The moment Jack left the shop that catered to assassins, thieves, and rogues, he pulled his new mask from his bag.

  “Time to become an anonymous shadow,” he muttered, slipping the mask over his face. He took a deep breath to test the rune filter and noticed the air smelled cleaner. “That’s pretty good…” The distinctive smell of spent aether-steam was gone. “Still not sure if it’s 40 silvers good, though.”

  The price he’d paid still stung.

  When he realised what the improved sight rune did, he murmured, “Now that’s a good feature.” Jack glanced around, blinking. His view was crystal clear.

  A full-face mask with small eyeholes should’ve restricted his vision, narrowing it down to two narrow slits. But with the improved sight rune the shopkeeper had mentioned, it was like he wasn’t wearing a mask at all. “Okay… maybe it is worth it,” he conceded as he headed towards Royal Library Square, feeling much better about the 40 silvers he’d spent on the mask.

  Walking through the city streets, he pulled on his new leather gloves. “They’ll do,” he said, flexing his fingers to loosen the stiff leather.

  A few minutes later, he was in a queue, waiting. A smile tugged beneath the mask. When Jack’s turn came, he dropped his voice as deep as he could manage. “Two wraps, please, friend.”

  Arman looked up and chuckled. “Jack, what are you doing in costume? It’s not All Hallows’ Eve for some time, yes?” The old man continued to work, filling a wrap with spiced meats and crisp vegetables.

  Jack stumbled back, startled. “H-how did you know it’s me?” His voice cracked with disbelief. He wore a mask and cloak, and even his white oak bow was wrapped in black material.

  The old vendor tapped the side of his bald head, his eyes twinkling. “Ah,” he said, wagging a finger. “Your shoes. Arman never forgets a customer’s shoes, no.”

  Still stunned, Jack removed his mask. “My shoes?” He looked down at his feet; plain brown shoes, the kind thousands of other men wore across Lundun. He stared back at Arman. “But, how?” he asked. “They’re just shoes.”

  Arman chuckled. “No, no, no. Not just shoes. A man’s shoes tell the story of where he’s been, where he’s heading. Arman knows, yes.” He gave a nod as if that explained everything, followed by a look of confusion. “Why the mask and cloak, young Jack?” he asked while preparing a second wrap.

  Jack’s eyes widened. “Erm… trying to avoid someone,” he blurted.

  “Ahhh, a young lady, yes?” Arman grinned, tapping his nose. “Your secret’s safe with old Arman, yes.” He leaned forward and whispered, “I won’t tell the ladies you were here, no. Two wraps for my mystery customer.” He handed Jack the two wraps.

  Jack let out a quiet sigh of relief and a nervous chuckle. He paid for the wraps and found himself a free bench on The Square. He sat, keeping an eye out for the four adventurers while eating one of his wraps.

  I can’t believe he recognised me from my shoes, Jack thought as he took another bite of delicious lamb. “Hmm… this is so good.” He scanned the area for watching orphans just in case. “Maybe I should’ve bought those soft-soled boots,” he muttered, half-joking. “He recognised me from my shoes.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Who does that?”

  For a few minutes, Jack ate his two wraps to the gentle bubbling of the nearby fountain and the distant chatter of birds. He remembered little Zia tugging at his arm and him sharing his second wrap with her on the bench he was sitting on.

  So much has happened over the past few days, he thought. He’d killed a goblin, the rogue, and the swordsman. Jack felt anxiety gnaw at his chest at the bad memories.

  “Not everything’s been bad,” he muttered, taking a big bite of his wrap. Zia was now part of his family. She’s a sweet kid. And he’d had a great time at archery training with the others. Toma’s another great kid.

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  He finished his first wrap and started on the second. I can’t believe I’m enjoying archery. He shook his head in disbelief. Jack smiled when he thought back to teaching Toma a few archery tips and gifting him some cheap arrows. The boy acted like he’d been given an enchanted sword capable of slaying dragons.

  As he finished his second wrap, a figure crossed The Square. One of the four adventurers. “Shit! It’s the mage.” Jack wiped his mouth, pulled his mask back on, and rose to follow. What was his name again? He frowned, thinking back to the earlier chase. “Mo… the other one called him Mo,” he whispered to himself.

