The city’s bustling streets showed no signs of slowing, even as the sun dipped below the horizon. Lanterns glowed with a faint, magical light, casting long shadows across the cobblestone roads. Rowan moved through the crowd with the practiced ease of someone used to going unnoticed. His hood was drawn low, his steps deliberate but unremarkable.

  The shard pulsed faintly in his pocket, its rhythm steady but quiet. Rowan ignored it for now. He had more immediate concerns—chief among them, finding food.

  Rowan’s sharp eyes scanned the market square. Stalls that had been vibrant and full earlier in the day were now being packed up, their merchants haggling with the last of the evening’s customers. A vendor selling fresh fruit was distracted, arguing loudly with a burly man over the price of imported apples.

  Rowan moved closer, his steps silent. He slipped behind the stall, his hand darting out to snatch a handful of small, dark plums. The shadows at his feet rippled faintly, helping to obscure his movements as he disappeared into the crowd.

  He found a quiet corner by a fountain, leaning against the cool stone as he bit into one of the plums. The juice was sweet, a stark contrast to the bitter memories of the Riftwood’s meager offerings. Rowan ate slowly, savoring the moment, but his eyes remained vigilant, scanning the streets for any signs of danger.

  Later, Rowan wandered through the wealthier district, where the streets were wider and lined with grand homes. Here, the pickings were more lucrative, but the risks were higher. He moved carefully, his shadows keeping him concealed as he passed through a crowd of merchants and nobles gathered outside a well-lit tavern.

  A man in an ornate cloak caught Rowan’s attention. He gestured animatedly as he spoke, a leather coin pouch swinging from his belt with every movement. Rowan’s gaze flicked to the guards stationed nearby, then to the shadows pooling at his feet.

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  He didn’t rush. Instead, he followed the man at a distance, waiting for the right moment. When the man turned a corner, briefly out of sight of the guards, Rowan struck. The shadows coiled around the coin pouch, loosening it from the belt and pulling it into Rowan’s hand with a practiced motion.

  The man didn’t notice. By the time he rejoined the crowd, Rowan was already gone.

  With enough food and coin to last a few days, Rowan returned to the quieter lower districts, finding a secluded spot in the corner of an abandoned warehouse. The shard pulsed faintly in his pocket, its rhythm drawing his thoughts back to the Nexus Spire.

  He sat on a crate, pulling the shard out and watching its faint glow. The whispers of the Riftwood threaded through his mind, subtle but persistent. The spire held answers—of that, Rowan was certain. But reaching it would require more than shadows and instinct.

  The spire’s defenses were formidable. Guards patrolled its perimeter day and night, and the magical glyphs that lined its walls were no mere decoration. Rowan had seen the glyphs react to disturbances, flaring with light as they repelled anything that didn’t belong.

  Rowan leaned back, his fingers tapping idly against the shard. He needed to find a way past the guards and glyphs. Coren’s words lingered in his mind: “The Nexus Spire doesn’t tolerate mistakes.”

  He couldn’t afford mistakes. Not here.

  Rowan closed his eyes, the shadows around him rippling faintly. The Riftwood had taught him patience, the value of waiting for the right moment. But it had also left him with questions he couldn’t ignore.

  Why had the shard brought him here? What did the spire hold that was worth risking so much? The Riftwood’s whispers offered no answers, only a quiet sense of urgency.

  Rowan exhaled slowly, his resolve hardening. He would approach the spire carefully, observing its defenses and planning his entry. And if anyone stood in his way, they would learn the cost of crossing someone marked by shadow.

  The shard pulsed again, faint but steady. Rowan opened his eyes, his gaze cold and calculating.

  “Soon,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll find what you want me to see.”