The presence Elijah had sensed the night before didn't vanish. It lingered, a cold pressure at the edge of his awareness. By morning, he'd pinpointed its location: an abandoned warehouse three blocks from the safehouse.
He didn't tell Solomon.
He told himself it was because Solomon would say it was too dangerous. That they needed a plan. But deep down, Elijah knew the truth: he wanted to prove himself. To show that the prince's power wasn't wasted on him.
So he waited until Solomon went out to check another breach, then slipped out of the safehouse.
The warehouse was a hulking shape against the gray sky, its windows shattered, its doors chained. Elijah found a gap in the fence and squeezed through, his touchstone burning in his pocket.
Inside, the air was cold. Not the cold of winter, but something deeper—a cold that seeped into his bones. He moved through the darkness, his enhanced senses guiding him. The pulse of the rogue presence was strong now, close.
He found them in the center of the warehouse: two figures, human in shape but wrong in proportion. Their eyes were too bright, their movements too fluid. They wore modern clothes—leather jackets, jeans—but their faces were ancient.
"The prince's vessel," one said. Its voice was a low growl. "Alone."
"Foolish," the other said. "But convenient."
Elijah drew his bane blade. "I'm not giving you anything."
They attacked.
The first one moved faster than any human could. Elijah's training took over—he blocked, sidestepped, struck. The blade bit into the creature's arm, and it howled, black blood spraying.
But the second one was behind him. A clawed hand grabbed his collar, slammed him into a steel pillar. The impact drove the breath from his lungs. His knife clattered to the floor.
"You carry our prince," the creature hissed, its face inches from his. "We will carve him from your flesh if we must."
Elijah's vision blurred. He felt the wolf stirring, a surge of heat in his chest. His hands came up, and for a moment, he felt something form around his fingers—a faint, ethereal glow.
Aether Claws, the prince's voice whispered. Barely formed. But enough.
He slashed. The claws—barely visible, like moonlight condensed into talons—ripped across the creature's face. It screamed and released him.
Elijah scrambled for his knife. The first creature was already recovering, its wounded arm hanging limp but its eyes blazing with fury.
They closed in.
And then the warehouse door exploded inward.
Solomon stood in the opening, a shotgun in each hand, iron rounds blazing. The first shot caught one creature in the chest; the second blew the other's leg out from under it.
"Down!" Solomon shouted.
Elijah dropped. More shots echoed, and the creatures retreated, dragging their wounded, vanishing into the darkness of the warehouse's upper levels.
Solomon grabbed Elijah's arm and hauled him up. "You absolute fool."
"I was trying to—"
"You were trying to get yourself killed." Solomon's voice was ice. "These aren't ghouls. They're clan warriors. They've been hunting things like you for centuries. You don't face them alone. Ever."
Elijah had no answer. The adrenaline was fading, leaving shame in its wake.
They left the warehouse. Solomon didn't speak until they were back in the safehouse, the door locked, the alarms set.
"If you do that again," Solomon said quietly, "I won't be there to save you. And the barrier will fall with you."
Elijah met his eyes. "I understand."
"Do you? Because your pride almost killed you. And it almost cost the world its only remaining anchor."
The words hit harder than any blow. Elijah sat down, his head in his hands. "I'm sorry."
Solomon's expression softened, just slightly. "You're not the first rookie to think he had something to prove. But you have more to lose than most. Remember that."
He walked away, leaving Elijah alone with the weight of his mistake.
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