Two men moved through the city.

  Silent, purposeful, their steps echoed like a warning down the cobbled streets. Shadows clung to them, not from fear, but familiarity. Wherever they passed, the city seemed to hold its breath.

  Kael pushed through the blustering crowd. Even at night, the streets of Brassreach pulsed with life. Robes in every shade fluttered in the breeze, and the scent of spice and smoke hung thick in the air. Beast kin from the far corners of the empire moved alongside humans—antlers, fangs, fur. A pickpocket reached for Kael’s coin purse, then caught his gaze and thought better of it.

  Both tall and imposing, the pair cut a path through the crowd without a word.

  Clad in dark, reinforced long coats and combat leathers layered with iron-threaded cloth, their hoods cast their faces in shadow—but it was enough. People moved aside instinctively, recognizing the weight of danger when it passed.

  Kael’s steel-gray eyes—tinged with blue and sharp as shattered glass—swept the street like a blade. His hair, darker than the night, was tied back tight. No loose ends. No advantage given.

  He scanned the crowd, hunting for the marked alleyway.

  "Ah, boss, what’s the plan tonight?"

  Kael ignored him, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease.

  Brassreach twisted around them—walls washed in dusk-blue, mage-lights glowing amber in iron sconces, casting long, restless shadows.

  At the alley’s mouth, a subtle mark caught his eye—right where it was meant to be. A signal. A warning. An invitation.

  Kael stopped abruptly. Yuri, not paying attention, jabbed him in the back with the skewer. The young man froze, eyes wide, that faint scar across his nose twitching as color drained from his face.

  The small, sharp pain snapped Kael into focus. He could feel the torrent rising within him—familiar, barely contained. He turned and signaled to Yuri. Movements natural to any onlooker—part of the silent language spoken by orphans, street thugs, and beaters. A dialect of glances, shifts, and signals born in alleys and carved into muscle memory.

  Work time. Soft and loud.

  Yuri straightened instantly, his easygoing demeanor vanishing. He pressed himself against the cool stone wall, the bluish hue of the bricks dulled by grime. Only a sliver of amber light from the street reached this far in. Ahead, faint mage-glow spilled around a corner. Shadows moved—slow, uncertain.

  “This is about the girl who got beat up?” Yuri asked, voice low.

  Kael said nothing at first. He was counting steps. Gauging angles. Deciding.

  The Sly Fox Syndicate wouldn’t be pleased if this was unsanctioned. But then he pictured Rachel’s face—the bruising darker now than when he first saw her.

  No. Worth it. Fuck them.

  “Nobody touches someone in our neighborhood,” he muttered. “Not without consequences.”

  “So… it is about the girl?” Yuri whispered.

  “It is,” Kael replied, eyes narrowing. “And it isn’t.”

  Yuri frowned. “You’re losing me.”

  “If some punks think they can walk into our turf, do what they want, and we let it slide…” Kael paused, glancing over his shoulder. “What happens next?”

  “Well... we take care of them?”

  Kael gave a half-smile, cold and sharp.

  “No,” he said, stepping toward the shifting light. “We make sure they never think to try again.”

  The shadows sharpened into focus—two beaters loitering behind some no-name establishment Kael didn’t care to remember. He had only one name on his mind tonight.

  Roman.

  The thugs stood when they noticed Kael and Yuri approaching. One rose from his perch on a dented garbage can, muscles stacked like bricks, his traps practically swallowing his neck.

  “Wrong alley, boys,” the left one growled.

  The other twirled a black baton in one hand, slapping it into his calloused palm. Boxing scars laced his knuckles like a warning.

  Kael stepped forward, the torrent rising inside him—fire and ice surging in tandem. It always came to him like this before a fight. It had kept him alive. Helped him carve out a piece of this city and hold it. His district. And no one—no one—laid a hand on someone from his neighborhood.

  He smiled.

  The thugs tensed. People always did when he smiled. Kael never understood why, but he’d learned to appreciate the effect.

