Page 36 of New World

A slow and agonizing way to die.

Dorane, to his credit, looked unimpressed.

Zoak smirked, watching the two circle each other, waiting for the first strike.

The fight erupted in a blur of motion—faster than most beings would have been able to track. Blades clashed, sparks flew, and Zoak’s smirk deepened as he observed the violent, ruthless exchange.

Dorane fought well, but Cee was relentless, pressing her advantage. And then…

A mistake.

Zoak saw the moment it happened—the flicker of pain in Dorane’s expression as Cee’s blade sliced across his upper arm. The telltale shimmer of poison burning into his bloodstream.

Dorane stumbled. The Gallant Staff slipped from his grip and rolled under the container to his left. Zoak tensed and pulled his laser rifle up from where he had rested it against the wall of the building he was standing on.

I think not, Cee.

He sighted the angle he’d need to take her down before she could land the last strike, and his fingers twitched on the trigger. He would enjoy watching the surprise on her face as she realized her life had been claimed instead.

A pinpoint of red light flashed through the air—small, fast. Cee stiffened in surprise and raised her hand to her back, and then her body jerked several more times.

Zoak froze, his predatory instincts flaring, before his eyes flashed to the entrance of the alley. Zoak blinked in surprise at the cyborg’s choice to turn her back on her target, as she did the same. Zoak shifted silently, and finally caught sight of a cloaked figure at the alley’s mouth, standing unnaturally still. The shadows clung to the figure like a second skin. He couldn’t make out the intruder’s features.

Then Cee’s body exploded.

The blast rocked the alleyway, sending a shockwave through the surrounding structures. Zoak gripped the edge of the wall and remained perfectly still, barely shifting with the force of the explosion. His slitted pupils narrowed to thin slivers as he watched the aftermath unfold.

From the smoke and debris, Dorane slowly emerged, brushing his uninjured hand over his long coat with the nonchalance of a man who should have been dead. Asta and Jammer appeared seconds later, their expressions a mix of disbelief and irritation.

Zoak’s tongue flicked against the roof of his mouth. They are not responsible for Cee’s death. That much is clear.

His gaze flickered back toward the alley’s entrance, but the cloaked figure was gone. A slow, dangerous grin spread across Zoak’s face.

Interesting.

He had assumed this hunt was between himself and Dorane, but perhaps… perhaps there was another player on the board.

His curiosity stirred, simmering beneath his usual cold amusement. Who are you?

His fingers drummed absently against the railing, his keen gaze lingering on the empty space where the figure had stood.

Then—he felt it.

A ripple of awareness.

His body went completely still.

For the first time in years, a sensation crawled down the back of his neck like a whisper against his skin.

He was being watched.

Slowly, he turned his head, scanning the surrounding rooftops, the darkened windows of the abandoned structures lining the alley. His gaze moved methodically, calculating, searching.

Nothing.

But that didn’t mean no one was there.

A slow, predatory smile curved his lips as his internal desire for survival kicked in and he melted back into the shadows… slipping away. And yet, the whisper against his skin remained.

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