The Ship let out a soft ding as it materialized near the Hot Spot. The moment the doors slid open, John all but bolted out, boots thudding against the cracked concrete as his eyes swept the gloom.

  Then—light.

  A blinding brilliance surged toward him, swirling with hues no human fashion could replicate. For a second, his breath hitched. Ethereal. Untouchable. A goddess wrapped in enchantment and fear. But his gift cut through the illusion, and the figure behind the Glamour took shape. “Really overdoing it, princess,” John muttered, shielding his eyes with a faint, crooked smile.

  Ziraya froze mid-step. Her eyes darted around the alley, pulse visibly pounding at her throat. “How did you recognize me?” she hissed, voice tight with panic. “Is the Glamour faulty?”

  John, realizing his mistake too late, waved her off like it was nothing. “Doesn’t work on me. Never did.”

  Her narrowed eyes met his—piercing, mistrustful. The tether that once bound them had snapped, but something in her gaze lingered, searching for lies. “Really?” she pressed. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

  “If I was trying to stab you in the back, I’d have done it already,” he said with a shrug.

  She didn’t answer. Just exhaled—sharp, shaky. Then, with a crack in her usual poise: “I… need help.” The words felt foreign in her mouth. Her shoulders hunched like she was trying to shield them from the very admission.

  John blinked. Help? From her? “What do you need, princess?”

  “I’m not a princess anymore,” she snapped—and then, more softly, as if the truth hurt to say, “I’m just… Ziraya.”

  John raised an eyebrow. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means stop asking questions and do as you're told, mercenary,” she snapped again, but her voice wavered. Her chin dropped, and what followed was barely more than breath: “Please.”

  John didn’t need more than that. Something was wrong. Very wrong. His eyes swept the area, noting how she flinched at every distant footstep, how her fingers twitched near the hilt at her waist. Like prey expecting the hunter’s jaws at any moment. “Come with me,” he said, voice steadier than he felt. A part of him—the part that always guarded against her—wanted to push her away. But the rest of him? It had already turned toward the shadows, leading her into the tunnels.

  They moved fast, boots clattering against the ground. Neither spoke. Not until they reached the old Wolfheart safehouse tucked into a disused street of the Bazaar.

  “This place smells like wet dog,” Ziraya muttered, wrinkling her nose.

  John smirked. “Old Wolfheart safehouse. Only Chase and I know it still exists.”

  Ziraya’s entire posture shifted. In an instant, her sword was out—glimmering obsidian in a shaking grip. “You betrayed me?” she spat, her mana flaring around the blade. Her breath came in short gasps, pupils narrowed.

  “Calm down!” John raised both hands, backing away slowly. “Nobody’s betraying anyone. It’s safe, alright? It’s warded. Reinforced. You’re fine.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes darted between shadows, her blade trembling. The building groaned under the pressure of her aura.

  “Ziraya,” he said—gently, carefully, the name unfamiliar and strange on his tongue. It carried more weight than he expected.

  She froze. Then, slowly, as if waking from a nightmare, her fingers slipped from the hilt. The sword hit the ground with a metallic clatter. She sank to her knees.

  And broke.

  The sobs came without warning. No scream, no wail—just silent, shuddering gasps as she collapsed in on herself, shoulders heaving. John stood frozen, arms twitching at his sides, every memory of her volatile Authority flashing behind his eyes.

  Still, he stepped forward. Wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t know why. Every instinct told him to keep his distance. To stay cool. Detached.

  But none of that mattered right now.

  Her tears soaked into his coat as the minutes crawled past. Her sobs echoed through the safehouse like ghostly whispers, and he held her until the tremors slowed and silence returned.

  When she finally pulled away, her eyes were red-rimmed, puffy. Her breath hitched as she wiped at her cheeks with shaking hands. Their faces were too close—he could feel the heat of her skin, see the flicker of power in her irises.

  “T-Thanks,” Ziraya said, stumbling over the word like it didn’t belong in her mouth. She stood, crossing her arms and turning away. John leaned back against the wall, arms folded, doing his best to ignore the lingering heat where she’d touched him.

  “You gonna tell me what the hell happened now?” he asked, voice casual—but not quite as steady as before.

  Ziraya hesitated, her fingers curling tightly around her sleeves.

  “I—” Ziraya exhaled, and it came out shakier than she meant. Her legs gave out beneath her and she dropped into the old chair like something hollow, the illusion of strength crumpling around her like paper in the rain. “There was a ceremony, back home. For this.” She unsheathed her sword partway.

