An orange moon hung low over the North Tide mountains, its glow kissing their snow topped spine, snow that had not yet reached the city of Darkwell. Tucked away as it was in the valley at the mountain's feet, it saw snow later than its jagged peaks. But the cold it felt all year, frozen winds right off the icy ocean hidden on the Northern side of the mountain.

  Vuk resisted the urge to pull his woolen cloak closer. Fur would have been warmer, but it was too bulky, too heavy for sneaking, and too rich to go unnoticed.

  Stealth was more valuable than warmth. He could rub feeling back into his fingers and toes, but he couldn’t rub coins from his pockets.

  From his perch on the edge of a frail roof, heels hooked in the gutter to keep him from slipping, Vuk could see both ends of the alley below him. So when two men came in at the same time, one from each end, he knew he was in for a show. Although dressed all in browns and blacks, Vuk’s shape would have been easily visible from the ground if either man were to look up. But no one ever looked up.

  Vuk bent his knees, allowing his body to shift forward slightly, before pulling his hood up over his waxen hair and tilting his chin down, burrowing his face into the shadows. He held his breath and remained as still as stone as the strangers came across one another almost directly below Vuk’s feet.

  It was obvious the two men had not planned this meeting. One, a robust man in a too tight black coat stopped only steps from the alley entrance. He assessed his new companion, chest heaving, and girth threatening to pop the thick leather belt around his middle. He leaned heavily on the cane he carried. It had a silver handle, real silver. Silly to go out at this time of night carrying a thing like that. Unless you were looking for trouble.

  Trouble was two heads taller and bare armed, even in the chill. His pale skin looked ghostly and his teeth shone white when he smiled at the merchant still heaving at the other end.

  “Lost, sir?” The man asked, flexing his too round shoulders. Vuk eyed a pin on the breast of the man’s shirt. A small hand, palm facing the chest, the head of a nail sticking out the back. It gave the impression the copper hand was nailed into the man’s chest.

  Again Vuk had to resist an urge to move, to slink back away from the roof’s edge. Leaving now would only draw attention. Better to watch it play out from above.

  “Please, man,” the merchant said. “Take my coin, I don’t want any fuss.”

  The merchant stuffed a meaty hand into a pocket of his coat, fingers fumbling, coins clinking.

  “Oh, I plan too.” The larger man slipped a blade from behind his back with a practiced ease and closed the gap between him and the merchant.

  Vuk shook his head ever so slightly. You’d think one of the Hand’s goons would have better sense.

  The merchant cowed before the taller man, hunching over his cane and making fearful groaning noises that made the thug’s smile widen. As soon as he was within half a foot of his prey, the merchant’s cane shot up, the silver tip wacking the man in the temple with a sound that reverberated down the alley.

  The man didn't have time to even form a curse. His face fell slack and the light in his eyes went out. Limbs crumpled limply beneath him, knees hitting the ground seconds before his head. He wasn’t totally unconscious. Muscles began recovering the moment his head bounced off the dirt, arms already pushing himself upwards, but the merchant didn’t give him time to find his feet again.

  The merchant pulled his hand from his pocket and his plump fingers were shoved into a pair of silver knuckle dusters. Metal collided with skull, bone cracked, audible even from the rooftop.

  Vuk cast his eyes skyward. The moon was still visible behind the mountains, their rugged cliffs still silhouettes. There were a couple hours yet before morning.

  Good, this will be over soon.

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  The merchant smashed his armored fist into the other man’s head twice more before giving him a firm kick to make certain he was dead. He was. Vuk could tell that much from the roof. Satisfied, the merchant slipped his knuckle dusters back into his coat pocket and began rummaging instead in the pockets of his foe.

  He came away with a handful of coins and a nice flask that, full or not, would likely bear him something in return. He eyed the copper hand on the man’s shirt but wasn’t stupid enough to take it. The Hand would not be happy when he was told the body of one of his men had turned up dead in an alley a mere street away from the Sanctum. Unless the merchant knew where to sell the pin and how to do it quickly, the risk of being caught with it in his possession was too great.

