The smell of fresh bread drifted through the merchant district.
Michael hated it.
Not because it smelled bad, but because it smelled too good.
He stood at the edge of a stall, fingers wrapped around a few dull copper coins he got off the floor, trying not to look as hungry as he felt.
"That's all?" the baker asked.
Michael nodded. The man sighed and cut a small piece from the end of a loaf. "You're lucky it's late."
Michael took it quickly. "Thanks."
The merchant district was louder than usual today. Wagons rattled over stone streets, traders shouted prices, and somewhat nearby a street performer played a flute, badly.
Normal. Safe. Then the noise died.
Michael noticed it immediately.
People stepped away from the center of the road.
A carriage had stopped.
White horses. Polished silver trim.
It was a Noble.
Michael lowered his eyes like everyone else.
A tall man stepped out, robes trimmed in blue and gold. Rings glimmered on nearly every finger.
The Noble lifted on hand lazily.
Light gathered in his palm.
Actual magic.
Michael felt it before he understood it.
Something inside him stirred.
Warm.
Hungry.
His chest tightened.
No. Not here.
His parents warning echoed in his head.
*Never let anyone see*
The Noble's spell wavered.
Just for a second.
Then the light shifted.
Just slightly.
Like a compass needle finding north.
It bent toward Michael.
Slowly, he turned.
Their eyes met across the crowd.
Michael's stomach dropped.
The Noble's expression darkened
"You!"
Several heads turned.
Michael stepped back instinctively.
"I didn't...."
The Noble raised a hand sharply.
"GUARDS!"
Panic exploded through Michael's body
He ran.
Bread fell from his hand as he shoved through the crowd. People shouted behind him. Somewhere metal rang against metal.
Boots thundered onto the street.
"Stop him!"
Michael quickly turned down the first alley he saw.
Too narrow.
Too crowded.
Too late.
Something slammed into his back and the world hit stone.
Pain shot through his chest as someone forced his arms behind him.
Cold iron snapped around his wrists.
The moment shackles closed, the warmth inside him vanished.
One of the armored hunters crouched beside him.
A thin smile appeared under the man's helmet.
"Well," the hunter said.
"Looks like we caught ourselves a stray mage."
Michael struggled, but the shackles burned like froze metal against his skin.
Another hunter glanced toward the Noble approaching slowly down the alley.
"What do you want done with him?"
The Noble studied Michael like a curious animal.
"Take him to the cells."
Michael's throat tightened.
"I'm not a mage," he said
The Noble smiled faintly.
"Oh," he replied.
"We'll see about that."