Rowan darted down the crooked alleyway, boots pounding against the cobblestones. The stolen pouch of coins rattled in his belt, mocking him with every step. He had thought this would be an easy lift—just another careless noble passing through town with more wealth than he could ever spend. He hadn’t counted on the guards, though. Not just the usual sluggish men who patrolled the market, but trained swordsmen, heavy steps closing in behind him like the march of executioners.
“Fox!” one of them bellowed, the name spat like a curse. “You’ve nowhere left to run!”
Rowan’s grin was sharp, though sweat stung his eyes. Nowhere to run? That was what they always thought. The trick was making them believe it right until the last second. He turned a corner, only to curse under his breath. The alley narrowed into a dead end, hemmed in by a high stone wall.
He stopped, chest heaving, his mind racing. No crates to climb, no windows low enough, nothing but flat stone and the sound of boots closing in. He pressed his back against the wall, dagger drawn though he knew it would do little against three armored men.
“Well,” he muttered, voice dry, “this is going to hurt.”
The guards appeared, blades gleaming, their heavy breathing filling the alley. Rowan straightened, forcing a smirk. “Gentlemen,” he said with mock courtesy, “I’d offer you a cut, but I’ve already spent it in my head.”
They advanced, and for the first time in years Rowan felt true panic clawing up his throat. This time, he’d pushed too far. No clever escape, no rooftop leap—just steel and blood waiting for him.
And then it happened.
A hiss, a spark—and smoke poured into the alley, thick and sudden. The world vanished in a gray curtain. The guards cursed, coughing and stumbling, blades slashing at shadows. Rowan blinked, confused, his heart slamming against his ribs. He spun, searching for the source.
And there she was.
Perched on the top of the wall like a raven, her black cloak drawn close, hair glowing like embers beneath the hood. Her expression was the same as ever—exasperated, unimpressed, as if rescuing him from mortal peril was just another tedious chore.
“You really don’t make this easy,” she said flatly, rolling her eyes.
Rowan laughed in disbelief, half a breathless choke, half a sigh of relief. “You came.”
“Of course I came. You’d be dead otherwise.” She extended a pale hand down toward him. “Now hurry, before they realize smoke isn’t fire.”
He didn’t hesitate. Shoving his dagger away, he leapt up, catching her wrist. Her grip was strong, firmer than he remembered, and she pulled him with surprising ease. Together, they scrambled over the wall, Rowan scrambling like a stray cat while she moved with smooth, deliberate grace.
On the other side, they landed in a heap, Rowan’s laugh bursting out before he could stop it. He rolled to his feet, brushing soot and dust from his tunic. Behind them, the guards shouted in confusion, their voices muffled by the stone barrier.
“Well,” Rowan said, grinning as he looked at her, “you do know how to make an entrance.”
Her glare could have cut sharper than any blade. “You stole from the wrong man, Rowan. Do you have any idea who he is?”
“Rich. Arrogant. Bad taste in guards?” He smirked, though his heart was still hammering from the chase. “Besides, you’d miss me too much if I didn’t stir up trouble.”
She shook her head, the faintest twitch of her lips betraying amusement before she schooled her face again. “One day, I won’t be here to drag you out of your messes.”
“Then I’ll just have to make sure you always are,” he shot back, softer now, more sincere. He met her eyes, and for a heartbeat the noise of the town, the shouts of the guards, the danger—all of it fell away. She was here, his only anchor, and that was enough.
She tugged her hood lower, already turning away. “Come on. We can’t linger. If they track us—”
“They won’t,” Rowan interrupted, confidence sliding back into his voice. “Not with you around.”
For once, she didn’t argue. She only sighed, pulling her cloak tighter as they melted into the streets