  “Gentlemen,” he said smoothly, lifting his coin pouch, “just here to check out the merchandise.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Baton Guy sneered. “Then walk your happy ass around to the front. This ain’t no entrance.”

  Yuri flanked to Kael’s right, casual but ready.

  Kael tilted his head. “Ah, but tonight… it is.”

  The torrent surged.

  He swung the coin pouch in a tight arc. It smashed into the thug’s bulbous nose with a crunch, sending blood spraying. The man howled and staggered back.

  Yuri moved in a flash—spinning high, his heel catching the second beater square in the jaw. The man’s head slammed into the stone wall, then bounced off the garbage can he’d just been sitting on.

  Both slumped to the ground.

  “Well,” Yuri said, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve, “that’s two down.”

  Kael tucked the pouch back into his coat. “Yeah. And a whole building full of dipshits left to clear out.”

  He looked toward the entrance, eyes cold.

  “Ah, man… Lucy’s gonna kill me, boss! We were supposed to do the whole fancy-date thing. You know—swanky dinner, then a trip up to Lookout Point.”

  Yuri sighed dramatically, but grinning as he caught up.

  “I really didn’t want to miss it. Gonna be a magical night.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  Kael gave him a sideways glance as Yuri stepped up beside him at the door.

  “Oh yeah?” Kael said, then kicked the door off its hinges with a thunderous crack.

  A half-naked girl shrieked, scrambling to cover herself, while a man fumbled with his pants. Shouts erupted inside.

  “You taking her to that place with the good noodles?” Kael asked casually, just as a beater charged.

  He ducked under a wild swing and came up with a brutal uppercut. The thug crumpled.

  “Falco’s or Marge’s?”

  Yuri front-kicked a thug in the chest, then used the momentum to leap off the wall and slam his knee into another’s face.

  “Nah, both of those are outta my price range. I’m talking about that new spot in our district. Run by that old beast kin guy—with the little horns and the long beard.”

  Kael sidestepped a punch, slipped inside the beater’s guard, and slammed a fist into his liver. The thug gasped and slumped against the wall, sliding down like spilled trash.

  They moved deeper through the "establishment," clearing rooms and corridors. The air stank of perfume, sweat, and cheap alcohol.

  “Fucking losers and their fucking brothels,” Kael muttered.

  He grabbed the next thug by the collar and smashed his forehead into the man’s nose. A sickening crunch. The guy dropped like a sack of bricks.

  “Wait… Lucy’s the owner’s daughter, right?” Kael asked between hits.

  “Yeah,” Yuri said, without hesitation. “She’s gorgeous. I think she might be the one.”

  He mimed exaggerated curves with his hands, then spun and drove a hard kick into the next beater’s throat.

  “Those little horns. Those hips.”

  Kael rolled his eyes. Yuri would never learn. Give it a week, and it’d be some new bar girl or another gorgeous waitress. Still, he was dependable. They were practically brothers in every way that mattered—fuck blood.

  Yuri had his flaws, sure. But when it came to the hard stuff—the bloody work that needed doing—Kael trusted him.

  “If you last more than two weeks with this one, I’ll give you a full gold,” Kael muttered.

  Around them, beaters lay in crumpled heaps. The working girls had already bolted, and the only one left was the bartender, cowering behind his bar. The place was cleared in minutes.

  “Kael, you wound me,” Yuri said, dramatically clutching his chest. “I’m in love. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

  Kael rolled his eyes again and turned toward the bar.

  “You gonna come out, or do I need to drag you?”

  A pair of twitching ears slowly peeked above the counter. A beast kin—fluffy-eared, thin, tail flicking nervously—stood up. His black uniform was torn and frayed, like he’d tried to disappear into the floor. His dark eyes were wide with fear.

  “I... I... I’m up,” he stammered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  Kael gave a calm smile, and the poor bastard flinched so hard he knocked a row of bottles off the shelf behind him.

