Page 19 of Court of Aether and Shadows

I had to be thankful I had survived their merciless alleyways without being taken advantage of; especially as a woman.

As I made my way through the familiar passageways, my footsteps echoing hollowly, I couldn't shake the feeling that I no longer belonged there. The rough concrete walls felt moreconfining than ever, the low ceiling pressing down on me like a physical weight.

Foreign territory, despite everything being the same as it always has after all these years.

Two weeks had passed since I'd woken up in Elenore's makeshift clinic. My wound had healed remarkably fast, leaving behind only a faint pink scar that occasionally twinged with phantom pain.

But the dreams... the dreams hadn't stopped.

Every night, I found myself drawn back to that otherworldly realm of shadow and starlight, where the Shadow Prince waited with burning eyes and promises of power.

I shook off the memory as I approached Vincent's office, adjusting the collar of my leather jacket nervously.

The boss had summoned me for a debrief, and I knew better than to keep him waiting. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the heavy steel door, the sound reverberating through the empty corridor.

"Enter," came the curt reply, muffled by the thick metal.

Here we go…

I stepped inside, immediately assessing the room out of habit.

Vincent sat behind his massive desk, a relic of mahogany and brass that looked absurdly out of place in the concrete bunker. Its polished surface gleamed under the harsh overhead lights, marred only by a few carefully arranged file folders and a crystal tumbler half-full of amber liquid.

I realized quickly that he wasn’t alone.

Marco lounged in one of the chairs across from him, trying and failing to look nonchalant. His greasy hair was slicked back, and he wore a cheap suit that strained across his paunch.

My lip curled in disgust at the sight of him, remembering his cowardice during our last mission. For as long as I could remember, Marco and I simply never got along.

Never understood why, but it was as if he carried a vendetta against my very existence. Side glances, far away sneers. His obvious displeasure with my presence made me wonder if I smelled or something.

Clearly it wasn’t my scent or anything, or else Liam would have said something ages ago. The few times where I used to be subconscious about it, I’d confide in him to tell me if I did have an ick smell clinging to me.

My best friend always said I was the best-smelling person in this entire underground. He must have been saying it just to lift my spirits when I was paranoid about Marco’s behavior, but now that I was older — and no longer a people-pleasing newbie — I couldn’t give two shits.

If I ever did smell, it had to be because of some long 72-hour mission that left us sweaty and disgusting after cleaning up the horrendous mess we made killing targets left and right.

"Ah, there she is," Vincent said, his voice as cold and emotionless as ever.

Could say my recovery doesn’t mean shit when there’s no crazy assignments being begged for our utmost attention.

He leaned back in his high-backed leather chair, steepling his fingers as his steel-gray eyes assessed me. "Our little Canary, back from the brink of death. How are you feeling?"

So I guess he does care a little.

I stood before his desk, my face a neutral mask that I'd perfected over years in this life. I’d love to roll my eyes but that wouldn’t go over too well, especially with Marco being present to further scrutinize my every move.

"Fully recovered and ready for duty, sir."

Vincent's eyes narrowed, studying me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. I’m sure he’s questioning if that’s true, but my masked expression and straight posture can steer him astray from the idea of leaving me behind in whatever mission is next for our special unit.

After a long moment, he nodded, seemingly satisfied.

"Good. We have much to discuss regarding the... incident at the warehouse."

I felt Marco tense beside me, the leather of his chair creaking as he shifted uncomfortably. I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes, yet again.

The coward was probably worried I'd throw him under the bus for his pathetic performance during the mission. As if Vincent didn't already know exactly what had happened.

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