Arc 3, Chapter 32.1: Notches in Black

  The iron rims of the wheels screamed as the carriage came to a halt, throwing up a cloud of grit that hung in the heavy air.

  Alex shoved the door open and dropped to the ground. His boots met hard-packed dirt with a dry crack.

  "How long?" the man on the bench asked.

  "An hour, maybe more," Alex said, dismissing the question with a flick of his wrist.

  The driver grunted, pulled his hat brim lower, and settled in without another word. Alex left him there and started down the road.

  Willowden lay half a mile ahead. Collapsed structures and scattered debris spread across the clearing. Thin trails of smoke rose from the destruction.

  *Three days of this. Chasing ghosts through every village in the province.*

  Silt kicked up with each step and dusted his shins. Dead grass and gray stones pressed close to the path. He dragged a sleeve across his face and kept moving.

  *The same words every time. 'No one by that name here.'*

  Empty fields stretched to either side, watched over by stone angels whose wings cast long shadows across the dirt.

  *If I find him face-down in another stack of moldy parchment, I'm lighting the library on fire.*

  A shimmer of refracted light shifted behind a cluster of trees near the village entrance.

  Alex went still.

  Tall grass on the left rustled with a pale glimmer that bobbed toward him. He narrowed his eyes against the glare until the shape sharpened into an insect with four transparent wings that beat in a steady rhythm.

  *A moth?*

  *Stained glass? No. Can't be. But it's breathing.*

  The wings flashed like stained glass, and the creature's movement carried a strange, living presence.

  His attention should have stayed on Willowden and on Ash, yet the sight held him.

  *This is stupid. I should be asking about Ash, not watching insects.*

  The moth hovered a foot above the dry stalks. Sunlight caught on its wings like polished lenses and poured inward, as though the creature drank the brightness into itself. Wherever it crossed a beam, the light dulled, and the air cooled.

  *Is it feeding on the light?!*

  The village remained ahead, but the moth drifted away toward a stand of dead oaks. Curiosity tightened its grip, stronger than good sense.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  *When's the last time I saw something that strange?*

  Alex glanced back. The driver had already started snoring with his hat tipped over his face.

  He stepped off the road and followed the glass-winged insect into the trees, boots crunching through dead vegetation.

  The woods thickened around him. Skeletal trunks rose on all sides, their gray bark peeling in dry curls. Moss-covered rocks broke through the dirt, and the road's edge disappeared behind trampled grass. The moth darted between branches and led him into a small clearing.

  At the center stood a jagged rock.

  A woman sat on it.

  Alex stopped short.

  She wore a black coat with a high, stiff collar, tailored with the crisp precision of an official uniform. At her throat, a black-lacquered pin held the collar closed. The pin formed a broken ring, its face carved with four neat grooves, and a small raised stud sat at the center. A leather harness crossed her chest in an X, fitted with small metal tools that clicked softly when she shifted.

  Slate-colored hair fell straight past her shoulders, framing pale jade eyes that followed the moth as it settled on her thumb.

  *Black uniform. And that creature...*

  *Harrow Corps.*

  *Four notches. Center mark. Keeper rank.*

  *What's a Keeper doing out here?*

  Her gaze lifted to him. She rose in one smooth motion and offered a short bow, shoulders drawing back into a practiced posture.

  The translucent insect left her hand and resumed a slow circuit around the stone.

  Alex held her eyes as he crossed into the clearing. Her face stayed calm, unreadable.

  "Why is a witch camped outside Willowden?"

  Stillness answered him. Even the glass-winged creature paused in mid-air for a heartbeat before it turned and dropped toward his head.

  Sunlight vanished.

  Pitch-black darkness pressed against his eyes until the trees and the stone dissolved. He raised his hands, yet the same thick black swallowed them. Each breath pulled cold silt into his lungs, and a high, thin ringing filled his ears.

  "Luxfracta," the woman said, her voice clean and controlled. "Down."

  Vision returned in a jagged flash. The clearing snapped back into place, trees and stone restored as if nothing had changed.

  She settled onto the rock again, expression locked behind a mask of indifference. The moth perched on her shoulder while the last threads of darkness sank into its wings and vanished as they folded shut.

  Her pale jade eyes fixed on his. "I am no witch. Aster will do."

  Alex's pulse thudded high in his throat, and the lingering weight of that darkness still sat heavy on his chest.

  He forced his lungs to expand against the pressure. "Then answer me, Aster. What brings the Harrow Corps to Willowden?"

  Aster remained on the stone with her hands resting loosely on her knees. "My orders come directly from the Corps."

  Alex moved closer, and dry moss crunched under his boot. "That leaves the question unanswered."

  She studied him and blinked once, slow and measured. "It gives you what you came for."

  Heat surged through Alex's chest. His fingers tightened, and the silver ring on his right hand caught the light. Gold flared from the metal in a sudden, violent burst that drowned the sun and carved long, sharp shadows through the trees.

  Aster's gaze followed the flare while her chin stayed level.

  When she rose, her arms hung easy at her sides, and her fingers brushed the leather pouches on her harness as if checking their weight.

  Alex took another step, and the glow strengthened until her black coat turned stark under the harsh contrast. "Answer the question."

  "The mission falls under restriction," Aster said, meeting his stare with steady calm. "I will discuss it only through the proper channels."

  The glass-winged creature twitched on her shoulder. Gold struck its transparent wings and split across the dirt in jagged lines.

  Alex searched her face and found only a smooth, unyielding wall.

  He let his hand relax, and the ring's light settled into a dull, steady hum.

  "Then keep your secrets," he said. "Keep them separate from me." He backed toward the tree line. "Stay out of my way in that village."

  Shade swallowed him as he turned away. Dead leaves and twigs snapped under his boots, and thin gray bands of light slipped through the bare branches overhead to stripe the path.

  Behind him, Aster stayed silent.

  Alex kept walking.