The night breeze cut through Mona's fur as she crouched on the rooftop. The other caravan still gnawed at her, Valen's anger flashed through her mind. I can do more.
She made the decision before she fully acknowledged it. No plan. No backup. Just her, the shadows, and the shipment they'd guarded too carefully.
She moved.
Ledge to ledge, cloak held close. She pulled her hood lower. The castle loomed on the horizon, and the shipment—a sealed transport container—rolled on.
She dropped to the street, keeping to the wall. Low. Silent. Her ears tracked the guards' steps, the shift in their rhythm when they doubled back, changed routes. Careful. They're very careful. She matched their caution with her own.
The castle swallowed the container through a service gate.
Mona pressed herself into the shadow of a buttress. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their breastplates catching moonlight in weak, rhythmic glints. She counted their intervals. Memorized their gait. Her tail pressed flat against the stone.
Valen's gonna be so mad...
The thought arrived with his face—the disappointment, the fear he tried to bury. But beneath that, she remembered the crack in his voice when he'd spoken of the ones he couldn't save. His guilt.
She flattened her ears and waited.
The transport container sat dormant by several large doors. Two guards approached, swung it open, and performed a cursory inspection of the empty interior. The guards finished, then disappeared through a nondescript door. Mona moved without a second thought.
A burst of speed. She made no sound on the cobbles. The rush of it all sank deep within her.
Then her palm met the door.
Locked. Thick oak, cold iron. Victory cut short.
Then, footsteps. Armor jostling.
A shift change, right on schedule. Mona folded herself into an alcove. The squad marched past, their conversation echoing. She tilted her ears to listen in.
"…Captain's return...new shipment…"
Mona held her breath until the guards' voices faded. Her eyes adjusted to the dark. A new scent caught her attention.
Fur. Distant, but certain. Same as last time.
She looked around. Ah! There! Above sat a small window, high on the wall. She leapt. Claws caught in the aged stone, and she ascended with ease. Through the window, she dropped herself into the room beyond.
The room contained a single candle's light. In the corner: a cage. And inside, a huddle of fur and fear.
Mona crept closer, raising a finger to her lips. "Don't worry." Her voice barely disturbed the air. "I'm here to help." She met the gaze of a young fox girl, her nose cut, her small body pressed against the bars. "I'm not one of them. Promise."
The girl's ears twitched.
Mona leaned closer.
"The guards," the fox girl whispered, "they said tomorrow night. They'll be taking us to the docks."
Mona's tail flicked once, sharp. "Got it. Just wait for us."
***
The door slammed against the wall.
"Valen! Wake up!"
He bolted upright, hand finding the whip coiled at his bedside. "Mona? What in the name of the moon—"
She was already at his bedside, words tumbling out. "Beastfolk—they're in the castle. They're being taken to the docks tomorrow night. We have to—"
"Mona, did you sneak—" He caught himself. The accusation died there. He looked at her: chest heaving, fur disheveled, eyes wide. No excitement. Just fear. "Tomorrow?"
She nodded, quick and fervent. "I heard it from them and the guards. Saw them." Her voice cracked. "They're scared, Valen. Hurt. We can't just—" She swallowed. "Please."
Valen took a breath. Held it. Released.
She chose to help.
"You're right," he said. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the floorboards squealing below. "We need to be ready." He paused, then turned back to Mona. "You did a good thing."
Her ears perked. "Did... did I really?"
"It was reckless, but it was the right move. I would've done the same." His thumb brushed her shoulder once. "Just promise me that next time you'll be more careful. We can't help them if we're caught."
She nodded. "Promise. I can't let them down."
Valen stood, beginning to pace once more. His mind worked through the geography of the city, the vectors of pursuit and escape. "The docks are too exposed. Too many eyes." He stopped. "We intercept the caravan before it gets there. Hit it where less eyes could be. Closer to the castle."
He turned to her, his expression settling into something grim and certain.
"We follow from a distance. Stay in the shadows. Strike when they're vulnerable. You'll go by roof. Keep your bow ready." He looked her square in the eyes. "Can you handle that?"
"I'll do whatever it takes." A breath. "I've been running and hiding so long." Her voice steadied. "I want to fight for something."
***
They ate in silence, the weight of the coming night kept tensions high.
At sunrise, Valen disappeared into the city.
Mona donned her hooded cloak—loose, anonymous, a poor shield against what she was about to do—and slipped into Calamor's veins. She walked the route from the castle to the docks. Then walked it again. And one final time. Her feline instincts, honed by years of survival, catalogued every alley, every alcove, every shadow.
