If an angel glows under sunlight, she burns brighter in the darkness. In Rakdos, I don't blend in at either time of the day.

Pulling my hood tighter round my face, I peer round the corner. The evening streets are prowling with life, young and old alike roaming the night sector in search of a slice of fun. Hollering teenagers drape themselves round sleazy bar fronts as laughter ricochets from wall to wall. Along with the occasional spilt beer, the heavy clink of drinking glasses accompanies the slosh and splatter onto the pavement.

A pack of wildcats yells obscenities at every passer-by as they push and shove their way towards Secret Affair. It's as run-down as the rest of them with its rotting sign hanging from the doorframe and grimy glass panels to match. The ground outside is littered with scraps of bone and booze. Not the guild's largest joint, but arguably the cosiest by a stretch—and the workplace of my likely target.

I eye the group carefully, waiting for them to spill through the doors before slipping out of my own hiding spot. Before entering, I let the glass swing shut, wait a few moments, then push my way through again. The dizziying scent of alcohol punches me in the nose in fumes of beer and whiskey. In here, the ruckus is even louder. I can barely hear my heart over the din, feeling only the rhythmic rush of blood in my ears as I take heavy steps towards the counter.

The man I'm looking for has a face with Rakdos' only genuine smile, and if I'm to get the next signet, he'll be dead before the crack of dawn.

I'm not getting a wink of sleep tonight. I doubt I'll be getting one tomorrow either, or any for the rest of my life. If it crosses my mind for a second that even a glance at the moon won't remind me of what I'm about to do from now on, the moment is one of delusion. I look back through the smudgen glass doors and, sure enough, see it hanging in the sky with a wink, brighter than gold.

***

When I look up at the sky again, the first shreds of moonlight are fading into day. Sunlight sifts through cracks in the clouds and falls away from the shadows at my feet. The vial in my pocket brims with fresh blood and memories, a little crystal casing of demon's gold. It slips a little as I walk. The streets are almost desolate, nocturnal in the trade of sunlight for sleep. The occasional passer-by pays me no mind and I find myself swirling into the blend, becoming a part of this new way of life.

I'd slipped into the crowd in a cloak last night. I maneuvered my way between tables, twisting through the foliage till I stumbled upon the counter. From behind it, the bartender took a quick glance upwards, freckled face lighting up with a smile. "Mikaela," he said. "You're here again."

I forced a little smile, though I couldn't stop a part of it from being genuine or of relief. My hands reached up to pull the cloak from my face and the fabric slipped off to pool around my shoulders. I grinned. "Yes, I am. Hey, Arnold."

He gestured to a stool. "Have a seat."

The pause before I moved towards a chair made it occur to me that I didn't yet have a plan, and the feeling of dread twisted its way back into my gut. I swallowed. There's still time, I told myself. I had all evening to figure things out. Surely, by then, there'd be an opening.

He took to throwing together an easy mixture of fruits and sparkling juice, tipping in the contents mindlessly as if on instinct. I recognised it as the "child-friendly" concoction Elijah had asked for on my behalf when he brought me here yesterday. As if reading my thoughts, Arnold asked, "Elijah not here with you?"

Very suddenly, my chest ached. "Yeah." Then, chewing thoughtfully on my cheek, I continued, "Challenge period. We're off on our own."

Arnold broke into a hearty laugh. "Good to know you missed this place enough to stop by."

I averted my gaze. "I...did." It wasn't untrue. "I just...needed someone to talk to, you know?" And that was especially so when I thought about my probability of lying flat-out dead by the night's end, or when it occurred to me mid-step on the way here that I might not see Elijah in the morning and the thought filled me with so much dread I had to stop and lean against the wall for a whole ten minutes.

But Arnold didn't know this and unwittingly laughed again. He pushed the drink towards me. "Most drown their sorrows in alcohol, but we can talk over carbonated water."

"Thank you." The glass was cold against my palm. A glance out the window told me that it had to be at least half past nine, nearing ten.

"Have you ever played Duck?" I glanced up to see Arnold pull a dog-eared board from under the table.

I shook my head. "No, never even heard of it."

"Must be a Rakdos game, then."

"What's it about?"

"It's mostly a territorial game." He set the board on the table, leaning back under to pull out the pawns. "No one knows if it had an actual name, but this one stuck because something about the flock in the corner was terribly iconic." He pointed to the bottom left of the board where a trail of bright-yellow ducklings were lined up in a pond. "Also because it sounded almost synonymous with a certain curse word."

