The Nighthawks squad captain was about to say something when he stopped and extended his hand.
A peculiar creature appeared before him — vaguely fish-like, its body translucent and indistinct — and delivered a letter before vanishing as abruptly as it had come.
"Thank you. No reply needed this time." He nodded toward the space where it had been.
The other Nighthawks officers around him thought nothing of it. Since the Church had begun its crackdown on evil gods and cults, communication between Church Extraordinaires across cities had shifted from telegraph to this method. The messenger moved at roughly the same speed as a telegraph, but could be summoned on demand — far more convenient.
The captain's expression grew serious as he read.
"Two weeks ago, the Nighthawks in Avignon encountered a suspicious transaction involving several rogue Extraordinaires who showed characteristics similar to what we faced tonight. We can now say with reasonable confidence that this is the same organization's signature method. There is likely an evil god involved. They deliberately create rogue Extraordinaires to cause chaos and cover their escape. Everyone keep this in mind for future operations and prepare accordingly."
"Yes, Captain." The team answered together.
He nodded and continued.
"Furthermore, certain details of this incident share similarities with an unresolved case the Mourne Nighthawks previously flagged. Both involve what appears to be a middleman-type figure, connecting unrelated individuals and coordinating a division of labor to complete the transaction."
He turned to one of the officers.
"Contact the Nighthawks in every city between Mourne and Avignon. Have them watch for similar signs. Also remind them that this organization — which we believe worships Truth — possesses abilities beyond simply hiding in shadow: from what appears to be Sequence 8 upward, they can become shadow and create false shadows entirely."
That officer turned back toward headquarters to send the telegrams. The messenger creature was useful, but with only one available and messages needing to go to multiple recipients, the telegraph remained the practical choice for less urgent, broader communications.
The captain organized his remaining team methodically.
"You two stay here. Confirm there are no anomalies with the remains and dispose of them. If anything is unusual, recover the severed leg as well."
"You — inform the Punishers that the rogue is no longer a threat."
"And you — look into the unlicensed Extraordinaire from earlier. If there's nothing obviously wrong, keep your focus on the main matter for now."
The team dispersed. The captain headed back toward the docks to check on whether his colleagues there had found anything new.
Elsewhere, in the open countryside, a figure in a hooded cloak was writing hurriedly in the dark:
Dear Comrade,
Though we in Birkoff committed no errors, the hounds of the night have fixed their gaze upon us. A fearless warrior gave everything so that the worst outcome was avoided. We are forced into hiding, waiting for the day we may act in service of Truth. Do not worry for us — but be wary of the eyes in the dark.
All for Truth!
He left it unsigned and unsealed, and simply held the paper out.
He watched it disappear into the darkness. Then, extending his arm with a careful smile, he said:
"This is the payment for this delivery. Please bring the letter to the appropriate location as soon as possible."
Even with his dark vision, he couldn't see anything at all. But the pain in his arm was real enough. He bit down on any sound — both to avoid exposure, and because he refused to show weakness in front of this strange entity when paying for a service.
This was actually the primary way their potion path expressed its connection to shadow: not merely hiding within it, but perceiving the mysterious and dangerous beings that dwelled in darkness and shadow, and potentially negotiating with them to accomplish certain things.
His dark vision itself had been obtained through exactly such a transaction.
On the opposite bank of the Tasok River, a gasping Ryan climbed a tree, checked behind him and across the water, confirmed no one was following, and finally let himself relax.
"Damn. From now on, if I run into something that's obviously all body and no brain, I'm staying well away."
Treasure your life. Avoid idiots.
Though he had to admit — the encounter hadn't been entirely without benefit.
The fight had been head-on from start to finish, yet his actions throughout had embodied the Assassin's core principle: observe carefully, then strike the vital point. He hadn't killed the creature directly, but he'd avoided the most dangerous outcome — getting surrounded by official Extraordinaires alongside it.
So even during the escape, the familiar sensation had returned. And this time the dissolving was stronger than when he'd killed the Extraordinaire who'd been tailing him back in Avignon.
Combined with tonight's infiltration of the Black Ravens, the internal presence was down to almost nothing.
He pulled out the copper pocket watch he'd bought in Birkoff. Past midnight — the sixteenth.
I transmigrated on the evening of the twenty-first. It's been less than a month, and I'm nearly completely free of the potion's influence.
It didn't mean he was safe from ever losing control, but eliminating one threat was still worth something. And once an Extraordinaire was no longer affected by a potion — no longer hearing that whispering at the edge of their thoughts — they had the right to attempt the next potion and advance to the next Sequence.
Not that it matters yet, since I don't even know the name of the next formula. Sequence 8 is a long way off.
He shook his head and stopped thinking about things with no immediate solution. After resting awhile and recovering a good portion of his stamina, he continued upstream along the Tasok. He wasn't planning to walk all the way to the next city on foot — he just wanted a bit more distance before stopping to rest.
Where to run next?
He'd come face to face with official Extraordinaires tonight. The nearest city felt too close.
What about going straight back to Mourne? Far enough — and I can share what I've found with old Schneider while I'm at it.
The old man's information had been common knowledge, but it had still been genuinely useful at the time. Returning the favor seemed natural enough.
Mourne it is.
The decision was made — and then immediately second-guessed.
Or should I observe a bit longer, get a full month? Better to be thorough. I should ask the old man too, just in case these last few weeks are the potion being unusually cooperative and I'm celebrating too early.
That same afternoon, riding a boat downstream, Ryan could already make out Mourne's skyline.
What he didn't know was that somewhere in the city, a woman was looking at a mirror that had reacted to his arrival — and smiling a smile that was entirely, genuinely her own.