Colson

Detours, Leashes, and the Fine Art of Professional Disappearance

Colson POV

Ezra was in a good mood.

Which, historically speaking, meant someone else was about to suffer for it.

He lounged in his seat like the city itself existed purely for his entertainment, one arm draped over the side, glass of something dark and expensive balanced lazily between his fingers. The nightclub pulsed around us—bass thudding through the floor, bodies pressed together in careless abandon, information flowing just beneath the surface like a current you only drowned in if you weren’t paying attention.

This place was Ezra’s church. Noise instead of prayer. Blood instead of incense.

I leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, posture relaxed enough to suggest respect without submission. That balance had taken year's to master. Bow too deeply, and he’d think you weak. Stand too tall, and he’d think you arrogant.

I settled comfortably into useful nuisance.

“You’ve been busy,” Ezra said at last, red eyes flicking up to me. “I like busy.”

“Busy keeps me out of trouble,” I replied. “Or at least gives me plausible deniability.”

He smirked, clearly amused. “You find anything useful?”

“That depends,” I said. “Are you in the market for truth, or reassurance?”

“I’m always in the market for results.”

“Then you’re in luck.”

I fed him a carefully curated blend of information—witch sightings, rumors of old magic, whispers of something fractured and hidden just outside the city. Enough truth to keep him interested. Enough distortion to send him chasing the wrong shadows.

Ezra listened closely, tapping his glass against the arm of his chair, that familiar calculating gaze never leaving my face. He liked watching people while they talked. Measuring what they left unsaid.

When I finished, he didn’t speak right away.

That silence stretched just long enough to itch.

“I want you outside the city again,” he said casually.

I didn’t react immediately.

Just a fractional pause—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

Because that wasn’t how this part of my life had gone before.

The first time I lived this stretch of existence, this was when Ezra had turned me inward. Had me circling Sage like a shark with a sense of humor, testing her edges, needling her defenses while he decided whether she was worth exploiting or eliminating.

But I’d said yes to that one job.

The one that took me out of the city.

And apparently, that single decision had nudged the past just far enough off its rails to notice.

Interesting.

“Again?” I asked lightly. “You sure you don’t want me antagonizing humans and irritating wolves instead? That’s sort of my specialty.”

Ezra smiled thinly. “I trust you.”

I almost laughed.

Trust from Ezra was like a blade pressed against your throat—intimate, painful, and never meant to last.

“What’s out there?” I asked.

“Witches,” he said simply. “Old magic. Pieces of something larger. You have a talent for finding what others overlook.”

I inclined my head. “I have an eye for misplaced nonsense.”

“There’s a condition,” he added.

Of course there was.

He gestured lazily, and two men stepped out of the shadows behind him.

Vampires. Both of them. Both built for violence, both carrying themselves like professionals who’d survived long enough to know exactly how lethal they were. Their expressions were neutral, their attention sharp.

Ah.

Leashes.

That was new.

In the original timeline, Ezra had trusted me to roam freely. This time, apparently, I needed supervision.

“They’re coming with you,” Ezra said. “Consider it support.”

I smiled. “You shouldn’t have.”

His gaze sharpened. “Bring me something real this time, Colson. No games.”

I bowed my head slightly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He waved us off.

As we left the club, my two assigned shadows fell into step beside me. Close enough to watch. Far enough to pretend it wasn’t obvious.

Cute.

As we moved through the city, I let the mask settle in fully. Confidence sharpened. Humor edged darker. The Colson Ezra expected slid back into place like an old, well-worn coat.

One of the vampires glanced at me. “You always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m thinking,” I replied. “Which is unfortunate for everyone.”

The other snorted. The first did not.

Cracks already forming.

We crossed the city boundary just after dusk, the neon glow fading behind us. The farther we traveled, the quieter the world became—pavement giving way to cracked roads, then dirt, then stretches of land the city had abandoned and forgotten.

And somewhere in that silence, something inside me finally relaxed.

The panic I’d been carrying since Kendrick’s office loosened its grip.

Because I understood something now.

Nothing I did here—nothing—would change my future.

Not Sage.

Not Zane.

Not Amaris.

The bonds, the betrayals, the bloodshed and redemption—they were anchored. Locked in place.

Only objects mattered.

The book mattered.

Everything else?

Background noise.

That realization felt like shrugging off armor I hadn’t realized I was wearing. It let me breathe. Let me enjoy this.

We traveled for hours. I made a show of stopping frequently—kneeling, touching the ground, closing my eyes like I was listening to whispers only I could hear.

One of the vampires frowned. “You sensing something?”

“Oh absolutely,” I said. “Magic. Ghosts. Regret. Possibly a deeply disappointed ancestor.”

“Be serious,” he snapped.

“I am serious,” I replied. “The land remembers things. Mostly bad decisions.”

The other vampire laughed.

I doubled back. Took detours. Pointed at ruins and muttered about ley lines and residual energy. Mixed just enough truth into the lies to make them believable.

They followed eagerly.

By the time night fully settled, they were tired, irritated, and utterly convinced we were close.

Which was exactly where I wanted them.

“This feels wrong,” one muttered as we approached an abandoned outpost.

“Magic usually does,” I replied cheerfully.

I suggested we split up—framed it as efficiency, sold it as strategy. While they argued over tracks and false leads, I slipped away, moving fast and silent through terrain I actually recognized.

From a ridge above, I watched them wander in circles, each convinced the other was missing something obvious.

I grinned.

Wild goose hunt: perfect execution.

Alone again, the humor slowly drained away, replaced by focus.

I turned toward the ravine—the real destination. The place Amaris had marked. The place where the earth hummed faintly with something old and patient, waiting to be disturbed.

As I walked, I felt the weight of it settle in.

This was the moment that mattered.

The first true divergence.

The first real theft.

“Well,” I murmured to myself, adjusting my coat, “if I’m going to steal a piece of an ancient spell book, lie to two vampire babysitters, and save the world…”

A quiet, unhinged laugh escaped me.

“…I might as well enjoy the scenic route.”

Because destiny, it seemed, had decided to give me just enough freedom to be dangerous.

And help them all—

I had always been very, very good at that.