Isaiah knelt in the dirt, his eyes narrowing as he traced the signs of fae. He was raised on this, he breathed for this. One of the most prolific trackers and hunters the black market had seen.

His father raised him cold and ruthless, to hunt the fae like they were little more than a rabbit. His father was a driven man, so much that it killed him.

“Fresh…” He muttered, his hood pulled up and a mask over his mouth and nose. He had his pack over his shoulders full of survival and hunting gear. His stamina was advanced. His physical skills honed after a lifetime.