The storm tore through the streets, chilling stone, suffocating the earth, and ripping apart anything soft and delicate. The rooftops were too dangerous, too treacherous because of the wind. Chase knew better than to walk the streets at night and risk provoking a wayward pickpocket or desperate addict. For despite the vicious gusts, persistent ice, and bone shattering cold, the city's thieves did not sleep, nor the Peacekeepers.

With his collar turned up at his ears, a stolen woollen scarf around his neck, and a matching set of mittens, Chase walked from the Silver Moon to Murker Street. A long walk made longer by the dangers that lurked in every shadow.. In each hand he clutched a small shiv, fists tucked into pockets, ready to protect his bounty. The coin in his inner pocket rested silently only because Chase's treads were mindful and smooth—a dance. The trick was to remain alert; look down every alley. Investigate every sound, but not immediately. No, if you heard a crunch of snow behind you, turning immediately announced you were protecting something. A slow turn of the head, a flippant glance over the shoulder, a momentary pause to sneeze or tie a lace was all the situation required.

Chase had mastered the art of disguising prudence with impervious ignorance. One never thought a cat dangerous until it struck with swift blows and sharp talons. Oh the things one could learn from the cats roaming the streets. They were wiser than most, first to flee a scene—fastest too—first to hear intruders and assess whether they posed a threat.

One could learn much from their mistakes too. Disease ridden and starving, they dangled near the bottom of the food chain despite their numbers. They sat around corners, on fences and windowsills with patches of missing fur, puss filled eyes, and lost teeth. Cowardly, some liked to call them, but Chase saw them as survivors.

Up ahead a big ginger tabby looked up from his sheltered ledge, hackles raised, teeth bared. Struggling to distinguish what the cat was focusing on, Chase watched it as he approached until he realized it was not his presence that had the cat on edge.

It was too late for impervious ignorance. Chase swivelled, throwing his elbow back and catching a man's ribcage. His other hand, curled in a fist, followed through and slammed into the man's jaw. Chase heard the cat yowl and scurry off, knocking over rubbish cans in its hurry. Very uncatlike, but understandable due to the slippery street. Chase steadied his balance and kept his gaze locked on the man as he tumbled backwards, landing with a thump on his arse.

If it'd been a clear, still night Chase would've heard and seen the second man, but the snow fell so thickly he didn't spot the darkly clad figure or hear him approach and swing his arm.

The punch caught Chase on the temple and drove him to his knees. A boot caught him in the chest, driving the air from his lungs. Chase gasped, trying to suck in air without success. He heaved, blood rising to his face and pulsing in his ears. Snow seeped through his clothing at his knees and palms, soaking the fabric and chilling the flesh. Chase dug his fingers into its cold softness.

Someone hit him with a flat palm on his back, and the air came rushing in. Ice sliced through his airways so sharp and frigid that he coughed.

"Easy now," the second man said. "Our orders aint to kill ye, just to collect ye."

A moment passed before Chase could talk. When he felt confident he wouldn't choke on his words, he pushed up off his hands and tilted his head back to gulp down fresh air in the largest gulps he could handle. "You should know...not...to sneak up on a man."

The man grinned, gold teeth glinting, the rest of him a patchwork of shadows. "Yer a watched man. Ye should expect us." Strong hands pulled Chase to his feet and dusted off the snow. "Ye been summoned pretty boy."

Chase cleared his throat and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Summoned eh? Forgive me, I am not familiar with the phrase. What does it entail?"

"Seems it aint just pretty boy's charm that got them girls squealin' in their knickers," the first man sneered. "Pretty boy got smarts. Well, they say if ye bang a man's head against a wall til he bleeds his thinker don't never work the same again."

Chase rubbed at his chest. That kick was gonna linger for days. "No need to put the wall through such torment. I'll just follow you gentlemen as I'm sure you're much more accustomed to taking orders than I."

The first man's fist bunched and dived for Chase. Chase stepped back, preparing to greet the attack, but the second man interrupted and caught his friend mid-swing.

"Enough, we got business with him and he needs his tongue and thinker to work if he's to be worth anything to him."

Chase felt a snarl pull at his lips. "You both better start leading or I'll bolt. The longer we stand here talking the more insulted I feel about being caught by the likes of you. Now one of you start leading or he won't be a happy master."

The first man glared at his friend and released Chase's arm. Slowly, as if parting with a treasure, the first man's fists relaxed and he nodded, withdrawing a brown satchel from his coat.

"Balls! You've got to be kidding me." Chase rolled his eyes and swore as they tugged the bag over his head, wrapping his world in the smell of rotting flesh and darkness.

#

They pulled the bag off without concern for his face. The material scratched Chase's skin, pulled his nose up with a hiss of pain. For a moment he sat blinded, the light from the candles across the small study a stark contrast to the darkness of the past hour.

Chase blinked away the moisture in his eyes, testing the bonds that kept his hands behind his back. The chair on which he'd been forced to sit was hard, plain wood—brittle. He could break it if he needed to, but he wouldn't need to.

"Thank you for seeing me, Mr Darkwood," an accented, rich voice said. Chase had expected to hear him, so the surprise that the man was likely expecting never came.

"Well, you asked so nicely a refusal seemed impolite," Chase said through gritted teeth. "Tell me, do you treat all your guests like animals?"

