Blood and Silver

Shadows at the Edge

The walk home is quiet—too quiet. The fight still lingers in my veins, my body aching in that satisfying way only a good brawl can bring. But there’s something else. A tension curling in my gut, an itch at the back of my mind.

I take a different route, cutting through the alley behind the gym. The air is thick with the scent of rain on pavement, but beneath it, something else lingers. Something sharp. Metallic.

I keep moving, my senses prickling. A shadow shifts near a dumpster up ahead. Probably just some drunk or a stray dog. Still, my fingers twitch, itching to grab the knife I keep tucked in my boot.

Then I hear it.

Footsteps. Heavy. Purposeful. Coming from behind.

I whirl, but it’s too late.

A hand clamps over my mouth, and an arm wraps around my torso like a steel band. I thrash, twisting, trying to bring my elbow up into my attacker’s ribs, but they’re too damn strong.

"Feisty," a voice murmurs near my ear. Male. Amused.

I don’t stop fighting. My teeth sink into the hand over my mouth, and the taste of blood fills my mouth. The grip falters just enough for me to jerk my head back—hard. A satisfying crack sounds as my skull collides with his nose.

He curses, his hold loosening, and I tear free. I don’t waste time. I bolt.

But I don’t make it far.

A second shadow steps from the alley’s mouth, and suddenly, pain explodes at the base of my skull. The world tilts, my vision swimming. I hit the ground hard, my limbs refusing to cooperate.

Voices swirl around me.

"You hit her too hard, Ronan," someone mutters.

"She’ll live," the first voice says. "Get her in the car before someone sees."

Darkness drags me under before I can fight it.