Reid vaulted up. The elk followed, bounding up the wall in impossibly delicate arcs, barely touching brick before leaping again. Reid chose the rooftops for a reason—down on the streets, the guards prowled like hounds, eager to sniff out any low-ranked straying where they shouldn't. Up here, among the chimneys and shadows, he could move free, unseen, and unchallenged by polished armor and overfed pride.

Reid moved with a practiced grace, surprising for someone with his build—broad-shouldered, muscle-corded, solid as a hammer. But there was fluidity in him too, like a large cat that had learned the rooftops instead of trees. He felt it all too familiar. They moved together—man and creature—over tiled ridges, across hanging laundry lines, past chimneys coughing ghost-smoke into the sky.

The elk suddenly sped up, darting ahead like a bullet of fur and teeth.

"Oh, it's a race now?" Reid muttered, grinning.

He launched forward, catching the next ledge with ease. The wind kissed his face, and the pulse of the city buzzed under his boots. Lights blurred below—taverns closing, nobles snoring behind enchanted glass, a world fenced by gold and rank.

He crossed into the lane reserved exclusively for Ravios and above just past the third bell.

It was cleaner. Quieter. Almost offensively neat. Statues of lions with gemstone eyes. Even the damn alley cats looked richer here. Reid crouched on a sloped slate roof, scanning the main thoroughfare below. His mental map of Aldor, burned into his skull after a morning of pacing and dodging, told him where this road led—to the wealth, to the excess.

He waited.

And waited.

And then the gods handed him a gift.

A lumbering carriage came trundling down the lane—over-decorated, loud, and slow. The curtains were drawn back, revealing a flushed noble in layered silks, one arm around a giggling woman whose laugh was a bit too shrill to be real. Four guards accompanied them—two riding up front, two seated at the back, all armed, all bored.

Reid grinned.

He dropped.

The landing was flawless. Right in front of the carriage wheels. The startled horses reared, screaming, and the whole vehicle lurched. The noble inside squawked. The woman shrieked. The front guards barely had time to register what had happened before Reid was already moving.

Something shifted in him—gone was the humor, the mischief. In its place gleamed something cold, deliberate. His eyes narrowed, not with rage, but with hunger. A predator's glint. Not the kind that fought for survival—but the kind that hunted for sport, because it could. The realization even surprised Reid. It was a darkness he did not wish to unleash. 

He surged forward, all coiled muscle and lethal intent.

The first guard barely raised his shield before Reid's fist connected with his helmet. The sound rang out like a struck bell, echoing through the quiet street. The man dropped like an anchor, out cold before he hit the ground.

The second guard lunged. Reid grabbed him mid-swing, pivoted, and hurled him over his shoulder. The man's back met stone with a wet, sickening crunch. From above, the elk winced audibly and curled its tail tighter around the rooftop spire.

"Amateurs," Reid muttered, brushing flakes off his knuckles.

The rear guards jumped down, blades drawn. One slashed high. Reid ducked, sweeping low with a scissor kick that took the man's legs out from under him. He caught the second's chestplate as he stumbled in—and used his own weight to spring forward.

Reid launched, twisting midair. His boot connected with the second guard's jaw, a clean arc of motion that ended with the man tumbling backward like a broken doll.

He landed in a crouch, already rising, as the noble inside the carriage began to scream.

"He's stealing from me! Stop him! Where are the mages?! What in God's name am I paying for?"

But Reid wasn't even looking at him. His eyes locked on the coin chest that lay there empty.

A squat, trembling elk—this one fat and brown with membranous bat-like wings—had snatched the coins into his belly with a hiss and scurried away like a rat.

Reid's elk chittered something fierce and dove after it like a bolt of lightning.

"Get that, will you?" Reid called. Cracking his knuckles, he turned to the few guards who had dared to rise again. "I'll handle the rest."

One guard came at him with a spear.

Reid grabbed the haft, pulled him forward, and kneed him so hard his soul probably left his body for a moment. The last guard tried to flank him—bad idea. Reid's elbow found his nose. Then his forehead met Reid's knee.

Everything went quiet—except for the carriage, rocking slightly as the noble hyperventilated inside.

Reid turned to make his exit.

And froze.