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Dev stood with his back against the bakery wall, half-swathed in the shadow of the alley, arms crossed loosely like he was holding himself together by force of habit. At the sound of approaching footsteps—first Snow’s, then Ziessel’s—he looked up. His breath caught, just for a second, when he...

Dev’s breath hitched before it finally came in shakily the moment Snow’s replies buzzed in. He's alive. Not everything had been lost. He scrubbed at his face with the back of his sleeve, smearing away the moisture clinging stubbornly beneath his eyes. It wasn’t—he wasn’t—No. Just the damn smog...

For the first time in days, there was no purpose pressing on his chest. No spade to lift. No stone to fit. Just stillness—and the things that stillness brought with it. Memories. Silence. The ache of a thousand thoughts he’d managed to hammer quiet. Rhetta was watching. He could feel her...

The ground was made clean. Broch’s hands worked slowly, deliberately, scraping the earth bare. He crouched low, running his palm across the soil. Every inch was inspected, every imperfection noted and corrected. When it was flat—truly flat—he stamped it down, heel to heel, over and over until...

:emoji_grimacing:

Rowan didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Not even when he felt the seething intent radiating off his so-called companion like heat from a forge. He let the familiar voice linger in the air a moment too long—just long enough to see if Ragenard would twitch. Just to test the waters of old habits. But...

The Society is a well-established organization in the city of Lutetia, primarily composed of pure human employees. Renowned for its humanitarian efforts, it dedicates itself to helping people rebuild their lives after disruptions caused by supernatural beings—vampires, werewolves, and other...

The mountain of a man sighed when she shook her head. No answer. That was fine—he could make one himself. With slow, deliberate movements, he reached for the axe—his father’s axe—and rested it against his shoulder. The worn handle felt solid in his grip, a familiar weight, a tether to something...

Broch looked conflicted at the question. He did feel trapped in this cart, there was no denying that. He needed to move, he needed something to do, he needed his father’s hammer and forge. A hammer and forge that existed 400 years ago. He felt the lump in his throat and he had to cough to...

It still felt as if there was not enough air in the cart. He wasn’t done. But there was nothing more to be done about it for now. He glared at a spot on the wall, lost in his own thoughts about all the faces he’d likely never see again. The friends he’d lost, the family that was gone. All lost...

At first Broch stared at her, confused. And then he started to chuckle, thinking he either misunderstood her translation or she had mistranslated ‘1624’. Or maybe it was just some joke she was playing that he did not understand the punchline? He shook his head, chuckling but stopped when he...

He left her to her devices, she seemed to be trying to study more from the book after looking at the map he had drawn correctly. He was starting to relax slightly again, and he stretched enough that bone and ligaments popped in his joints. He was wondering if there was any point he was going...

He was honestly surprised what phrases she could repeat back fluidly and which ones she couldn’t. The translations she obviously knew were damn near flawless. Couldn’t tell the lass wasn’t from Iveria herself if that’s all the words she said. But then she’d attempt some other phrase, and you...

The smile had thrown him off. She was enjoying this. His brows furrowed further, and he had to concentrate to not fully shift. He was healed, yes, but he was not looking forward to fighting a member of a clan he potentially broke the rules of. Still, it seemed she realized that he wasn’t...

Broch’s head spun in the direction as soon as he heard footsteps outside the train, tensing slightly. He watched as the woman who had been keeping him company simply turn her back to him. Nothing was keeping him in here. Nothing but his own damned morales, at least. If he had committed some...

He repeated the words after her, sounding much better than his previous attempt but no more so than she was with her pronunciation in Iverian. Still, she seemed insistent that the map was not wrong. He turned back to the map and stared at it hard. “The fuckin’ map is wrong” He grumbled in...

One huh? He gathered that meant Ragenard was the alpha. Ragenard would be the one who would decide his fate, should be a free man or a dead one it seemed. He hadn’t seen the knives she pulled out, but he assumed she carried something small and quick on her. Still, he wondered if there was a...

He finished his inspection of the weird box he was in before turning back to her to listen and watch. She said a word and then repeated ‘trouble’ for him. She was trying her best to communicate, the book seemed to have the language. It spoke well for her ability to adapt at least. So he tried...

His storm grey hues stayed on her, watching her every movement. She portrayed at ease, but he could tell she was ready to spring at any misstep taken from him. Still, he showed genuine surprise and amusement at the phrases she spewed back at him. Her accent was awful, and some of the words...

Five faces smiled back at Broch, all of them laughing and holding each other in some form or another. They seemed so happy, and it made his chest ache terribly. He couldn’t seem to get up from where he sat cross legged on the ground. No matter how hard he tried to move, to speak, to ask them to...