  The dark, gleaming metal shimmered a faint glow. “It’s a dragon-blooded thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

  John leaned against the table, watching her with an uneasy frown. Something about her—her slumped shoulders, the tremble in her voice—made his skin itch.

  Ziraya’s next words were quieter, ragged. “And then… my father announced I’d be married off. Just like that. A gift-wrapped heir with a pretty sword.”

  John stiffened. “What?”

  “I know,” she said with a brittle smile. “So I ran.”

  “You… ran?” he echoed, stunned.

  “There was no other way. He never would’ve let me leave after that announcement. But walls mean nothing to me anymore.” Her voice dipped low, nearly lost in the stillness of the safehouse. “Bonding,” she whispered. The name of her Authority echoed through the air like a tuning fork struck against bone. Ziraya shuddered, as if something primal inside her stirred in response—and John felt it too, like the air had fractured for a heartbeat.

  He tried to steady himself with humor. “Yeah, I doubt anything could stop you now.”

  Ziraya gave a short laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I used to think I knew who I was. Then the Authority came. Then you came. And now…” Her gaze dropped. “Now, I’m not sure of anything.”

  A silence settled between them. John looked away, throat tight. He couldn’t handle it—her vulnerability, the way her sadness twisted something deep in his chest. Ziraya Scalebound, the terrifying heir of a ruthless bloodline, now looked like a girl who had just lost everything.

  “I’ve lived every moment of my life by my father’s rules. And when I realized I was the Authority of Bonding… something changed. It’s like the world cracked open, and I finally saw the cage I was in.”

  “You think being chosen makes you special?” John said, more bitterly than he meant to.

  Ziraya chuckled softly, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “Maybe it does. But it also gave me the strength to leave. Even if it meant being alone.”

  That word—alone—hit him harder than it should have. He looked at her, really looked, and saw the weight she carried. The sword. The Authority. The name she could no longer bear to claim.

  She didn’t notice his stare. Or maybe she pretended not to. “There’s a reason I messaged you,” she said, changing the subject with a sniff. “I need a new identity. You know someone, right?”

  John blinked. “Who do you think I am?”

  “Someone who lies well enough to fool Sarah,” she said with a knowing look. “You look like you know where to get this kind of thing.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he muttered, half amused, half offended.

  She huffed and crossed her arms, the motion instinctive. Defensive. “You’re a mercenary. Don’t act like you’re innocent.”

  “I have a name.”

  “Right.” She hesitated—then spoke his name softly, almost reverently. “John.”

  His breath caught. The sound of his name on her lips made the room feel smaller, tighter. She cleared her throat and looked away.

  “Anyway,” she continued quickly, “do you know someone or not?”

  John shook his head and pulled out the identity gem that once belonged to Thomas Greenheart. “This? This came from... let’s say, unusual circumstances.”

  Ziraya narrowed her eyes. “Could you be any more vague?”

  He sighed. “Fine. Chase gave it to me. But I doubt he’s got anything lying around that would work for a dragon-blooded on the run.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Even if he did, why would he help me? Our families are mortal enemies.”

  John tilted his head. “Maybe... if he believed you truly walked away from the Scalebound name, he might help you just to spite them.”

  Ziraya considered that, her expression thoughtful. “That does sound like something I would do.” But then she squinted at him. “Still, why would he do that for you? What’s your connection to him?”

  John hesitated. “We go way back.”

  She didn’t buy it. “How is that possible? Our agents watched him for years. He barely spoke to mages. There was that weird phase where he pretended to be human, but—”

  Her voice trailed off. She stared at him. Something clicked.

  John’s heart thudded like a war drum in his chest. “What?” he asked, voice dry. “Don’t get any weird ideas.”

  “John…” she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “Are you a human?”

  “I—No. Definitely not.” The lie came fast—too fast—and he hated how fake it sounded in his own ears. He forced a casual shrug, like it didn’t matter. Like her words hadn’t just set off every panic alarm in his brain.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Ziraya let out a soft, uncertain laugh. “Of course not. That’d be absurd. A human casting spells? That doesn’t make any sense. Even if it was the case, that’d be a massive breach of the Masquerade. It would be… unprecedented.”

  John nodded stiffly. “Exactly.”

  But she was still watching him. Closely. Like she wasn’t entirely convinced.

  He scrambled for a distraction. “You’re not even an Enforcer anymore, remember? Why worry about that?”

  It worked—barely. She leaned back with a quiet sigh, though the suspicion hadn’t fully left her eyes.