Adjusted to the light, Chase held the eyes that watched him from the other side of the large oak desk. The room held the underlying smell of a recent meal—fish—despite the crackling fire and the scented oils burning in foreign glass contraptions. The gaze that held his was molten metal, silver in places and cobalt where light failed to catch. Such strange eyes, yet so familiar, so much like his own.

Lethillians were known for their light eyes, dark hair, and pale skin. Chase stood apart with his dark gold hair and eyes. It had proven a useful asset when it came to women, not so useful when his anonymity was at stake, and like the colour of his eyes the man's pupils were so distinct, so strange they would betray him if they so desired. Two moons in a night of nightmares.

The man smiled, leaned back in his large chair, and steepled his fingers below his sternum. "I treat my guests as they deserve. You are an untested dog, My Darkwood. Prove yourself, and I may feel inclined to give you a treat."

Chase glared, clenching his jaw until he felt his teeth grind.

The man approved and stood, rounded the table, and leaned against it. "You know what I wish to hear, so let us not dally with pleasantries, yes? I hope—for your sake—your council was received."

"My council?" Chase scoffed. "Please, don't give me all the credit."

No laugh, just a small smile. "I did not give you the exact words, Mr Darkwood. No, those you chose yourself and I hope they were successful."

Chase grunted. "They were received and heeded."

"So I can be assured what I asked for is done?"

Chase scowled, his brow lowered. "I don't understand. What's it to you whether he has her-"

"It doesn't concern you. An artist does not explain his reasons to his paint, nor does a butcher explain death to the pig he slices. I have no reason to enlighten you, Mr Darkwood. Now, yes or no? You wouldn't want to anger me, would you? Unless..."

"He did it," Chase said. "Alright? He did it. He broke her bloody heart."

"And?"

Chase dropped his gaze, his nails digging a line of half-moons into his palm. "I don't know where he is."

"But you saw him? Saw her?"

Chase took a moment before he answered. "I helped him organize it, and I know she...I know she...she had to have seen it."

"But you don't know for certain?"

"Your instructions were to guide him. You said nothing about spying on him."

Like a snake, the back of the man's palm struck Chase across the cheek, jerking his body to the side. Such force came with the blow that his chair tilted onto two legs, hovering at the edge of a plunge. Silver Eyes caught him and returned him to safety, a strong grip turned Chase's chin to meet his molten eyes.

"Do I need to remind you of what you stand to lose, Mr Darkwood? I could deliver a reminder, you know. It needn't be with death. Death is far too kind and ineffective when it comes to leverage."

Chase gritted his teeth, barely able to keep his temper in check. "I did what you told me."

"You did, and yet you still failed. If I expected an enervated husk I would have sought out a simpler mind. I chose you for a number of reasons, the foremost being your mind, Mr Darkwood. I know you to be a smart man. Someone with enough initiative to know when he is scraping by and when he is striving for success. I encourage you to guess which I'd prefer."

"If you're looking for a willing mole, look towards another," Chase spat.

"You would doom your sisters to a fate worse than death, Mr Darkwood. I cannot see that sitting well with your preened, false facade, and do not mistake my threats of violence as anticipated acts. I do not wish to harm such innocent girls, my qualm is not with them."

Then why did you take them? It was the question the man was fishing from Chase, the question that would receive no answer, only goads. Chase laughed humourlessly. "I know the line you wish me to speak, but I won't ask it."

"See? Mindful of words and reasons. A man of vision and wisdom with so few years under his belt," he said, smacking his hand on his knee. "I knew I chose well. I knew you were the man who could help me, and I knew it would be a challenge to make you see things my way." He rounded the desk, pulled open a drawer, and placed a small box on the table. "I knew a mutt like you would be difficult to train. In such cases, collars are needed. Leashes too, but every owner tries to avoid a whip or beating stick if they can." He approached Chase again, cradling the box in his hand. The size of an orange and plain brown, the box was the most menacing thing Chase had seen since entering the room.

His eyes followed it, cringed as Silver Eyes placed it in his lap.

"I hope this lesson is a memorable one."

The lid disappeared.

Chase's head spun, his vision blurred, and the world drowned in a red as dark and sodden as the dried blood at the end of the finger. Chase roared and closed his eyes. Which of his sisters did that finger belong to? What else had they endured since their disappearance? Did they still breathe? Every muscle in him shook with pent up rage. His bonds grazed against his skin, creating blisters.

Strong fingers gripped his hair and yanked his head back so the column of his throat stretched so far he struggled to breathe. "I want to know every thought he has. Every move Kole makes you will tell me. Every decision, every plan, every encounter. I want to know about it and I want to know about it as soon as it happens, if not sooner. Do you understand me? Do I need to make myself clearer?"

Chase growled, attempting to free himself of the man's hold. The muscles in his throat and jaw began to ache as the tension grew.

"I can shatter them, Mr Darkwood. Unravel their minds and ignite madness like a wildfire in a dry field. Pain is but a word that represents far too complex a sensation. They will cry, beg for mercy. And receive none. I will feed them to my men, one lustful bastard after the other until their very souls shatter, their dignity vanquished." He lowered his head closer to Chase, taking in a deep breath. "I will promise them this with no reprieve of death if you seek to disobey me, and believe me I will know if you do. A watched man is never alone, Mr Darkwood. Remember that. Remember this oath."