I laughed. "Are we playing this now?"

Arnold's eye twinkled. "I'll teach you, though you're most likely going to hate it."

My nose scrunched. "Why?"

"Because I'm making you play as the Demon, and his main goal is to brutally murder every angel in sight."

I must've looked somewhat miffed about this, because he started to laugh. "It's the simplest beginner spot. Sorry, Mikaela." He began setting up the board. "I'll play Human to complement you."

As it turned out, the game was impressively complex. Two could play as any pairing of roles, and the aim of each character was unique. It even varied depending on the role of the opponent—a Demon and an Angel would make it a duel while two Demons would warrant a competition. As a Human, Arnold's role was more defensive and focussed almost solely on evasion. Mine, on the other, was an attack.

He made the first move, countering the fury of an angel on the cardboard and virtually incinerating the entity. With a triumphant chuckle, he flicked it off the board.

"Hey! Don't do that."

His chuckle evolved into a laugh. "That's not how it works, Mikaela. I just gave you a boost. You should be grateful."

I placed a hand over my heart. "You, sir, are murdering my family."

He held up a finger to stop me, then jammed it into the board. "Not family in this country."

I sighed as he guided me through my turn, helping me sweep another row of fiery wings off the table. "If anyone in my guild were to find out what I was doing, I'd get hung for treason."

"Well, you're in Rakdos now, so you'll have to play by our rules."

My lip curled back. "I don't like them. They make me do things."

"If it helps, the rules in Boros make you not-do things."

"Fair point."

By about halfway through the game, Arnold was being considerably meaner. Placing a single pawn upon the board, he paved his way across a good half of it by uprooting three of my best soldiers.

For at least the fifth time that night, I buried my face in my hands and groaned. "It's my first game, Arnold."

He snickered, sliding his pawn even further across the table. "All's fair in love and war." It seemed that a game of Duck was precisely enough to make him show that he revelled in my suffering.

"I'm starting to think you're drawing this out," I admitted with a touch of apprehension. "With the way you're going, you should've won by now."

All he did was smile as I moved my pawn in a weak attempt to gain some leverage. "After the hundredth game, you lose you conscience and start finding ways to entertain yourself."

My brows were so knitted in concentration towards the end of our fifth round that I only realised the time when he pointed it out. The sky was pitch black, the minute hand at twelve and the hour at three. The joint was perpetually empty.

Arnold leaned back in satisfaction, letting out a sigh. "It's about time we close shop. Wanna help me lock up or are you rushing off?"

"Oh. Uh, no— I mean, yes! Yes, I'd love to help."

He stood up to retrieve the keys from behind the counter. "I forgot to ask—what happened to your challenge? I assumed you were done, considering that you came here and all."

"I, uh, yeah. I'm almost done. Just— just, y'know, there's one more thing to go that I think I can get on the way back."

Arnold raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound sure about that. Maybe if you told me what it was? I could tell you where to get it."

I laughed nervously. "No, no, it's fine. I—saw it on the way here."

He doesn't look convinced, but smiles anyway, heading into the backroom to measure some stock.

I watched him as he turned the key with a click. As he shoved it in his pocket and looked back at me, I held his bag out to him, hoping he didn't notice them quiver. He took it with a nod. "Thanks, Mik."

"And...thanks to you. For being my Duck mentor."

"Which way are you going?" He gestured over his shoulder with a thumb. "I'm heading west, and the guildhall is due east, so I assume different directions?"

I noded. "Spot on."

He smiled and gave me a little wave. "I'll see you some other time, when you come visit again." With that, he turns, heading off into the darkness.

My hands turned clammy as his figure shrunk into the night. If I were to just keep both feet on the ground and watch him go, he would live.

I would return empty-handed, but with no regrets.

Really? I wondered. None?

I wasn't even keen on becoming the Guildpact.

Why was I doing this?

Retrieving the dagger from my boot, I took a few long strides in the direction he was headed. When his back was right in front of me, I spoke up, trying to keep the quaver out of my voice. "Hey, hold up—"

He turned around in question and I brought the knife up, shoving it straight into his heart.

I walk in the direction of the sun from the west, the guildhall due east. In my hand is a vial of gold. It sparkles as it's hit by the first rays of sunlight, the light even brighter, darker than before. It weighs heavily, lightly, like an anvil or the soft breath of life, the warmth of blood and cold of glass seeping into my skin.

When the last shreds of moonlight fade, I'm due east, rapping my knuckles against the door.