Aravin regretted letting the boy walk away so easily.

They entered a different tavern and kept a low profile there, but Fantoom didn't show. Not that day, nor the day after, or the day after that.

His spirits sank. Surely Fantoom had received the message—he simply didn't find them interesting enough. But Aravin couldn't bring himself to tell the others that.

Not that they were around much, anyway.

Mart barely spoke to him. Refusing to share a room with anyone and with it being too dangerous to sleep alone, Mart spent his nights in the seat of their airship, which they also didn't want to leave unattended.

Alyss hadn't been feeling well for two days. Whether it was the food or the stress, Aravin couldn't tell. Or maybe it was just an excuse to avoid him.

He wandered the marketplace alone now, scanning the overflowing stalls. Spirals, hundreds of copera, lens-goggles that changed color, steam-powered birds that could sing, mechanical dogs that performed tricks... There were tinctures that bubbled, steamed, and frothed. Tinctures he wouldn't trust himself.

Out of habit, he lingered at the stalls displaying ingredients. Wolfsbloom, green vapor, petrified algae, blood resin, crushed bitterstone—which he could tell at once was fake, just by looking at it. Next to them were pocket watches, all of pitiful quality. There were corsets, hats, and masks too. One mask caught his eye—dark, with a green sheen. Its jagged edges curved up into the shape of a bat across the forehead. Around the eyeholes—over the cheekbones and brows—golden curls of metal made it look like he was staring into hollow sockets.

He reached out and let his fingers glide over the cold metal. Something twisted deep in his gut as he recalled—just for a flash—red eyes staring at him from behind a nearly identical mask. Wanting. Daring.

He swallowed, pulled his hand away, and stepped back—right into someone.

"Do I have an admirer?" came a voice with a rough edge—so close it sent a shiver along his ear.

Aravin spun around. The face before him wore the same kind of mask, though this one was crafted with far finer detail.

His breath caught. It felt like something had exploded inside him.

Eyes, red as rubies, stared straight at him.

Aravin felt the heat rush to his cheeks. He searched for a clever retort—or at least an indignant growl—but stood frozen, words dead on his tongue, facing the man who was both an unforgettable dream and an endless nightmare.

Fantoom's lips curled into a grin that was as unbearable as it was irresistible. Aravin wanted to grab him by the collar of his flamboyant gentleman's coat and shove him away—and also pull him closer.

The pheromones. He must've used them again, trying to cloud Aravin's thoughts.

He placed both hands on Fantoom's chest and shoved him back, needing space to breathe.

"Don't think I'm falling for it again," he growled.

Fantoom didn't so much as stumble. He simply looked amused. "Falling for what?"

"Your pheromones. To daze me."

He chuckled. "Those would be my natural pheromones, then. Can't really do much about those." He winked—sending a storm of conflicting feelings crashing through Aravin.

This man.

Aravin clenched his jaw. Why does he have to be the only infamous monster hunter in Faux?

"So why are you here, Aravin? Did I leave you with an unquenchable yearning?"

Aravin hated how hot his face felt. "I'm looking for a monster hunter to help with a job." The more businesslike, the better.

Fantoom tilted his head, his gemstone-like eyes gleaming. "And you'll pay in kind?"

Aravin exhaled sharply. He wanted to slap him. And yet he knew that would ruin everything.

"If I have to," he muttered. "But I meant to pay you in tinctures. As much as you want."

"Hmm." Fantoom's gaze slid over him, top to bottom and back again, as if he was truly weighing his options. "Alright. I'm willing to listen. Get your two companions and wait by your doublewing. I'll come to you—with my crew."

Fantoom turned and vanished into the crowd.

Aravin stood dazed for a few moments, heart pounding, adrenaline still thrumming in his veins. I found him. The idea of introducing him to Alyss and Mart was strangely terrifying. But there was no way around it.

The way Alyss kept glancing at him from the corner of her eye grated on Aravin's nerves. "We've been waiting half an hour. Don't you think he's messing with you again?"

Aravin shook his head, though he had no real certainty. Alyss clearly knew that.

"Why not? Last time—"

"Was different," he snapped. He scanned the sky, but still no airship in sight.

"Last time?" Mart stood a little apart from them, like he wanted to make sure no one thought he was part of their group. He looked over his shoulder. "What happened last time? How do you even know this hunter?"

"Oh, so I exist to you now?" The jab wasn't fair and he knew it. Mart had his reasons for keeping his distance. But Aravin felt cornered, and he didn't want to talk about Fantoom.

Mart shrugged. "If he hates you, then he's got a point in his favor with me."

Aravin scoffed. "Real mature."

"Hey, you stole the last half of my childhood."

"Fantoom robbed him last year," Alyss said flatly.

Thank the dragons she leaves it at that.

