Page 214 of Magical Mission
I couldn’t breathe properly. I couldn’t look away.
Because whoever that was, whatever that was, they weren’t just watching.
And they were waiting forme.
Chapter Fifty
I pushed through the restaurant door so fast it banged against the frame, the wind catching it as I rushed into the night.
My boots hit the cobblestones hard. The warmth from dinner, from laughter, from the illusion of calm vanished the instant the cold air sank into my chest like a warning. I ran, my eyes locked on the shadows beneath the bookbindery overhang where I’d seen the figure, no longer still.
They were moving now.
Swirling.
And not just one figure. Two.
I recognized the shapes immediately.
Krina and Mys.
Krina’s hair was loose around her shoulders, her coat flaring out behind her as she turned sharply, a flicker of magic crackling at her fingertips. Mys stood slightly ahead of her, her posture too casual, too cocky, like she wasn’t in a town pulsing with old wards and nervous witches.
But it wasn’t just the two of them.
A shadow twisted between them, no shape, no weight, just motion. A whisper of darkness that shimmered where the light should catch. It spun between their feet like it was tethered orfeeding.
“Hey!” I shouted, my voice echoing down the street.
Krina’s head jerked toward me.
The shadow paused.
Then flared.
A shock of wind rolled out from the corner like a slap. Windows shuddered. A lantern flickered and blew out.
Mys hissed something I couldn’t hear. Krina raised both hands, and for a moment, I thought she might strike.
But she didn’t.
She grabbed her arm and ran.
The shadow, whatever it was, rippled, coiled in on itself, then disappeared into the night like smoke pulled through a crack in the sky.
I chased after them. “Krina!”
They didn’t stop. I turned the corner hard, just in time to see the blur of their coats vanishing into a narrow passage between buildings. My breath came in sharp gasps, but I followed, dodging trash bins and low-hanging signs.
“Krina,stop!”
The alley spat me out into the courtyard behind the bakery. Empty.
They were gone.
But the shadow, thatthing,its chill still clung to the air, to the stones, to my skin.
My hand went to my hip, pressing against the butterfly mark. It was warm. Alert. Not burning. Not warning. But listening.
