Grey's mornings began like clockwork. Before the sun even kissed the horizon, she was already out running through the quiet streets of the city. Each step was calculated, her breathing steady. Discipline, precision, and routine kept her centered in a world that constantly teetered on chaos.
By the time she reached the precinct, the city was already waking. Grey didn't bother greeting the officers milling around—most of them either avoided her intense demeanor or whispered in awe about her reputation. She didn't care for either reaction.
On her desk was a thin folder, marked with the Keeper emblem and a single word stamped in red: WRAITH.
The Wraith had been a ghost in the city's underbelly for months. A thief with inhuman speed, uncanny stealth, and an apparent vendetta against the Crown's prized artifacts. His latest heist had been audacious even by his standards—stealing a relic tied to the old naming rituals from a heavily guarded treasury.
Grey had been assigned to track him down alone. She preferred it that way.
Her first lead took her to an abandoned industrial district on the outskirts of the city. The dilapidated buildings loomed like forgotten sentinels, their broken windows glinting faintly in the dim light of the setting sun.
Inside one of the warehouses, Grey moved silently, her senses heightened. Dust hung in the air, disturbed only by the faint scuff of footsteps. She followed the trail, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her short sword.
Suddenly, a blur of motion shot past her. She spun just in time to see a shadow dart into the next room.
"Got you," she muttered, and the chase was on.
The Wraith was fast—almost impossibly so—but Grey's speed wasn't just natural. It was honed, divine, and fueled by her Keeper amulet. She surged forward, her surroundings blurring as she closed the gap between them.
The Wraith ducked into a narrow corridor, thinking to lose her in the maze of crates and debris. Grey didn't hesitate. She leapt over obstacles effortlessly, her movements fluid and precise.
The thief twisted mid-run, launching a metal pipe at her. Grey sidestepped it with ease, the projectile clanging harmlessly against the wall behind her.
"Nice try," she called, her voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
The Wraith stopped abruptly, spinning to face her. In his hand, he held a dagger, its blade glinting unnaturally in the dim light.
"So, you're the famous Keeper," he sneered. His voice was gravelly, with an edge of arrogance. "Thought you'd be taller."
Grey didn't respond. Instead, she shifted her stance, her short sword drawn and ready.
The Wraith struck first, a blur of motion as he lunged at her. Grey sidestepped, deflecting the blade with her own in a shower of sparks. She countered with a swift kick, aiming for his knee, but he twisted away at the last second.
"You're quick," he admitted, circling her like a predator. "But I'm quicker."
He vanished, turning invisible mid-step. Grey's grip tightened on her sword, her eyes scanning the room for the faintest sign of movement.
A whisper of displaced air was all the warning she got. She pivoted, blocking a strike aimed at her back. The impact jarred her arm, but she held firm, using the momentum to spin and slash at the space where he had been.
The Wraith reappeared, a shallow cut marring his forearm. His smirk faltered.
"Not quick enough," Grey said coolly.
The fight continued, a deadly dance of speed and precision. Grey's movements were a blur, her strikes calculated to drive the Wraith into a corner. Finally, she feinted left and lunged right, disarming him with a flick of her sword.
Before he could recover, she swept his legs out from under him, pinning him to the ground with her blade at his throat.
"End of the line," she said.
The Wraith glared at her but didn't resist as she cuffed him.
As Grey secured the thief, her eyes caught something unusual: a tattoo on his wrist—a broken chain, etched in stark black ink.
"Care to explain this?" she asked, lifting his arm.
The Wraith's smirk returned, but this time it held something darker. "You're smart. You'll figure it out."
Grey frowned, her mind already turning over the possibilities. The Hunters had been quiet for years, but if they were resurfacing...
"Who are you working for?" she pressed.
The Wraith only laughed, the sound echoing ominously in the empty warehouse.
_________________________________
Hours later, after handing the Wraith over to the precinct, Grey found herself at a small, dimly lit bar. She nursed a glass of whiskey, her mind replaying the day's events.
