Hazel Quickpaw's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

The cart hadn't moved yet. Hazel stood near the wheel, running his thumb over the coins Caius had given him. They felt heavier than they should. Real weight, not the hollow clink of tavern scraps. He was about to pocket them when footsteps crunched on gravel behind him. Grendel stopped three paces back, bow slung across his shoulders. His expression was flat, unreadable. "I know who you owe," he said. No preamble. No threat. Just fact. Hazel's hand tightened around the coins. He opened his mouth to deflect, to laugh it off, but Grendel cut him off. "The Veil Syndicate doesn't forget debts. They don't forget runners, either." The words landed like stones. Hazel felt his pulse kick up, but he kept his face still. "So what?" he said. "You planning to collect?" Grendel's gaze didn't waver. "I'm planning to keep you alive long enough to reach Nor. After that, your choices are yours." A scream tore through the air before Hazel could answer. They ran toward the sound. Past a cluster of rusted cars, past a collapsed wall, until they found her. A squirrel-kin backed against an overturned cart, maps spilling across the dirt. Her tail was fluffed in panic, ears flat. In front of her, a rabbit-kin lurched forward, red mushrooms blooming from its shoulders and neck. Its eyes were wild, teeth bared. Foxface. Hazel recognized her from the tavern poster Caius had shown him days ago. She held a compass like a weapon, but her hands were shaking. The infected rabbit-kin snarled and lunged. Grendel's arrow hit before Hazel even saw him draw. The rabbit-kin stumbled, clawed at the shaft, then collapsed. Red spores puffed into the air. Grendel stepped forward and fired again, clean through the skull. The body went still. Foxface sagged against the cart, gasping. Hazel moved without thinking, kicking dirt over the spores, pulling her back from the body. She looked up at him, eyes wide, and for a second he saw himself reflected there—someone who'd just barely escaped something worse. Grendel lowered his bow. "She comes with us," he said. It wasn't a question. Hazel looked at Foxface, at the maps scattered around her feet, at the Red creeping closer than any of them had admitted. He thought about debts and choices and the difference between running toward something and running away. "Yeah," he said. "She does."