Aravin adjusted a wolf-head copera on the spiral, lifting it higher—just something to do with his hands to calm his nerves.

"How do you even know he can find dragons?" Mart asked. "I thought you knew him. Not that you were robbed and now you're chasing after rumors."

"I'm not chasing rumors. There was a dragon's head in his bedroom. And it was real."

Mart raised an eyebrow. "His bedroom?"

Aravin looked away. Yes, his bedroom. You do the math.

Then something shifted in the sky—on the spot he had just been staring at. Like a shadow darting across a wall. The air seemed to thicken, and shapes began to take form.

His mouth fell open.

The last time he'd seen the ship, it had been night, and he'd been dazed by Fantoom. Now he saw it in all its glory. The ship itself was about fifteen meters long, standing on gilded, birdlike talons. The balloon was one and a half times as long and three times as tall—copper-red with golden detailing. Six structures had been mounted on top, each with spires and long rope ladders.

Aravin gaped. It was more magnificent than any airship he'd ever seen. He'd always been proud of his doublewing, but this ship stretched the limits of his imagination.

Someone leapt onto the ship's railing via one of the many dangling ropes. The mask caught the sunlight, gleaming like the dark hair combed neatly to one side.

"Well then, your majesties. Step aboard. Let's hear that amazing offer."

Mart glanced back again, clearly encouraged by the hesitation painted across Aravin's face. He reached the ship first and began to climb.

Aravin's stomach churned as he followed. Scorching memories of his last visit clawed at his mind. Those damned pheromones. Rung after rung, he climbed.

At the top, Fantoom extended a hand. Aravin ignored it and climbed onto the deck himself. He straightened his coat and took a quick look at Fantoom's.

He dressed like a Scion—black coat with a high collar, gleaming cufflinks, gold trim on his chest, and ruby gemstones that looked like they could've been plucked from his eye sockets.

Aravin wondered why in the world the man had felt the need to rob him. They clearly weren't short on resources. He must loathe the Scions. Maybe he had once been one—he had the bearing for it. If he wore a wealdmeter or spirals, they were hidden under his sleeves.

"Pleasure to meet you," Fantoom said, helping Alyss onto the deck and kissing the back of her hand.

Aravin swallowed a growl. Smooth bastard. Did I really let him seduce me?

He took a few steps across the deck, eyes scanning.

Behind the helm stood a young woman with dark-blonde hair braided halfway back. Black markings around her ice-blue eyes made them look even sharper. A thin, black bat was painted on her forehead. Her eyebrows were thick and fierce, and she glared at him like she was deciding where exactly to stab one of the many long knives at her belt.

"Ooh, they're here!" Someone landed beside him on the deck. A whirlwind of colorful hair framed a boyish face. "Hi." He grinned.

"Cami," Aravin said faintly. It had been clear the boy knew Fantoom, but it hadn't occurred to him that he sailed on the same ship. He couldn't be older than fifteen. What was Fantoom doing with a kid aboard? Especially when there seemed to be no other crew.

And the helmswoman was strange, too. She leaned on the wheel—and Aravin couldn't help noticing her arms were more muscular than his. A closer look revealed a mechanical leg on her left side.

With a bitter feeling, he turned back to Cami, realizing he hadn't even greeted him. "Thanks for passing the message."

"Of course. I find Fantoom's sneaky nighttime visitor fascinating." His eyebrows bounced.

"Well, I'm sure there've been plenty of those," Aravin muttered, not thrilled to be known as someone's side piece.

"Hmm, not really."

The answer threw him. He'd assumed Fantoom played that game all the time. He wasn't sure whether to feel flattered that he hadn't—or even more manipulated by how deliberate Fantoom's approach had been.

With a heavy thud, someone else landed on the deck. They had golden-brown hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb in days. Aravin couldn't immediately tell if it was a man or woman. The clothing didn't help—the helmswoman wore pants too. This person had several thick lenses over their left eye and wore a gray mouth mask connected by a small device to their monocle.

"No one in sight, boss," came a distinctly male voice. The newcomer detached a few lenses and tucked them into one of his many pockets. His outfit bristled with attachments and odd contraptions, making him look like a walking machine.

"Good," Fantoom replied. "No ambush, then." A small smile tugged at his lips as he looked at Aravin. "For a second, I thought this was a revenge plot."

Aravin snorted. "I have more than enough tinctures."

"So I've heard. Well..." He spread his arms. "Tell me. What do you want from us? Because we could certainly use that stash of yours." He pulled out a pocket watch, clicked it open, snapped it shut again, and looked back at him. "Though tinctures can always be tampered with. I meant what I said about paying in kind. I'd rather sign a contract to have a tincture master on board." His eyes flicked to Mart. "And a Soultaker would be useful, too."

Aravin froze. He felt the blood drain from his face. How in the world did he know Mart was a Soultaker?