Ashfall's heartbeat felt ragged by dawn — neon flickered tired and drunk, rain dripping off rooftops like a slow bleed. Deep in Midtown's grit, old secrets turned over in their shallow graves. And somewhere above it all, the Black Raven perched on the city's bones — waiting for a sign to strike again.
---
Selene watched the warehouse below her from the rusted catwalk of an abandoned power station. She'd tracked Silas Madox's chemical shipment here — a clinic by name only, a front for Umbra's toxin labs where they cooked up fear in plastic drums and sold it to desperate veins.
Inside, two guards slouched under the buzz of a naked bulb. Cheap muscle. They'd heard the same rumors as everyone — a shadow with black wings, blades sharper than the truth. But rumors didn't scare men who hadn't seen their friends hang from cranes like broken marionettes.
Selene checked her blade, then her comms. Silence — Micah's feed clean, his end of the wire pulsing static soft enough to be a heartbeat. He fed her the location, a name, a password on a manifest — enough to slip inside. The rest? Hers to carve out.
She watched one guard wander toward the dumpster. The other lit a cigarette, his breath fogging up in the cold. Selene dropped soundlessly behind him — gloved hand clamped over his mouth, blade pressed into the groove where neck met collarbone. A single twist. Warmth bled down her wrist. She eased his body to the dirt, eyes already on the next.
---
Downtown, Iris Calder's eyelids fluttered open before dawn. Maya Cadee snored soft, curled against her mother's side, pencil drawings of winged heroes scattered across the blankets. Iris slipped from the bed, careful not to wake her daughter, and padded down the hall to Liam's door.
She pushed it open. Empty bed. Panic flickered up her spine. A shape hunched by the window — Liam, knees drawn to his chest, sketchbook in his lap. He didn't look at her when she whispered his name.
"Bad dreams again?"
Liam shrugged. He didn't have to say it. Iris saw herself at that age — eyes wide, too many truths buried in the walls. Nathan's boots by the front door were still wet with secrets. She touched Liam's hair — soft, stubborn like his father's lies.
---
Nathan Calder slipped out of a sedan parked on the far edge of an old pier. His phone glowed with an encrypted text — a time, a new drop spot. His fingers twitched. His handler, a ghost with Umbra's cold hands, waited in the shadows. Nathan buried his guilt under layers of federal paychecks and promises to Iris he'd never keep. He'd keep their kids safe, he told himself. Safe from what? From her? From the badge? Or from the woman with black wings who'd bury them all if he pushed too far?
---
Reggie Slate polished the Molted Wing's old wood bar for the third time that hour. Rowan Pierce hunched at the end, half-drunk but sharp-eyed. She kept her pen moving, tracing whispers she'd caught off dockworkers and lost men. A rumor that Umbra had fumbled a beast in a hidden lab — a monster called Moloch Horn, brute strong enough to tear a safehouse in half. Rowan had nothing solid — just the smell of blood on the rain and too many stories about feathers drifting in dark alleys.
Reggie poured her another shot. She raised it to him, smirked. "When the city burns, Slate, you think we'll survive it?"
Reggie barked a short laugh. "We're already ghosts, sweetheart. Just waiting for the fire to notice."
---
Back in the clinic, Selene ghosted through the back hall. Her eyes traced the dirty tiles, the faint hum of old machinery. She found the door Micah promised — a storage room packed with barrels labeled as medical waste, but the smell was chemical rot, toxic and slick.
A voice carried from the next room — Silas Madox's lawyer shark tone. Calm, clipped, like he could bleed a man dry with paperwork alone. She listened.
"…Umbra doesn't care if the monster is loose. They want the fear. The Flock's job is to guide it — turn chaos into profit. If the Bull King wants to rampage, let him show the city what happens when they forget who holds the leash."
Selene's eyes narrowed. Moloch Horn wasn't just an accident — he was the message.
She cracked the door, slipped inside. Two lab techs — sweat-soaked lab coats, faces lit by laptop screens. She stepped behind the first, hand at his mouth, blade under his ribs. Soft, precise. He folded quietly. The second turned — eyes wide, stammering an apology that never landed before she slammed him into the table edge. Glass cracked, blood smeared across vials.
---
Camilla Dupont scrubbed her tiny sink clean for the third time that night. Her gloves stank of Selene's dried blood. She hated the taste of guilt more than the smell. When Selene showed up again — bruised and half-bleeding — she'd patch her up again, lie to herself again. In this city, secrets kept you breathing. Camilla just didn't know how long her lungs would hold out.
---
Out in Midtown, Aria Morgan read her script under the harsh studio lights — "Authorities deny reports of a violent break-in at a private clinic near the North End. DA Marcus Yuen declined comment…" Off-camera, Marcus Fenn watched every word she spoke — a quiet reminder that Umbra didn't need to kill the truth if they could choke it on airwaves first.
---
Selene found Silas Madox alone in a back hallway — tailored suit, shark grin, papers clutched tight like armor. He turned too late — her hand slammed him into the wall. The blade tip brushed his gut, not deep enough to kill. Not yet.
"Where does Umbra keep the leash?" she hissed.
He laughed, wet and shaky. "You can kill me. They'll just print another."
She leaned in, eyes like cold iron. "I don't want another. I want the chain."
When he didn't answer, she pressed the blade closer — a whisper away from gutting him.
"Next time," she said softly, "I carve my answers from your bones."
She let him drop. He'd run — to The Whisper, The Warden, The Architect. And she'd follow every lie they told him to tell.
---
Hours later, as dawn broke over cracked rooftops, Selene stood above the city, feather blade slick with threats she didn't have to keep. Micah's voice slipped through her wire — soft, careful.
"You're bleeding again, Kain."
"I always am," she murmured.
Ashfall's breath rose in steam and gun smoke below. Somewhere, Moloch Horn's shadow crawled through the streets — a monster unchained. And behind him, Umbra's strings tugged the city tighter.
Selene adjusted her coat, eyes locked on the horizon. She didn't ask permission. She didn't beg for answers.
She hunted them.
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END OF CHAPTER TWELVE