The door opened, and a familiar voice cut through the low hum of conversation.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite Keeper."
Grey sighed, not even looking up as Crow sauntered over, her smirk as infuriating as ever.
"I'm off duty," Grey muttered.
"Relax," Crow said, sliding onto the stool beside her. "I'm not here to cause trouble. Just... observing."
Grey raised an eyebrow. "Observing what?"
Crow nodded toward a group of women at the far end of the bar, one of whom was laughing a little too loudly at something Crow had apparently said earlier.
"Making friends?" Grey asked dryly.
"Something like that," Crow replied, her grin widening.
As Crow turned back to face her, her elbow accidentally knocked over Grey's glass. The whiskey spilled, narrowly missing her lap.
"Seriously?" Grey muttered, grabbing a napkin.
Crow chuckled, unapologetic. "Consider it payback for all the times you've spilled my drinks."
Grey shook her head but couldn't suppress a small smile. "You're insufferable."
"And yet, here we are," Crow said, raising her own glass in a mock toast.
For a moment, the weight of the day lifted, leaving only the faintest smile on Grey's lips and the lingering question of what the Hunters were planning next.
Hours later, after handing the Wraith over to the precinct, Grey found herself at a small, dimly lit bar tucked away in the quieter part of the city. She nursed a glass of whiskey, her muscles aching from the day's chase.
The door creaked open, and she heard the familiar cadence of a voice she both dreaded and tolerated.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite Keeper."
Grey didn't even look up. "I'm off duty, Crow."
Crow slid onto the stool beside her, as relaxed as ever. "Who said I'm here for business? Can't a girl enjoy a drink?"
Grey glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. Crow was dressed casually for once, but there was still that air of calculated elegance about her, like she always knew more than she let on.
"Making friends again?" Grey asked, nodding toward a group of women at the far end of the bar. One of them waved at Crow, giggling behind her hand.
"Networking," Crow replied, her tone nonchalant.
"Right," Grey said, unconvinced. "Looks like she's ready to propose."
Crow chuckled. "Jealous, are we?"
Grey didn't dignify that with a response, instead taking a sip of her drink.
As Crow leaned back with a smug grin, her elbow caught a nearby napkin holder, sending it tumbling off the counter. She scrambled to catch it, her composure momentarily slipping.
"Smooth," Grey deadpanned, watching the spectacle.
Crow placed the holder back on the counter with exaggerated care, her cheeks tinged faintly red. "A minor miscalculation."
"Minor?" Grey raised an eyebrow. "You almost took out the bartender."
Before Crow could retort, the bartender—an older woman with a sharp wit—chimed in, "She's been doing that all night. Earlier, she nearly set my towel on fire trying to 'look cool' with a matchstick."
Crow's cool demeanor cracked further. "I was testing it for safety!" she protested, her voice a pitch higher than usual.
Grey bit back a laugh, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Safety? Is that what we're calling clumsiness now?"
Crow crossed her arms, clearly flustered. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"I needed a laugh," Grey replied, smirking. "Thanks for delivering."
As Crow huffed and tried to salvage her dignity, the woman from the group at the end of the bar approached with a confident stride.
"Hey, Crow," she said, twirling a strand of her hair, "are you okay? That was a pretty intense napkin holder... situation."
Grey snorted into her whiskey as Crow's cool façade fully shattered. For once, the usually unflappable woman looked genuinely embarrassed.
"I'm fine," Crow said quickly, her voice tight. "Just, uh... multitasking."
The woman smiled sweetly, clearly unfazed. "Well, I think you're adorable."
Grey nearly choked on her drink. "Adorable. That's a new one."
Crow glared at her, but the faint redness in her cheeks gave her away. As the woman returned to her friends, Grey leaned closer, her smirk widening.
"Adorable, huh? I'm never letting you live this down."
"Drink your whiskey," Crow muttered, burying her face in her hands.
For once, Grey left the bar with a light heart and the rare satisfaction of seeing Crow lose her cool.