  He settled for the coins and the flask and continued on his way down the alley, twirling his cane and showing none of the exertion he’d earlier put on.

  The moment he turned the corner Vuk kicked up his heels, allowing himself to slide right off the rooftop. His boots hit the packed earth as quietly as falling a full story could allow, and his cloak fell silently behind him. He pulled the tail of the cloak aside, careful not to let it fall in the blood seeping out of the man’s skull and matting in his dark hair. Then he squatted beside the body and began quickly, but delicately, running his hands over his clothes.

  His fingers found a bulge in the hem of the loose fitted shirt. The man hadn’t released his weapon even in death, so Vuk slipped the blade from his dead fingers and slit the seam. A couple notable coins fell out and he immediately pocketed them, not allowing them to clink together. Next he held the blade up to the waning moonlight. A good blade but no distinctive features. That was good. It meant no one would recognize it.

  Lastly, he checked the man’s neck. He pulled a leather cord out from the collar of his shirt. Tied on the end was a piece of cerulean metal the size of a large coin. The talisman had been cast with a ring around the outside and a small skull at its center. A Death Token.

  Vuk unknotted the cord and slipped the Token free. Then he pulled up the man’s shirt, exposing the pale flesh of his abdomen. With the tip of the blade Vuk sliced a line in the man’s skin, making a small hole between two ribs. Some blood came out but not much. With no heart to pump, it would already be settling at the man’s back. Vuk pushed the Token into the slit. More blood gushed out but once the Token was completely burrowed in the man’s skin, Vuk wiped it away, hopefully hiding any trace of the wound from scavengers that might come along behind him.

  Vuk may be a thief, but even he would not steal a man’s Death Token.

  Cast from the metal of falling stars, Death Tokens were a man’s passage to the afterlife. It was customary that parents pass on their Death Token’s to their children, giving them direct entry to the Other World and sparing them the long wait in the eternal fire in the belly of a star. Many believed if you stole a Token your soul would be cast into the void of space when you died, the Token null and void. Other’s decided the risk was worth it—or knew someone else who did, someone they could sell it to.

  Desperate parents were usually in the market for stolen Tokens. Custom dictated that if parents had more than two children that the Token went to the strongest. Some parents picked favorites. Others couldn’t bear the thought of any of their babes going without and would pay, or kill, to get their hands on someone else's.

  Vuk’s hand went instinctively to his own neck. Most orphans or bastards wore cords around their necks tied to stones they kept hidden beneath their shirts so people wouldn’t know they had been discarded or unworthy. But not Vuk. Vuk’s neck was bare. He had a mother, and if she didn’t wish to give him her Token that was her business, but he would not spend his days pretending he was loved when he was not.

  Vuk wiped the blade on the man’s shirt and then unwrapped one of the long thin lengths of leather he wore around each wrist. He rewrapped the leather around the blade before tucking it into the waist of his pants at the small of his back.

  Then, he pulled the pin from the man’s shirt and pocketed it.

  Not wanting to be seen leaving the alley, he sprinted toward the far wall and jumped, kicking off the stones and propelling himself toward the opposite side. His hands gripped the gutter and he swung for a moment, cloak swinging behind him, before pulling himself up onto the roof.

  The top of the moon was still visible behind the North Tide mountain range, but already the city was waking. Lanterns lighting, smoke rising from chimneys caked in ash. On the brightest of days the city still wore a blanket of gray.

  Vuk took the pin from his pocket and looked it over before scanning the city again, eyes falling on the Sanctum, the fortress of the Hand. The body would be found soon and thugs just like the dead man in the alley would be sent out to seek retribution. The absence of the pin would be noted and anyone caught in the vicinity would be searched thoroughly.

  But Vuk wouldn’t be caught, because Vuk wouldn’t be anywhere near here when the sun came up. One thing his mother had given him was an education; and education of the streets.

  Sleep with the sun, steal with the shadows...and never get caught.