Hunt had watched the mortal for three months, and in that time he had learned everything but her name. He would not ask it. To learn it would make her real in a way he could not undo. So he stayed on the rooftops with his wings folded tight, guarding her from the dark things that hunted her, and he told himself distance was mercy. Tonight the dark things were bolder. A wolf made of drifting shadow paced the alley below her window. Its body rippled with faint wisps, and its yellow eyes never left her lamp. Hunt had chased it off twice already this week. Each time it came back sooner. He crouched on the ledge across the street. The mortal moved behind her curtain, brushing her hair, unaware. On her balcony a climbing rose spilled pale blossoms over the rail. She watered it every morning. He knew this the way he knew the shape of her hands. The wolf was not the real danger. Hunt felt the cold before he saw it. Down the alley the air turned white with frost. Something tall unfolded from the dark, black and cracked with ice, horns curving up like blades. Its eyes burned pale blue. The shadow wolf had only been a scout. This thing had sent it. Hunt understood then. He could not keep watch every hour without being seen. The demon had learned his pattern. It had waited for the gap. The frost-thing looked up at the balcony. It began to climb. Hunt dropped. His wings snapped open and he hit the creature mid-climb, driving it off the wall. They struck the ground together. Ice tore his sleeve and burned his skin. He pinned it, wings spread wide, and for one moment he was fully lit by the mortal's window. The curtain moved. She looked out. Hunt had a choice. Finish the demon in the open, where she would see his face and his wings and know what guarded her. Or let it slip free and vanish before she looked closer. He chose. He drove his fist into the creature's throat and held it as the frost cracked and its blue eyes dimmed. It broke apart into cold smoke and was gone. When he rose, she was staring straight at him. Her mouth was open. Her hand pressed the glass. He had never let her see him. That rule had kept her safe and kept his secret whole. Now it was broken. He spread his wings and rose into the dark before she could open the window, before she could call out and ask the one thing he would not give her. But she had seen his face. And the demon had come hunting on purpose, which meant others knew he was here. His secret was no longer his to keep. Now the mortal would look for him, and so would whatever had sent the thing he just killed.