped into the stone chamber and dumped the sorcerer's body onto the floor with a dull thud.
Moments later, a carriage rolled to a halt above ground. The trapdoor creaked open.
Johnnie and the detective stepped in, soaked from the rain.
"We were deceived," Johnnie admitted, his voice tight.
Julian glanced at the witch, still unconscious.
"Of course you were," he said coolly, "By him."
The detective's jaw dropped. "What in the—?"
He stepped closer, examining the torn glamour, the cracked fingernails still tinged with spell ink.
Julian wiped his blade with a white cloth, stained red.
Johnnie stared.
This was why he was the boss.
The detective nodded. "The sly pureblood himself."
Julian didn't respond.
He merely turned toward the chamber's stone door and muttered, "Chain him. And burn anything he brought."
He stepped into the corridor beyond, leaving behind the stink of sorcery and the sound of quiet admiration.
---
Far away, in a carriage riding through cold wind and heavy rain, Elowen closed her eyes.
Something about the day had shifted.
Not just in the weather.
But in the air around her.
And for a second—just one—she could've sworn she felt eyes on her again.
Not Blair's.
Not any man's.
But the eyes of something ancient.
Dark.
And impossibly near.