Mark walked slowly behind Grace, his steps loud enough that he might as well have been shouting. He’d never been good at stealth. The boots didn’t help.

  He’d finally been able to afford a new pair. Green hadn’t liked them, of course. Mark glanced up to find the man running along rooftops, jumping across every gap. He’s certainly agile, Mark thought.

  Green never seemed rushed. Even at a sprint, every step looked chosen. He dropped down into an empty street ahead. Mark and Grace came to a stop just behind him.

  “What is it?” Mark asked.

  Green stayed silent, so long that Mark wondered if he ignored the question.

  “Grace, get back in the alley.” He said “Mark, you have that pulxed shirt of yours, right? I’d suggest hiding in the shadows.”

  Mark opened his mouth to object, but paused. He knew better than to argue. So he just nodded and watched him go.

  His black shirt rippled as he felt himself sink into the ground. The umbra pulx always gave him that strange sensation—like being in water, only thicker and not wet.

  He could feel the world outside him, the breeze and the chill of the night sky. He couldn’t see anything, though, so he drifted around aimlessly.

  Tonight’s target was a man called Thorn—at least, that’s what he called himself. Green had snatched the bounty the moment it caught his eye. Mark’s chest jumped with a thrill he was surprised he still had in him.

  They’d been taking basic labor jobs for two weeks straight. Has it only been that long? he wondered. Two weeks since he’d been taken in. Two weeks since Grace had handed him warmth again. Two weeks since he’d found purpose.

  Those weeks felt like an eternity. It was about time he felt the excitement of a hunt again. Hopefully this time, he wouldn’t end up as the prey.

  Speaking of prey, Mark thought. He could feel Green’s essence. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he followed it. I’m probably doing something stupid. He felt it in the way Green looked around, the way he moved, the way he existed.

  That last part never made sense. How could someone’s way of existing be different from anyone else’s? Mark didn’t have an answer. He could sense one thing clearly, though: Green was the hunter, and their enemy was the prey.

  Green wasn’t just a hunter however. Regular hunters chased. Green shaped where the prey would run.

  Green jumped. Mark felt his own feet leave the ground and sighed internally. He regretted it when the earth pushed him upward. He actually felt the push, like the planet held a grudge.

  He was spat out into an alley, landing on his back and knocking the air from his lungs. Looking up, he caught Green already leaping from one building to another.

  What’s with this kid and rooftops? Mark thought. He stood, reached for the wall, and climbed. It wasn’t difficult; planks of plywood stuck out everywhere, holding the walls together.

  Pulling himself onto the rooftop, he saw a small figure moving farther away. He looked down, wincing inside at what he was about to do. He stepped back and stretched, not to warm up—the running had done that—but to calm his nerves.

  Okay. I can do this. Just like running. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, cheeks puffing on the exhale. Then he clapped his hands once and bolted.

  He jumped at the rooftop’s edge. One quick downward glance made his heart race. He landed on the next building, stumbling but staying upright.

  When he looked ahead, he couldn’t see Green anymore—the darkness swallowed everything. He knew where their target was, but the rooftops made the streets confusing.

  Still, he kept running. He landed again, steadier this time, and he was starting to get the hang of it.

  The neighborhood sections of the city were cramped; no more than five feet separated the buildings. Shops, forges, inns—anything people needed—had been squeezed into whatever slivers of space they could claim.

  In truth the run was the harder part. The constant shift in elevation, from slanted peaks to flat ledges, slowed him down. The worst part was the feeling that he could go faster but wasn’t able to. The frustration nearly tripped him on more than one occasion.

  But as he ran, leaping again and again, he began to understand why Green preferred this. He could see farther, avoid weaving through alleys, and reach his destination quicker.

  Mark realized this because he was already a street away from their target’s base. He skidded to a stop and climbed down.

  He might be new to bounty hunting, but he’d taken part in enough strike-force raids to know how foolish it was to get too close too fast.

  Back on the ground, he crept as silently as he could, eventually getting a clear look at the building. It was enormous—not quite a castle, but it had a vibe that made it feel more medieval than modern.

  Creepy, Mark thought as he dashed across the street and pressed his back to a stone pillar attached to the metal gate surrounding the mansion.

  Thorn, their quarry, was said to be a very cautious man. And he lived up to it. Several lookouts held large torches and made rounds across the estate grounds.

  Why did Green come here? Mark questioned. He said something about sharpshooters, and there doesn’t seem to be any. A thud sounded from across the street.

