The air in the swamp hung heavy and damp, curling around me like a living thing. Even after the chaos of the last night—the black-clad killers, the relentless pursuit through the fog, the sudden and brutal intervention of Gavin—my pulse still hadn't settled.
We'd taken shelter in the remains of an old watchtower on the edge of the marsh, a half-sunken ruin with its stones cracked and crooked. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the walls, painting silver lines across the floor where the three of us sat in silence.
Gavin stood at the window, leaning on his rusted blade. His eyes were fixed outward, watching the dark swamp beyond. His weathered face was calm, but the faint twitch of his jaw betrayed his thoughts.
"I told you," he finally said, his voice low and rough. "Sigma doesn't play games. The moment his people catch your scent, it's only a matter of time before they corner you."
I stared down at my hands. My knuckles were scraped raw from our last fight. The black flame insignia we'd found on the assassin's corpse still burned in my memory, the crimson etching curling like an evil brand.
"So what do we do now?" Arya asked. She was sitting cross-legged in the corner, her short hair damp with sweat, her usual bravado dulled by exhaustion. She still clutched one of her throwing knives in her lap, like a talisman.
Gavin didn't answer immediately. He pushed away from the window, stepped into the moonlight, and looked at us one by one.
"We stop running," he said at last.
The words hung in the air like a challenge.
Arya raised an eyebrow. "Stop running? You mean… what, fight them head-on?"
"Yes," Gavin replied simply.
I swallowed. My whole body still ached from the chase and the wounds I'd taken. The idea of turning back toward our hunters seemed like madness. But deep down, something in me sparked at his words.
Gavin saw it too, the faint flicker of defiance in my expression. He gave a small nod of approval.
"Sigma's killers don't expect prey to turn on them," he said. "They think you're still the boy crawling in the dust of the mines. But you're not. You've grown teeth."
I clenched my fists and nodded.
"I won't spend my life hiding in swamps," I said quietly, but with more conviction than I'd expected.
For the first time since we'd met, Gavin allowed himself a faint smile.
"Good," he said. "Then you're ready."
He walked to a weathered satchel he'd left leaning against the wall and unbuckled it. Inside was a long, narrow bundle wrapped in faded cloth. He laid it in front of me with surprising reverence.
"Your training so far has been just enough to keep you alive," he said. "But if you want to hunt your hunters, you need more."
I hesitated before unwrapping the bundle. Beneath the cloth lay a sword. Its blade was not as ornate as the wind-scarred sword Carl had once shown me, nor as fearsome as Gavin's own—but it was balanced, clean, and honed to a fine edge.
"The sword of my first apprentice," Gavin said quietly. "He fell long before his time, but he earned this with his own blood and grit. Now it's yours. You've earned it too."
I reached out and curled my fingers around the hilt. The leather grip felt warm and familiar, as though it had been waiting for me all along.
Gavin crouched next to me, his scarred face serious.
"Tomorrow, at first light, we strike back," he said. "There's a black flame camp not far from here—just a forward post, lightly manned. But it's where Sigma's agents in the swamp converge. Burn it down, and you send a message. You let them know the boy from the mines isn't running anymore."
Arya glanced at me, a spark of her usual mischief creeping back into her eyes.
"Well," she said, twirling her knife. "I like the sound of that."
I felt the corners of my mouth lift despite everything.
"Then it's settled," I said.
The rest of the night passed in silence, but it was no longer the silence of fear. It was a silence filled with resolve, with the quiet heat of embers waiting to ignite.
At dawn, the three of us emerged from the tower. The swamp was still and grey under the rising sun, mist curling off the water. Gavin led us east, through the mud and reeds, until we came to a rise of solid ground where we could see the faint glow of campfires in the distance.
The black flame camp was nestled on a dry ridge, surrounded by crude palisades. Even from here, I could see figures moving between the tents, armored and armed.
I felt my stomach tighten.
Gavin crouched low, gesturing for us to follow suit. He scanned the camp for a long moment before speaking.
"There will be sentries at the southern gate," he murmured. "Two on the gate itself, one on the tower, and two more patrolling the outer fence. Take them quietly. Once we're inside, we split up—Lynn, you take the east tents, Arya the north, I'll deal with the barracks. We light everything we can and regroup at the ridge. Understood?"
Arya gave a cheeky salute. "Understood."
I just nodded, tightening my grip on the sword.
The three of us moved like shadows, slipping through the underbrush until we were at the base of the palisade. The smell of smoke and cooked meat wafted from inside the camp.
Gavin went first, his blade cutting through the night like a whisper. He climbed the palisade silently, disappearing over the top. Moments later, I heard the faintest thump of a body hitting the ground.
Arya darted past me, nimble as a cat, and followed Gavin up and over.
I took a breath, steeled myself, and climbed after them.
On the other side, the camp lay sprawled before us.
It was time to stop running.
Time to hunt.
And as I crept through the black flame camp with my blade ready, I felt something deep inside me change.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't the boy from the mines anymore.
I was a hunter.