Zephyr
I couldn't shake the sight of it—the way she moved with such ruthless efficiency, the way Keith's confidant barely had time to register his own demise before she buried that blade deep in his throat. It wasn't just the kill itself that unsettled me; it was the absolute lack of hesitation. There was no moment of deliberation, no pause for conscience—just a clean, calculated end. I had seen death before, inflicted it with my own hands when necessary, but there was something about the way she did it that lingered, like an echo in my skull that refused to fade.
I had stayed in the shadows, unseen, unnoticed, watching her disappear into the night like a ghost. And yet, here I was, the image playing over and over again in my mind like a cruel trick, a scene I couldn't rewind or erase. It was beginning to gnaw at me in ways I wasn't ready to admit, twisting my thoughts into something bordering on obsession.
Ralph must have sensed it before I even said a word. He had always been perceptive, always knew when something was clawing at me from the inside. He leaned back in his chair, studying me with that knowing look, his fingers drumming lightly against the wooden surface of the desk.
"Alright, spill. I know that look. It's the same damn look you get when you're chasing something you shouldn't be."
I scoffed, shaking my head as if to dismiss it, but even I knew better than to think I could fool Ralph. "It's nothing," I muttered, but my tone lacked conviction, and we both knew it. "Just something I saw."
"Zeph," he said, his voice low, measured. "You don't get like this over 'just something.' Talk to me."
I hesitated, running a hand through my hair before exhaling sharply. "I saw her," I finally admitted. "The huntress, at least I think it's her. She killed one of Keith's men."
Ralph let out a low whistle, his eyebrows shooting up. "That's a bold move."
"That's one way to put it," I muttered. "She was fast. Precise. It wasn't just an assassination—it was a statement."
He leaned forward now, his expression more serious. "And what exactly about this has you so rattled? You've seen people killed before, Zeph. You've killed before."
I clenched my jaw, tapping my fingers against my knee. "It's not the kill, Ralph. It's her. The way she did it, the way she vanished after. Like she was never there. I can't get it out of my head."
Ralph regarded me for a long moment before sighing. "Alright, I'll bite. What are you planning to do about it?"
I hesitated, knowing exactly how he'd react to my answer. "Track her."
Predictably, Ralph groaned, rubbing his temples. "Zeph, come on. You have an entire pack with resources at your disposal. Let someone else handle this."
I shook my head. "No. If I involve the pack, they'll turn it into a hunt. I don't want her dead—I just want to find her. Understand why she did it."
He exhaled sharply. "You realize how insane that sounds, right? You're chasing down a woman who just took out one of Keith's best men like it was nothing. What happens when she turns that blade on you?"
A smirk ghosted across my lips. "Then I guess I'll just have to be faster."
Ralph muttered something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like, "You're out of your damn mind." But he didn't try to stop me, which meant he understood—maybe not fully, but enough to know I wouldn't let this go. It wasn't just about witnessing the kill anymore. It was about her. The way she moved, the way she disappeared. There was something there, a puzzle I needed to piece together, an answer that gnawed at me from the inside out. And no matter how reckless, how insane it seemed, I knew I wouldn't stop until I found her.
I paced the streets for what felt like the hundredth time, my eyes scanning every passing figure, my mind replaying the encounter over and over again like a feverish dream I couldn't wake from. It was ridiculous. I was ridiculous. One chance meeting, a fleeting glimpse of her face, and here I was, scouring the city like some lovesick fool. I scoffed at myself, running a hand through my hair, trying to shake the feeling off. I didn't even know her name. I had nothing to go on except the way she had looked at me—half-curious, half-distant, like she was here but not really, as if she had already decided I wasn't worth remembering. Maybe I wasn't.
Meanwhile, Thalia sat by the window of her small apartment, the light from the streetlamps casting soft, golden hues on her features. She sipped at her tea absently, her mind drifting back, just for a moment, to the stranger she had encountered earlier. He had been searching for something—or someone—but she hadn't cared enough to ask. His gaze had lingered on her for a second too long, his lips parting like he had something to say, but she had walked away before he could. She had no time for that sort of thing. She barely had time for herself. What was he to her anyway? Just another face in the crowd, a brief, inconsequential moment in the grand scheme of things. Thalia sighed, shaking her head, setting her tea down. She had more important things to think about.
I, however, was spiraling. My search led me nowhere. It was as if she had never existed, as if I had imagined the whole thing. Maybe I had. The city was a vast, endless labyrinth, swallowing people whole, making them disappear before you could ever get a real grasp on them. I stopped at the edge of a dimly lit alley, pressing my hands against the cool surface of the brick wall, trying to ground myself.
"This is stupid," I muttered under my breath. "I don't even know her. What the hell am I doing?" But the answer was clear—I was chasing a ghost. A fantasy. An infatuation that I had no right to entertain.
I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head, forcing myself to laugh at my own foolishness. What had come over me? Maybe it was the way she had carried herself, effortlessly distant, like she was untouchable. Maybe it was the way she hadn't even glanced back, hadn't given me a second thought. Or maybe it was the simple, cruel truth—I wanted something I couldn't have. And wasn't that always the way it went?
Fine. If I couldn't find her, then I would forget her. It was just a moment, just a feeling, just a trick my mind was playing on me. I was stronger than this. I had better things to do than chase after someone who clearly didn't care. I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked away.
And yet, even as I left, something inside me whispered that this wasn't the last time I would think about her.