  Damn. Forgot not to smile again.

  “Relax, kid. Look around—we only beat the muscle. No one’s dead… yet.”

  Yuri picked up a half-full bottle from the ground, sniffed it, and recoiled.

  “Ugh. That’s the good stuff,” he said with a grin, dropping onto a stool. He took a heavy swig, then passed it to Kael.

  Kael took a pull and handed it back, the crisscross of white silvery scars on his hands catching the light.

  “Listen,” he said, voice low and easy. “We’re just looking for Roman. Think you can point us in his direction? He’s late for a very important meeting.”

  Kael did his best not to smile this time.

  The beast kin bartender swallowed hard, tail twitching.

  “H-he doesn’t come down here unless he’s collecting dues… or visiting one of the girls. Sometimes both. I—I really don’t know where he is or how to reach him.”

  Kael took the bottle back. Another slow sip.

  “Point us to his office,” he said, tone still polite. “We’ll be out of your fur, and you can pretend this night never happened.”

  He gave the kid a flat look.

  “I’d hate to have to come back.”

  The frightened beast kin pointed shakily to a door they’d passed earlier, then tossed over a bulky key ring. Kael caught it without looking and twirled the keys around his finger.

  “Much obliged,” he said, then added with a flat grin, “Now if I were you, I’d fuck off.”

  The bartender didn’t need telling twice. He bolted like his tail was on fire—or like demons were invading the place.

  Close enough.

  As they made their way to the door, Yuri tucked a bottle into his jacket. The bulges of at least two more were clearly visible under his coat, and the two he held were slowly being poured across the floor in a sloshing trail of alcohol.

  Kael kept spinning the keys until they reached the heavy wooden door. Reinforced with metal bands. No glowing glyphs—at least none he recognized as important. He slid in keys one after the other until a deep thunk echoed as the lock disengaged.

  The door opened smoothly on silent, well-oiled hinges.

  Dwarf-made? Definitely. Need to get one of these for the dock house.

  Inside, the office was spacious—bookshelves lined the walls, crammed with binders. One smaller shelf held actual books. Not many, but well-kept.

  “Damn,” Yuri muttered, glancing around. “This guy makes our record keeping look like kids playing knights and bandits.”

  Kael nodded slowly. The room was too clean. Too organized. Not the kind of mess he expected from a back-alley brothel runner. It stank of something… wrong.

  What are you hiding, Roman?

  Kael scanned the shelves, thumbing through a few of the books. One caught his eye—a red dragon curled across the cover sprang to life as his hand brushed it. A mage stone nestled in the binding gave off a faint glow.

  Enchanted. Expensive.

  He flipped it over in his hand. How does a thug who hits girls afford this kind of thing?

  Kael pocketed it along with a couple of others. Oliver would like these. So would the kids.

  Then—a bang from outside.

  Six beaters stormed in, followed by a man in a rumpled, once-perfect suit. He was red-faced, sweating, and sporting a ridiculous curled mustache.

  “You!” Roman screeched, eyes wild. “Do you have any idea who you’re messing with?!”

  He was already spiraling, spit flying from his mouth as he raged.

  “I’ll have you flogged and dragged through the streets until your skin’s stripped raw, your muscles torn to ribbons, until your bones grind into dust—and then I’ll start on the people you care about! You’re dead! Your families are dead!”

  Yuri, calm as ever, took a swig from one of the bottles still warm from his jacket and passed it to Kael.

  Kael took a long pull, turned, and dropped the lighter already burning in his hand.

  The trail of alcohol ignited instantly—whoosh—the flame crawling across the floor like a hungry beast.

  He looked Roman dead in the eyes and smiled.

  “You’ll do what now?”

  , welcome back. I hope you enjoy a more mature story set in a new fantasy world, one that builds on everything I have learned along the way.

  Thorns of the Brass City begins releasing on December 8th with a few chapters on launch day and then three chapters a week moving forward.