  Mark quickly glanced over, preparing to be shot at. Instead however, he found Green climbing out of a third story window and onto the roof.

  He crouched in a spot that made the tipped roof hide his silhouetted figure from the moon backlight. That along with being perfectly still made him invisible to the human eye.

  Mark found himself being impressed, camouflage isn't all that hard, he thought. Members of the strike squad, particularly Michal, could hide on a dirt road without being spotted.

  But even Michal had shifted every once in a while. Watching Green intently, there was no such movement.

  It almost seemed superhuman in the way he sat, more a statue than a man. Mark only caught movement when he shifted deliberately to the side.

  Green reached behind himself to set up a large rifle. A rifle? It seemed out of place—less like a weapon, more like a lever waiting to be pulled. Was he planning to shoot Thorn straight out? Surely not, he's not brash.

  Regardless, Mark had no intention of sitting around. He glanced over the edge of the pillar, and was about to dash when a sound shook him from behind.

  He snapped his head back in disbelief as Green reloaded, and fired again. What is he doing!? Mark thought in alarm. He didn’t have much time to think however, as several men started running his way.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Stones,” Mark cursed, running back into the alleyway he came out of. Right as he turned into it, another gunshot sounded, then another. Mark ducked behind a building, then started running to the other side of the estate, wondering what in the flames was going on.

  “They're over there!” One man shouted.

  “It’s an ambush, stay inside the gates!” Another shouted.

  “Flames! How many are there!?”

  The last comment caught Mark’s attention. “How many are there?” He thought. There’s only one, why would they think? The answer came from the sound right above him.

  Mark ran around the corner just as something heavy cracked against the roof tiles overhead. A heartbeat later, another rifle shot thundered from a different direction entirely.

  His breath caught.

  That wasn’t the same rooftop.

  A third shot followed, farther east. The echoes overlapped, warping direction and distance.

  “They’re on the roofs!” someone yelled.

  “No, they’re in the alleys!”

  “I saw one by the south wall!”

  Mark pressed himself flat against the stone as boots pounded past him. His heartbeat sounded in his ears. This wasn’t his first rodeo however, so while he avoided the running men and gunshots, he thought of possibilities.

  He ran into a building, heading for the second floor. He had to find out what was happening before any decision was made. He looked out the window watching men run this way and that, some too scared to leave the gates, others running into the city streets.

  Another shot sounded from his building, he crouched immediately, moving to the door. The gunshot sounded again, as he crept across into the room the sound was coming from. What he saw dumbfounded him.

  It was a gun strapped to the window.

  The gun fired again with no one there. Then he saw the mechanism.

  Each shot slammed the weapon backward into a padded plate, compressing a coiled spring behind it. That single удар freed a catch, and the stored tension began to turn a small gear train.

  An escapement wheel clicked steadily, bleeding the motion away tooth by tooth. The gears crawled, drawing the firing bar back with deliberate slowness.

  Six seconds later, the bar reached its notch. The catch fell back into place. Allowing the gun to fire again.

  Mark marveled at the ingenuity of it, and as he looked out the window, it clicked.

  Every time the guards moved down one corridor, a gunshot cracked from an opposing side. The timing was cruelly precise. Any man who tried to rush the mechanism would be driven back by fire, forced to take longer, twisting routes instead of a straight charge.

  But they are getting through, Mark realized as one group managed to get into a building. He’s herding them.

  The guards abandoned the outer wall in clumps, sprinting toward the estate proper, shouting contradictory orders. Torches bobbed wildly. Gates slammed. Somewhere inside, a bell started ringing.

  The perimeter was emptying. Mark peeked out again to find every blind spot Green had pointed out earlier was now unguarded.

  “Flames…” Mark whispered.

  Suddenly, a blur fell from the rooftop right above him. Marked looked down in shock to see Green dashing at an inhuman speed right past a shadowed opening into the mansion gates.

  Mark immediately ran after him, jumping from the window. His legs protested at the treatment, causing him to stumble.

  Ahead, Green entered the mansion. Flame it, Mark thought, pushing through the pain and quickly snuck past the same way Green had.

  When he entered the mansion, he was immediately struck by how lavish it was. Despite the darkness of night. The glow from the hearth was enough to see the reflection of the gold plated rails as he walked up the fine wooden stairs.

  This place looks like my old house, Mark thought, memories coming back to him of the old days.

  A shattering sound focused his mind as he instinctively moved behind a pillar. It sounded as if a fight was happening in an adjacent room.