By noon, she knew the path better than the guards who'd patrol it.
She went back to Valen's cottage. Drew Valen's bow. Then loosed arrow after arrow at a knothole in a distant oak. To her, each shot was a promise. She'd become their voice. If not me, then who?
***
Valen returned at sunset. His arms were buried under supplies: masks, cowls, a quiver of fresh arrows. He held out two masks—one black, one forest green—and helped her secure the hood over her ears.
"We're in this together," he said.
He unrolled a crude map, his finger tracing their most likely route to the dock. From there. a lighter line trailed beyond the city walls, the hidden village outside the walls. "This is where we take them." His fingertip stopped, resting on the village. "This is where they'll be safe."
Mona stared at it. A place that existed. A place she could lead them to. She nodded.
***
The moon stared down, bright.
Valen clasped his hands over one of hers. "Listen to me." He squeezed once "If anything goes wrong, do not come back for me."
He melted into the shadows before she could argue, quickly approaching the ambush spot.
His whip coiled at his hip, the crystal at its core sat dormant. He gripped it tight, waiting. Three guards flanked the caravan. Their armor caught the torchlight.
The caravan rumbled closer.
He stepped from the shadows. His boots met stone with deliberate weight. With a single hand raised, he called out. "Hold."
The guards' heads snapped toward him. The caravan lurched to a halt.
"What's this?" Valen tilted his head with a casual menace. "Beastfolk in chains, with no one to claim them? Does Lord Aldric condone this?" He took a step forward. "Release them and leave. No one has to know." His fingers clamped the whip's handle. Lines formed from his wrist. The crystal hummed to life. The whip's length crackled once, a dark aura drifting into the air. "But if I see you again—" His voice dropped, stripped of all pretense. "I will hunt you like the ghouls you are."
The guards held their ground.
The leader drew his sword, the rasp of steel loud in the sudden silence. "And jus' who're you to tell us what to do?" His smirk was automatic. "That fancy little rope 'posed to scare us?" His companions spread out, flanking. "You're the lawbreaker here. Interferin' with government business." He shrugged. "Tell ya what, you hand over what you got and maybe we let you walk."
A smile touched Valen's lips beneath the mask. "Extortion and trafficking." The streaks in his arm stretched further; he felt the flesh of his palm tear first. "True lawmen, indeed." He stepped forward.
The whip snapped. The tip broke the sound barrier, and the crack of it echoed wide. Electricity skittered along its length, illuminating the alley.
"When I present your heads to Aldric," Valen said, "he'll be thrilled to learn of your treachery."
The guards' confidence wavered. They exchanged glances—quick, uncertain.
Then the leader roared and charged.
Valen's whip lashed out. The tip caught the leader's sword, and the jolt that traveled up the blade made the man's swing go wide, his teeth bared in a pained grimace. Valen spun the whip in a wide arc, keeping the other two at bay, buying precious seconds. "Last warning. I've no desire to add your names to Calamor's forgotten dead."
The guards stepped back.
***
Mona watched from above, arrow nocked, breath stilled.
Come on. Just walk away.
The leader's eyes met his men's. Something passed between them. He stepped back. For just a second, his retreat was real.
Then his mouth curved into a smirk. He nodded once.
The flanking guards moved. One feinted left, the other right, coordinated, practiced. The leader lunged, sword aimed for Valen's chest.
Valen sidestepped the first guard's clumsy swing. The second guard raised his crossbow, but Valen's whip was faster—it struck the man's metal helmet with a crack of released energy. The guard convulsed and dropped.
The leader's blade, swift and sure, caught Valen's shoulder.
Valen staggered. The whip fell slack, its light dying. He stumbled, one hand pressed to the new wound.
Mona breathed. Focused.
The leader was close to Valen, his guard lowered, his attention fixed. Mona saw the gap between his breastplate and pauldron. Saw the angle. Drew.
The bowstring thrummed.
The arrow struck the leader's chest plate with a sound like a blacksmith's hammer. His head snapped up, searching the darkness. Mona already had another arrow nocked, already loosed. It thumped against the second guard's helmet; he staggered, off-balance and disoriented.
The guards scanned the rooftops, suddenly aware of the predator above them.
***
Now.
Valen drew on the wound. The crystal at his whip's core drank from the fresh blood, and agony lanced through his shoulder—but the whip answered. It roared back to life, wrapped in flame.