  He shadowed Mo unnoticed as the mage left The Square. He has to be an Apprentice Mage to have the Fireball spell. His brow furrowed while recalling one of the other adventurers telling Mo to hit him with a fireball. That could be a problem.

  Mo was younger than Jack had expected for an Apprentice Mage, early-twenties, with olive skin, a thin, trimmed beard, and eyes that darted around like a hunting cat’s. He wore light leather armour, dyed a deep brown, almost black, hugging his slim frame. A thin wand peeked from the loop at his hip, and worn but well-made boots marked him as someone used to long hours on the streets.

  Apprentice Mages were dangerous. If Mo saw Jack coming, he could hit him with two, maybe three Fireball spells before he ever got close.

  They wound through the city for ten minutes with no stops or detours. Mo was clearly heading somewhere specific.

  Where is he going? Jack wondered, slipping through the crowds.

  A few minutes later, they reached Grime City. The rougher, filthier part of Lundun.

  Another ten minutes, and the mage entered one of the more decrepit streets of Grime City. It was a slum with large piles of discarded rubbish. The city’s new aether-powered street lanterns hadn’t reached this far yet; at night, the place would be in darkness.

  A few more filthy streets, and the mage stopped in front of a derelict building. The roof sagged inwards, all the windows were smashed, and the door was propped against a cracked wall. The mage glanced around the empty street, checking for watchers, then slipped inside.

  Jack melted into the shadows of another derelict ruin across the way. What’s he doing in there? Minutes crawled past. He waited, tense, his ears straining, but nothing happened.

  He couldn’t imagine he’d gone upstairs with the roof caved in. Did he slip out the back? Did I lose him?

  He waited another ten minutes. Still nothing. Did he use the building as a way to lose a tail? Does he know I followed him? I’ll give it fifteen more minutes, Jack decided.

  Ten minutes passed with nothing happening. Just as he was preparing to leave, the mage reappeared, carrying a brown briefcase. He checked the street, then moved deeper into the slums.

  Jack breathed a sigh of relief and followed. What is he up to?

  Fifteen more minutes took them to a half-demolished part of the slums, where construction for a new aether train line had gutted the neighbourhood. There were no people on the streets here, making it more difficult for Jack to remain unnoticed. The residents had been cleared out to make way for the new train line. He dropped back a little to avoid being spotted by the mage.

  Mo stopped near a crumbling sandstone wall and rested against it, his pocket watch in hand. His eyes scanned the area for movement. A rat scurried to the mage’s side, and he reached for his wand before pausing upon seeing the rodent. He looked twitchy, his eyes darting to random spots as if searching for something.

  Jack edged as close as he dared, slipping into the shadows of a roofless, skeletal house. Not thirty feet separated them. The mage remained oblivious to the danger.

  Could I hit him from here? Jack flexed his fingers, stretching out his new gloves. He slipped smoke bombs into his right jacket pocket and blinding powder into the left. If I miss, I’ll at least have a head start.

  His stomach coiled tight, and he could hear his own breath… it was too loud. Keep calm. You have to do this. Protect your family. He took several calming breaths and remembered the blue dragonfly sitting on the tip of his white oak bow. The image calmed his mind.

  The mage looked at his pocket watch and stored it in a pocket, still unaware of the danger.

  Jack unslung his bow, selected one of the rogue’s serrated-tipped arrows from his quiver. Should I? He nocked the arrow.

  Mo looked at his watch again before returning it to his pocket.

  Jack exhaled. With his True Aim skill and a stationary target, his odds were good. He has to die! He felt a sick churn in his stomach at the prospect of killing a man in cold blood. This was different from his other kills. The rogue and the swordsman had been in self-defence. Those kills were justified; kill or be killed. But this? This was an execution. If he killed the mage, it was an active choice, one he could’ve avoided.

  “They should’ve left me alone?” he whispered. He felt a wave of anger at being forced to make this decision. I didn’t want this… I don’t want this. He felt a bead of sweat rolling past his temple. A rat skittered from one rubble pile to another. He didn’t move. He kept the arrow nocked but not yet drawn.

  At the sound of the rat, the mage reached for his wand again before relaxing.

  There was a gentle breeze, and the mage was out in the open, with no obstructions. He was checking the time again; it had only been a minute since he last checked. Perfect conditions for an arrow strike from the shadows.

  I have to. For family. Drawing a steadying breath, Jack raised the bow and…