  “You’re right.” Ziraya’s voice was soft, but it held a sharp edge. Her slit-pupiled eyes narrowed, troubled. The seed of doubt had been planted—John could see it in the way her tail curled tightly around her ankle, a reflex of someone trying to ground herself. “It’s just… hard to adapt,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “I have no regrets, but… the world of Enforcers is all I’ve ever known. Without it, I don’t know who I am.”

  John hesitated, unsure how to comfort a dragon-blooded warrior who had walked away from everything. But he offered the one thing he could—steadfastness. “I’ll help you however I can,” he said, his voice steady. “Authority begets Authority, right? We’re both targets anyway. We might as well stick together.”

  That made her freeze. Ziraya turned away, pretending to study a hairline crack in the wall, but the tips of her ears burned with a faint blush.

  “What?” John teased, tilting his head. “Did I offend our precious princess?”

  “N-Nothing,” she stammered, avoiding his gaze as her tail flicked behind her. She hated how easily he got under her skin. “Just… shut up. What do we do next?”

  “I’ll ask Chase. If that’s okay with you.” John leaned back, trying to look casual, but he was watching her carefully. “He might come by, so please—try not to kill each other.”

  Ziraya scoffed. “As if you could stop me.”

  “Don’t underestimate me,” John said, flexing his fingers with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “I won’t do anything unless he attacks first.” Ziraya’s fingers hovered over the hilt of her blade. “But I can’t promise more.”

  “That’ll have to do.” John sighed and pulled out his Terminal.

  Thomas: You got a minute?

  They sat in silence, the air between them thick with unsaid things. Their eyes met once—just once—and both looked away like startled children, hearts hammering too loud in their ears.

  Then John’s Terminal buzzed.

  Chase: Not really. The Scalebound are on the move. It’s like someone set their asses on fire.

  John smiled faintly.

  Thomas: About that. Pretty sure I know why.

  Chase: Did your scaly girl say something? You know you shouldn’t trust pillow talk, right?

  John’s expression darkened.

  Thomas: Fuck off, I’m serious. Come to the safehouse. Alone.

  Chase: What did you do?

  Thomas: Just come. And don’t be mad.

  Chase: Fine. Coming.

  John stared at the screen for a long moment, then slowly lowered the device. “He’s coming.”

  Ziraya’s tail lashed the floor as she rose to her feet. “Great,” she muttered. Her hand hovered once more near her sword. Her eyes flicked to the door, then to John. “You better not screw this up.”

  “Please,” John said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “just let me talk. Let me handle him.”

  Minutes crawled by like hours. The air was taut, ready to snap. When the knock finally came, it was three short raps—sharp and impatient.

  John opened the door.

  “John, this better be—” Chase stopped mid-sentence. His eyes locked onto Ziraya.

  The world snapped.

  With a guttural growl, red mana flared around Chase’s body like a bloody halo. Muscles tore and reshaped. Claws burst from his hands. In seconds, the heir of the Wolfheart family stood before them in his werewolf form, eyes glowing with pure aggression. Ziraya stood instantly, her blade humming with restrained power, the air warping faintly as mana coiled around her.

  “STOP!” John shouted, whipping out both of his weapons—one aimed at each of them. “CALM THE FUCK DOWN!”

  Chase’s eyes burned into Ziraya. “What the hell is she doing here?” he growled, fangs bared.

  “She’s why the Scalebound are on the move!” John shouted, trying to stay upright against the oppressive mana crackling between his friends. “She ran away. She’s not with them anymore.”

  “You—” Chase stepped back as if punched in the gut. “You betrayed us?”

  “Goddammit, Chase, use your brain for once!” John snarled, sweat dripping down his temple. “She left her family. She’s on the run. Does that sound like a traitor to you?”

  Ziraya crossed her arms, defiant even in the tension. “What part of ‘ran away’ didn’t you understand, mutt?”

  “Ziraya, not now!” John hissed.

  Chase let out a ragged sigh and slowly shifted back into his human form. His hands shook as he wiped sweat off his brow. “You two are on a first-name basis now? You better explain this, Scalebound lizard.”

  “I already did.” Ziraya’s voice was quiet but firm. “My father tried to marry me off. I refused and left. I’m not going back. I’m not Scalebound anymore. I’m just… Ziraya.”

  There was a long silence.

  Chase stared at her, his brow furrowed. Then he turned his gaze to John, eyes wide with disbelief. “So… you’re telling me the only heir of the Scalebound dynasty—just up and walked away?” he whispered.

  John nodded.

  Ziraya did too, her body still coiled like a spring.

  “This is… This is insane.” Chase ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, shaking breath. “Do you even realize the chaos this is going to cause?”

  “I don’t care,” Ziraya said. “I just want to live on my own terms. For once.”

