No shadow.

  The ground beneath Hana Ryu’s boots was gray and barren. The moonlight hit her shoulders, traced the line of her trench coat, and hit the cobblestones without interruption.

  It was like looking at a glitch in the rendering of the world.

  My brain kicked into gear. That monster. The way it moved. The way it mimicked her. The way Hana knew exactly how to dismantle it with a handful of change.

  It wasn’t a random demon. It was a part of her.

  Hana turned on her heel. She was about to leave. She was going to disappear into the fog again, just like she had for the last three years, and my one chance at a decent DPS for the team would vanish with her.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  I needed a hook. I needed to be a problem she couldn't ignore.

  I let my knees buckle.

  It wasn’t entirely acting. The kick to my ribs still throbbed like a drum, and my mana was running on fumes. I just let gravity take the wheel a little earlier than necessary.

  “Ah...”

  I crumbled.

  I hit the ice-covered cobblestones with a thud that was a little harder than I calculated. Note to self. Next time, aim for a leaf pile.

  Footsteps stopped.

  Silence hung in the air for a second. Then, the sound of boots crunching on frost came closer.

  I kept my eyes shut, regulating my breathing. Slow. Shallow.

  A hand touched my neck. Two fingers pressed against my pulse. Rough skin. Calloused.

  “Weak,” a voice muttered above me. It was dry, devoid of emotion. “Her mana flow is constricted. It’s like a clogged drain.”

  Hana Ryu paused.

  “Troublesome.”

  She sighed.

  The smell of sandalwood and old paper woke me up.

  I cracked one eye open.

  I was in a small room. It wasn’t the hotel. It was sparse, practical. A low table, a few cushions, and walls lined with shelves full of trinkets that looked suspiciously dangerous. Origami birds made of metal sheets. Coins sharpened to a razor edge.

  I was lying on a futon.

  Hana was there. She was leaning over me, a warm, wet cloth in her hand. She was reaching for the hem of my shirt.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “I’m up,” I said.

  Hana didn’t flinch. She just pulled her hand back and tossed the cloth to me.

  “Good. Wipe yourself down. You’re bleeding on my sheets.”

  I sat up. The room spun for a second before settling. I grabbed the cloth and pressed it to the cut on my cheek. It stung, but it woke me up.

  I looked down at myself. My hoodie was torn. My ribs were bruising a lovely shade of purple. The shadow monster packed a punch.

  “Here.”

  Hana slid a small ceramic jar across the floor. It stopped right by my knee.

  “Ointment. It stings but it works.”

  “Thanks.”

  I didn't shy away. I peeled off my ruined hoodie. Then the undershirt.

  I sat there, bare from the waist up. The cool air of the room hit my skin.

  Hana was sitting at the low table a few feet away. A single candle flickered between us. The flame danced, casting long, wavering shadows against the walls.

  My shadow was there. It stretched up behind me, miming my movements as I applied the ointment to my side.

  But behind Hana?

  Nothing.

  The light hit her and just stopped. It was unnerving. Like she was a hole in reality.

  Hana watched me. Her eyes weren't on my injuries. They were tracing the lines on my skin.

  The tattoos.

  They weren't normal tattoos. They were faint, white intricate patterns that ran down my arms and coiled around my spine. Markings of a lineage I barely understood myself.

  She didn’t ask. She just looked away, taking a sip from a small cup.

  “I apologize,” she said. “The Yakshi. It has been aggressive lately. It usually doesn't attack outsiders.”

  “Yakshi?” I asked. I pulled the blanket up to my waist, hugging my knees to my chest. “Is that what you call it? A curse?”

  Hana stared into her cup. The liquid inside rippled.

  “Something like that.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Why is it loose?”

  “It gets hungry. It gets bored. It hates me.” She shrugged. “Take your pick.”

  She set the cup down. The ceramic clicked against the wood.

  “What were you doing in that alley? Tourists don’t take shortcuts in Meraki-Do.”

  I looked at her. Really looked at her.

  She was tired. Not physically. Her soul looked like it needed a nap.

  “I was looking for someone,” I said.

  “Did you find them?”

  “Yeah. She punched a shadow in the face.”

  Hana’s lips twitched. It wasn’t a smile, but it was close.

  “You should go back to your hotel, little miss. This town isn’t safe for people who fold like wet paper.”

  I didn't move.

  I looked at the wall again. My shadow waved as I shifted my arm.

  The empty space behind Hana screamed at me.

  “That thing...” I pointed at the wall behind her. “It’s your shadow, isn’t it? Literally.”

  Hana went still.

  She didn't deny it. She just nodded, a slow, heavy movement.

  “It detached three years ago. During the Eclipse Raid. Since then, it wanders. It mimics. It hunts.” She looked up at me, her eyes dark. “And I spend every night chasing it down before it hurts someone.”

  It was a lonely existence. Fighting a part of yourself every single night. No wonder she retired. No wonder she hid in the fog.

  I took a deep breath.

  This was it. The gamble.

  “I can help you,” I said.

  Hana scoffed. “You? You went down in one hit.”

  “I was tired,” I lied smoothly. “And I didn't say I would fight it alone. I said I would help you stop it.”

  I leaned forward. The candlelight caught the white tattoos on my skin, making them shimmer for a second.

  “Let me help you catch your shadow, Hana Ryu.”

  ***

  Knock. Knock.

  Ronnie stood in the hallway of the Celestial Springs Ryokan. He checked his watch. It was late. Too late for dinner, too early for a crisis.

  “Vice-Leader?”

  He knocked again. Harder this time.

  “Elara? Are you in there? I have the itinerary for the weaponizer search tomorrow.”

  Silence.

  He frowned. He pressed his ear against the wood. He could hear the faint sound of the hot spring bubbling, but no splashing. No movement. No terrible humming of pop songs.

  “Elara?”

  He tried the handle. Locked.

  “I swear to the system,” Ronnie muttered, rubbing his temples. “If she fell asleep in the bath, I am going to leave her there.”

  He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

  Faintly, from inside the room, a ringtone started playing.

  “Cause I’m a savage, yeah...”

  Ronnie stared at the door. The phone was inside. Elara was not answering.

  “Oh, no.”

  His face fell.

  “I am not paid enough for this.”