  Is he actually fighting a chantless alone, Mark thought. He scurried over and looked through a crack in the door, only for the door to be slammed shut by a body, smacking Mark's nose.

  Was that Green just now? Mark thought. Even if it wasn’t, Mark wasn't about to leave the man to fight alone. So he threw himself into the door and brought up his fists, expecting the two to be struggling. What he found instead, however, was Thorn's hand on Green’s neck, pinning him to the ground.

  The two looked to him, and Mark felt a sudden spike of panic.

  “Green! His hand!”

  “Flame it!!”

  Mark took a step back in surprise at Green’s outburst. Only a moment later for Green to be on his feet with Thorns wrist broken.

  Green met Mark’s eyes. Pressure. A weakness in his knees. Mark almost threw up looking into those eyes.

  “What in all the abis are you doing here?” Green said, an underlined growl following his tone.

  Before he could think, Thorn put his hand to the floor. Black crawled throughout it centered around his hand. The floor cranked, then broke underneath them.

  “I told you to stay in the shadows,” Green growled.

  Mark paused, focusing on landing safely to the first floor.

  “I’m not going to let you fight a chantless on your own.” Mark replied, looking back at Thorn, who was holding his broken wrist. “It’s stupid to try, and I won’t let you have all the fun.”

  Daring to glance away from Thorn to Green, he saw Green’s expression shift from annoyance to slight… amusement? Didn’t know the guy could be amused. Mark thought.

  Thorn’s hand was at Mark’s face a moment later, before he could reach however, Green was on him. He kicked Thorn's knee, immediately backing off to avoid his touch.

  He’s so fast, Mark thought, I know he’s an elf but still. Mark tried punching Thorn, only to have his hand stopped midway. His glove disintegrated, and a gnawing pain bit his flesh as if a swarm of bugs were quickly devouring it.

  Mark kicked Thorn’s gut, sending him into Green’s attack. The two proceeded in a flurry of strikes. Thorn on the offence while Green on defence. Though Mark had a tough time keeping up, he still joined the fight.

  It wasn’t long before they backed him into a corner. Something's off, Mark thought, backing up slightly. We shouldn’t have been able to beat him this easily.

  The fact Green lived from his touch before raised Mark’s suspicion as well. He hasn’t touched him since then, how likely is it that Green could keep a man from touching him once in even a short bout?

  “Mark!” Green shouted.

  Mark brought his head out of the cloud as he realized Thorn put a hand to his side. He clenched his teeth, and tried to back away, only for Thorn to move with him. I’m dead.

  He closed his eyes. When he opened them he saw a bright light right in front of him. He immediately put his hand up to shade his eyes. When he did, however, he saw Green standing in front of him, he looked to be struggling.

  “Green?” Mark asked.

  Mark’s eyes widened when he could still feel Thorns touch, he looked down to find confusion on the man’s face. Mark gut punched the man away, backing up.

  Green relaxed, then slumped slightly. “Leave,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I told you to leave, those torchlights are his guards. Escape through the shadows, I’ll deal with Thorn, but I won’t be able to get out if I have to keep you safe.”

  Mark was about to argue, but just like before, he knew better than that. So he slipped into the shadows, and moved out.

  He was spate out in the streets. He wasn’t sure how far he’d come, but the planet wouldn’t let him stay forever. He said up, wincing at the pain of his hand. The flesh had rotted at the touch of Thorn, though it hadn’t gotten to the bone, of that he was fairly sure.

  He looked back at the mansion to find a fire building up. Had Green gotten out? Was he still alive? The boy was remarkably strong, but he was still a mortal man, or elf.

  One thing, however, Mark couldn’t wait for. He ran back, back to her. He didn’t know what the future had, he didn’t know if Green would approve, but he had to.

  The scare of death wasn’t nearly so potent as it is now, I wonder if that’s her doing, Mark thought. In the mansion, Mark had thought he had died, at that moment, he had realized he had made a mistake.

  He wouldn’t die with regret. So when he found her hiding being two buildings, he quickly squished himself between them. Though too tight for him to fit comfortably, her slender frame made it no problem.

  “Grace?” he asked.

  Grace looked up, then smiled. A beautiful smile.

  “Yes?”

  “Will you marry me?” Mark said, his heart skipping a beat when he said it.

  It might have seemed foolish on the outside. He'd known her barely two weeks after all. Yet it felt right, it felt like his question fit, though the timing nor the location really did.

  She tilted her head. Even if she says no, I only have to ask her again, he thought.

  She smiled again, then took his hand. “You're very bad at setting the mood, you know.”