  “Dude.” Chase seized John by the shoulders, his voice a hoarse whisper tinged with disbelief. “Do you realize what you’ve just done?” His eyes flicked toward Ziraya, who sat against the far wall like a coiled spring. Her arms crossed, her tail twitching behind her, but her amber eyes didn’t leave John. “This fling with her was one thing,” Chase said.

  “We’re not like that!” both John and Ziraya barked at the same time, their voices overlapping in perfect, exasperated unison.

  Chase blinked once, then gave a tired, crooked smile. “Right. Of course. Totally innocent. You two just happen to be hiding out together, playing house in a safehouse that technically belongs to my family.”

  John scowled and slapped Chase’s hands off him. “I’ve told you a thousand times, it’s not like that.”

  Chase folded his arms and leaned in slightly, his voice low and tight. “So you’re telling me you’re willing to piss off the entire Scalebound family, risk a blood-feud, and start a full-blown war… all for someone you barely know?”

  John didn’t answer right away. His gaze slid to Ziraya, and something passed between them—quiet, unspoken, but steady. Her expression softened just a fraction. She didn’t look away. “It’s more complicated than that,” John said finally.

  “Of course it is,” Chase muttered. “It’s always complicated with you.” He turned to Ziraya, voice growing sharp. “And you—your father’s not just powerful. He’s a monster. Offense fully intended.”

  Ziraya’s tail slammed against the ground with a loud thwack. “I’m not his property,” she hissed.

  “No,” Chase said flatly. “But he thinks you are. And the moment he learns you’re gone, he’ll burn half the city looking for you. He finds you with us, and that’s war.” “I can’t protect you both alone,” Chase added, rubbing his temples. “This… this isn’t some back-alley duel. This could be the start of a total war.”

  John let himself fall into a rickety wooden chair with a groan, fishing out a cigarette and lighting it with a trembling hand. The smoke curled around his head like a stormcloud. Ziraya wrinkled her nose. Chase grimaced and looked away.

  “They’re not after your people,” John muttered, exhaling. “They’re after her. That’s what the movement’s about.”

  “And you brought her here?” Chase hissed. “To a Wolfheart warehouse?” He rubbed his jaw, visibly reeling. “If anyone saw you—”

  “They didn’t,” John interrupted. “Show him the cloak.”

  Ziraya kept her eyes fixed on Chase as she reached down, pulled the enchanted cloak around her shoulders, and activated the Glamour. Her silhouette shimmered and blurred until her dragon-blooded features melted into something unremarkable.

  Chase blinked, rubbing his eyes. “Alright. Take that off. It’s making my vision twitch.”

  Ziraya obliged, the illusion dissolving.

  “At least you weren’t seen together,” Chase muttered. He slumped into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands. “This is fucking insane.”

  “It’s not that bad,” John said with a weak smirk.

  Chase snorted. “I have to tell my mom.”

  That made John flinch. “You sure?”

  “I have no choice. If the Scalebound start sniffing around, we need to be ready. And if anyone’s gonna talk her down from burning this place to the ground, it’s me.”

  “Wouldn’t she just kill both of us to solve the problem?” Ziraya asked, her tone dry as sand.

  Chase stared at her, incredulous. “I… I still can’t believe I’m talking to you here.”

  He turned to John, face pale. “You don’t understand how weird this is for me. I would have never thought that she would be here, in my hideout, glaring at me like she owns the place.”

  Ziraya’s hand twitched toward her blade.

  “Calm down,” John warned, flicking ash into a tray. His tone was firm—sharper than usual.

  Chase backed off with a shrug and a sheepish smile. “Okay, okay. Truce. For now.”

  “I need an identity gem for her,” John said. “Something off the grid. Think you’ve got one lying around?”

  Chase rubbed the back of his neck. “If we had any, I’d know. I’ve been combing through our inventory since that warehouse mission. And we don’t have any.”

  John frowned. “Don’t you know anyone? Someone… quiet?”

  Chase hesitated. “My family’s got people, sure, but I can’t just walk in and ask for a gem for a fugitive Scalebound heir. That would be suicide.”

  He eyed Ziraya again. “You haven’t told her, right? About… you?”

  “She knows my real name,” John said, calmly. “Just that.”

  Chase’s breath caught. Then he nodded. “Okay. Good. Your case was different. We had your gem lying around for years. We collected it after Fallwater and it was collecting dust. But for her?” He sighed and leaned back. “Different story.”

  “So… what now?” John asked.

  Chase looked genuinely lost for a moment. He tapped the table absently, then met John's eyes. “We could go to my mom. Maybe. But if she finds out who Ziraya really is… I can’t guarantee she’ll help. Hell, she might kill both of us.”

