Chương 83: WALKING AMONG GHOSTS

The café was warm enough that the windows had fogged over, blurring the street outside into smears of lanternlight and drifting white. Snow continued to fall beyond the glass, quiet and patient, as if the city itself were being tucked in for the night. Roric sat alone near the back, both hands wrapped around a porcelain cup of tea. Steam curled upward, faint and fragrant, carrying hints of dried herbs and spice. He hadn't drunk yet. He was thinking.

The Iron Forest lingered in his mind like a bruise pressed too often. He had been there three days ago, his investigations pointing to that location. The memory surfaced uninvited—the way it always did when his thoughts slowed. Black-barked trees veined with metallic sheen. Roots like exposed tendons. The forest had hummed softly beneath his feet, not hostile, but aware. Snow had clung to the ironwood in unnatural patterns, collecting where it shouldn't, melting where it should have frozen solid. And the signs.

That was what troubled him most. Someone had lived there. Not beasts. Not drifters. People who understood concealment. Fire pits scrubbed clean of soot, but not heat. Tracks deliberately staggered to break pattern recognition. Resedual Flow signatures erased—but imperfectly. Saints. Every residual imprint carried the unmistakable density of sanctioned ascent. Plural. They hadn't stayed long. Long enough to rest. To plan. Then they had moved on. Definately toward Blackhaven.

Roric finally lifted the cup and took a slow sip. The warmth grounded him, pulling his attention back into the café—the low murmur of voices, the clink of cutlery, the crackle of a hearth near the counter. Alaric needed to know. The question was when. Roric exhaled through his nose and tugged gently on his Bonds. The sensation was subtle but intimate, like fingers brushing silk threads woven through his chest. One bond responded immediately—bright, restless, impatient. Jamie.

His mouth curved into a faint smile before he could stop it.

'Still outside? Hmm, that one has a strong will' he thought.' Just like her mother.' The thought brought with it another, heavier one. Raizelle. The café faded around the edges as memory took hold. She had been wounded the first time he saw her. Blood-stained leaves. A crude blade clutched in shaking fingers. Blue eyes sharp with defiance even as her body failed her. She'd tried to stand when he approached—failed—and cursed him for catching her before she hit the ground. He'd carried her home anyway.

She hadn't trusted him. Not for weeks.

Slept with a knife beneath her pillow. Watched him like a cornered animal. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Until she didn't. Until distrust softened into something else. Until she opened up and told him everything. Marriage had come quietly. No ceremony worth speaking of. Just a shared understanding that neither of them was leaving. Jamie had been born not long after that.

Raizelle had laughed through the pain, tears freezing on her lashes as she held their daughter for the first time. The memory twisted. The attack came in flashes—shattering wards, splintered wood, blood slick beneath his knees. Raizelle's breath hitching once, twice, then stopping altogether. And the man responsible. Roric's grip tightened around the teacup. The mark on the man's neck was burned into him forever: a stylized blue rose pierced through with a sword. He had been sent from her past to come for her.

Roric had killed him. He did not regret that. What he regretted was what remained afterward. That scar in his mind was the reason he could not ascend further. Flow recoiled from unresolved fracture. If he pushed—if he tried to climb higher through the Forging Ritual—his mind would shatter before his body did. He would become something else. A monster. Not that he would. He had his little girl to take care of...

"Sir?" Roric blinked and looked up. The waitress stood beside the table, polite smile practiced but sincere.

"Is the tea not good?"

"No," he said quietly.

"Just thinking." She smiled.

"Would you like anything else?"

"Yes," Roric said after a moment.

"Could you wrap a few pastries for me? I'd like to take them home. For my daughter." Her expression softened immediately.

"Of course." When she left, Roric straightened slightly, forcing the past back where it belonged. Focus. Saints had been in the Iron Forest. Recently. Now they weren't. Which meant they had integrated into the city. Anyone could be compromised. By the time he paid and stepped outside, evening had fully settled. Snow dusted his shoulders, muffling sound, turning Blackhaven into something deceptively peaceful. As he walked, the question resurfaced. Do I inform Alaric now… or keep digging?

Two men passed him as he pondered. One lean, sharp-featured with a buzz cut, adjusting his collar against the cold. The other broad and heavy-set, moving with unhurried confidence. Saw Roric saw something briefly as the mans collar fully covered his neck. He did'nt believe it. He stopped and turned. He had to confirm.

"Excuse me," Roric said, placing a firm hand on the man's shoulder.

"Huh,?"The man responded, looking over his shoulder with an annoyed expression.

"I need to check something," Roric replied.

"Ok, so what does that have to do with me?"

"Please cooperate and let me check your neck." Roric repeated calmly, attempting to turn him around. He couldn't. That surprised him. Aside from the three others in the city no one should be able to resist his streanght. Granted he wasnt using all of it so as to not hurt the man. Should I apply more pressure? The burly man stepped closer.

"Is there a problem fine sir?"

"I'm looking for someone," Roric said evenly.

"They bear a tattoo." The lean man's jaw tightened.

"Again, how's that my problem?"

"That would depend," Roric answered, "on if you have said mark or not." The lean man dipped his hand into his pocket. Before he could draw anything, the burly man grabbed his collar and turned him sharply, exposing his neck. Bare. No mark. Roric stared at the smooth skin for a moment and released his grip.

"My apologies," he said with an awkward laugh.

"I guess I'm under it tonight." The burly man studied him, then shrugged.

"Happens." Roric nodded then turned, both parties continueing on in opposite directions. Once they were out of earshot—"We need to move carefully. Thanks to your dumbass killing people, it looks like they're on to us." Jax said under his breath. Torvin scoffed.

"I was sending a message."

"A message everyone can see," Jax replied.

"If I hadn't nudged his perception, You would have been found out. That or you'd have blown a fuse. Either way you could cause this whole operation to go to shit." Torvin scowled.

"Where's the boss?"

"Haven't seen him since he was spotted with those kids," Jax said.

"A week ago."

"Should've grabbed the girl."

"That's not the plan." They turned a corner.

"That old mans been running for ten years," Torvin growled.

"Could already have left the city." Jax glanced at Torvin as they moved, his eyes narrowing.

"You know," he muttered, voice low, "he seemed awfully attached to those kids. Why else would he risk being caught or killed to save them. The plan is to use them to lure him out." Torvin snorted, a short, humorless sound.

"Maybe old age has finally caught up to that geezer."

"Maybe," Jax said.

"Maybe not Either way orders are orders. If the boss can reinstate us—""You believe that?" Jax hesitated.

"I don't know. But he is part of that familly. Even if we're just pawns, we live to serve the Queen." Torvin grunted rubbing the scar around his tatoo from when he confronted the boss. Jax frowned thoughtfully.

"Still don't get why he shaved his head and eyebrows."

"So the girl wouldn't recognize him," Torvin muttered.

"But they have the same blue eyes surely someone would spot the resemblence."

"Shut up already." Torvin snapped They entered a jewelry store, the door chiming softly behind them. Roric continued walking, unaware of how narrowly truth had brushed past him—snow crunching beneath his boots as the city quietly closed in around all of them.