He lashed it out. The whip coiled around the leader's gorget, and the metal began to glow. The guard choked, fingers scrabbling at the burning cord. His skin seared. He screamed.
Valen pulled. The man left his feet.
"Make your choice." Valen's voice was low, steady, the fire reflected in his eyes. "Free them. Or burn."
The guard's face contorted, his mouth still formed words, hoarse and defiant. "You think—this means—anythin'?" A desperate, rattling laugh. "Wait 'til Captain Cassian hears about you."
Valen placed his heel to the guard's chest.
The guard's panic crested. "Wait—we're just followin' orders. Hired muscle."
His eyes rolled back. The flames and the constriction had stolen the last of his air. He went limp in the whip's embrace.
Hired muscle. Valen stared at the unconscious man. The desperation in his voice. The clumsy, uncoordinated strikes of his men. They were thugs, not soldiers. Pawns.
But witnesses were still witnesses.
He released the whip. The flames died. Electricity crackled along its length, and he let the arc build. "I've no quarrel with those who do what they must." His voice was flat. "But I cannot abide this."
The remaining guard's face held only terror. Valen's wrist flicked. The arc leaped.
The guard convulsed and dropped.
Valen turned, raising his hand in a subtle gesture.
Mona read the signal and descended.
She moved between the unconscious guards, silent and sure, then plucked the key from the leader's belt. Her hands trembled as she fit it to the lock.
The mechanism clanked open.
The cage door swung wide. Inside, the beastfolk stared at her, wide with disbelief and the first tendrils of hope.
"We're here," Mona breathed. "Follow me. Quickly."
They moved. She led them into the shadows. Behind her, masked by darkness, Valen allowed himself a small, private smile. She's come so far.
He took a step toward the cage to try and secure the guards.
The world swung wide.
A cold, sucking void opened in his core, and his vision dimmed at the edges. The wound in his shoulder pulsed with each faltering heartbeat. No. Not here. Not now.
He couldn't afford to lock them up. Couldn't afford anything except survival.
He turned from the alley and forced his legs to move. One block. Two. His side scraped rough brick as he folded himself into a narrow passage. His hands, slick with his own blood, tore the mask from his face. The cloak followed, abandoned in a filthy puddle. Just a man in dirtied tunic now.
He stepped onto the main street. Drunk. Walk like a drunk.
The world pitched once more. He caught himself against a wall, his breath a wet heave.
"Hey, friend? You alright?"
He waved a hand to shoo the voice away and pushed forward. Each step was a battle, and he was losing.
The citizen shrugged and turned away.
That's right. Just another soul broken by the city's harshness. A far cry from the demonic figure already being described in terrified whispers back at the tavern.
**
Mona led the rescued through Calamor's winding paths, her heart feeling as if would burst at any moment. She glanced back, counting heads. All still there. "We're close. Last push!" The journey stretched on. When the eastern sky began to pale, she saw it: the beastfolk village, nestled in the crook of the forest.
She signaled for them to approach.
The vast array of beastfolk species moved between the humble structures, beginning their day. One of them spotted the new arrivals. Then another. Soon, a small crowd had gathered around the new beastfolk.
Mona watched from the treeline. Her thoughts drifted to Valen. After a brief rest, she turned and ran. The cottage was close.
As she got closer, she slowed to a full stop.
The door was slightly ajar.
Mona pushed it open with her tail tip, bow raised, every instinct screaming. The room was dim, the air still. And Valen lay in a heap on the floor bloodied and unresponsive.
For one quiet, terrifying, moment, she couldn't breathe.
Then she was at his side, the pad of her palm finding his forehead, his cheek. Cold. No no no— Her ears swiveled toward his chest. She pressed against his chest.
There.
Weak. Too fast. But there.
Relief that flooded through. She tore a strip from her shirt and bound his shoulder with quick, sure movements. It was old muscle memory from a dozen self-treated wounds, now repurposed for him. She hooked her arms under his chest and pulled. Muscles strained, breath hissed through clenched teeth, and adrenaline surged again.
She finally managed to haul him onto the bed, then sat beside him. "You need to rest," she whispered. The words were for him. They were for her. They were for this gallery of trinkets and memories that lined the walls, waiting for another ghost to join their ranks.
She fetched a basin and water. Peeling back the blood-soaked cloth, she bit her lip at the wound beneath. She dipped the rag and began the slow, careful work of cleaning the gash.
Dawn's light crept through the shutters, soft and unforgiving.
Mona's movements slowed. Her eyes grew heavy, then slipped shut.
She slept, curled on the floor beside the bed.