MOON OF ASHES
Her palm brushed the air and the silver thread lashed out, a single bright strand wrapping around the shadow’s arm and yanking it back.
Mara spun, arrow nocked. “Got you,” she hissed and let it fly. The arrow grazed the attacker’s shoulder; he yelped and stumbled, cloak slipping. For an instant Ava saw his face: a young man with pale eyes, lips set in a grim line. Not a random assassin — someone from the Moot.
He hissed something in a language she didn’t know and jerked free of the strand, bolting into the mist. The other two, still groggy, crawled after him. Within seconds the three shadows had melted back beyond the neutral ring, swallowed by smoke and silence.
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