  “She wouldn’t dare,” Ziraya said with a snort, but the flick of her tail betrayed her tension.

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Chase muttered. “Protecting you, John, is one thing. But protecting a runaway Scalebound heir? That’s a whole new nightmare.” He looked at Ziraya again, eyes tired but sharp. “Look, I know you made a choice and I trust John. But I’ve spent my whole life fighting monsters. I still can’t tell if you are one.”

  “Neither can I,” she whispered.

  After a long pause, Chase grunted. “Fuck me. I need a drink.”

  Ziraya leaned back, arms crossed, tail flicking like a metronome of barely contained nerves. “Couldn’t you just claim you need a fake gem for a dragon-blooded infiltrator?” she asked, her voice a mix of sarcasm and suggestion.

  Chase didn’t even look at her. “We’ve got enough infiltrators already,” he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And this isn’t the time for cloak-and-dagger crap. Even the slightest whisper of movement could send the whole region spiraling into war. My family’s staying locked down.”

  Ziraya snorted, but didn’t press him.

  “So what do we do, then?” John asked. His voice was calm, but his fingers betrayed him, tapping a twitchy rhythm against his thigh.

  Chase turned toward him. “Your lack of a fake identity? Not an immediate issue—as long as you stick to Earth and keep your heads down in the Bazaar. But inter-world portals?” He shook his head. “You so much as glance at one and you're halfway back in your father's hands.”

  “I’m not stupid,” Ziraya snapped. Her tail hit the floor with a dull thud. “But what if some Enforcer gets nosy?”

  John shrugged. “Run.”

  Chase blinked. “Really?”

  “What? Don’t look at me like that.” John raised a brow at the werewolf’s expression. “I know it’s probably illegal, but compared to handing her over or dying in a brawl? Running sounds pretty damn appealing.”

  “I… I hate that you’re right.” Chase sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair. “Gods, we’re actually talking about fleeing like criminals.”

  Ziraya let out a long breath, staring up at the ceiling as though she could will it to collapse and save her from this conversation. “So no gem.”

  “Not unless you want to meet my mother.” Chase’s voice was dry as bone.

  That got everyone quiet.

  John took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaled slow. The smoke curled around him, a gray halo to the tension he carried like a second skin. “What would you do?”

  Ziraya didn’t speak. Just stood there, shoulders stiff, eyes unreadable.

  “Do you want to keep living like this?” John asked her gently.

  After a pause, Ziraya shook her head. Just once.

  John turned to Chase. “Then it’s time. We talk to your mom.”

  Chase looked like someone had asked him to swallow a knife. “Are we seriously doing this?” he muttered, eyes half-lidded. “This could end really badly.”

  “What other options do we have?” John’s voice was level now—resigned.

  “I…” Chase started, then stopped. His shoulders sagged. “Fair enough.” He glanced at John. “But you still have time to change your mind. You walk away now, I won’t hold it against you. Hell, I’d prefer it.”

  John gave a mirthless chuckle. “What do you think she’ll do when you show up with the heir of the Scalebound in tow? Just hug us and offer tea?”

  Chase didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes.

  “I’ll stay quiet,” John continued. “You do the talking. Gives you plausible deniability if this goes sideways.”

  Chase scoffed. “I don’t think that’s gonna save me.” His voice dropped to a mutter. “Damn it. She’s going to skin me alive.” He turned a cold, sharp gaze on Ziraya. “And you. I’m doing this for John. So keep it together. One wrong move—”

  “Chase,” John cut in, his voice a quiet warning.

  “I heard him.” Ziraya’s voice was a low hiss, but controlled. She reached for her cloak, slinging it over her shoulders. The magic shimmered as it activated, warping her form into something forgettable. She exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Then let’s get this over with.”

  Chase grimaced but turned toward the door. “Follow me. And stay close.”

  The safehouse doors creaked open. Outside, the ever-churning chaos of the Bazaar surged around them—shouts, haggling, clinking metal, a dozen languages overlapping in a constant roar. But John barely heard it. His hands kept brushing over the grips of his pistols, half-expecting trouble with every step. His pulse pounded in his ears like war drums. This felt wrong. Heavy. He glanced at Ziraya. She walked beside him, calm on the surface, but he could see the tension in her posture. The weight of what they were walking into pressed down on both of them.

  “I really hope I’m not making the worst mistake of my life,” John whispered to himself.

  Ahead, Chase’s shoulders were squared, but his pace had quickened—just slightly. Enough to betray his own nerves as they vanished into the crowd.