The neon glow of the city brings no warmth to the clinging cold of the Evernight. If anything, the electricity buzzing through the wires beneath the cement maze is a stark reminder of just how bitter the dark can get.

Terrible and horrific things happen in the endless midnight outside the magical glow of the Aura, where creatures with toxic claws dwell in the shadow. Those claws had once torn into my back. My spine tenses at the thought, but I am safe—the city is safe.

Don't be afraid of the dark.

They are words from a distant memory. The voice is like color in a gray world, but it holds no face to reminisce, no loving touch to long for. Only a whisper to remind me that the the Evernight ruined everything light and beautiful in my life.

As I creep warily through the dimly-lit alley toward the waiting steel doors as the end, I reach into the back pocket of my belt and pull out one of my lightsticks. I tap it on the wall, sighing in relief when the stick's teal blue glow chases away the encroaching shadows. Hair tickles the back of my neck, but in my mind, I imagine a tendril of shadow snaking out and brushing against my skin. Blood turns to lead in my veins. I replay the soothing voice in my head, but it doesn't calm my nerves the slightest bit.

It's impossible to not fear the dark when monsters lurk in the shadows.

I hustle forward, leaving the rumble of freights and zoomers behind on the busy street. Keeping the lightstick in front of me, I wield it as if it is a blade I will stab into anything that moves. It's silly, really. The Evernight is spreading across the Earthscape and trading shipments only come annually now, but Voltyss is still one of the safest cities left. The Aura's electric glow against the endless dark is enough to ensure none of the monsters slip inside.

I always take precautions regardless. Especially when I deal with the House of Horns.

Ahead, at the end of the shadowed alley, two hulking masses stand on either side of the steel doors—Grit and Grubble, two lesser brothers in the pecking order of the gang. Under the flickering light dangling from the wall, they remain still, cautious eyes watching me from under thick brows.

Lorkins.

Super-strength.

Keen sense of smell.

Relatively human, aside from the claws and horns atop their head. The brothers' leathers constrict their bulging arms that cross over their chests, making it look as if they are smuggling energy orbs under the sleeves of their jackets.

Grit and Grubble are nearly identical, from their freckled beige skin to the curl of their lips when I step into the light. The only way I can ever tell them apart is by glancing at the thick set of brown horns that protrude from the edges of their auburn hairlines and curl around the back of their heads. The sharp tips of Grit's horns nearly reach the back of his earlobes while Grubble's right horn ends in a short, jagged stump. Maybe I will find out the grisly story behind his horn loss eventually, considering I am forced to work with them until I can find a way out of this city. Whatever the reason, it most likely hurt like all hell.

"She returns," Grit laughs with a shake of his head, his eyes on me.

"Faster than expected," Grubble chimes in. His voice is deeper than his brother's—scratchier and raw, as if he'd ruined his throat when he'd screamed in pain from losing that horn of his. His eyes watch the shadows like they are enemies with dripping teeth, the same way I watch them.

"What can I say?" I ask, masking the fear in my voice. I can't let them see the real me. Not when lorkin smell fear like it's their next meal.

"Boss will be pleased," Grit smirks, revealing his sharp teeth.

"So pleased," Grubble echoes with a nod.

I glance to my left at the shadows that shift along the wall from the sway of the dangling light above. They look almost alive. You're safe inside the city, I remind myself again. The lights keep them out.

Grubble must notice my nervous gaze because he turns away, jamming his clawed finger at the keypad on the wall next to the steel doors. Five beeps later, a click echoes in the alley. Grit and Grubble grab the adjacent handles at the same time as if they are one mind.

The doors swing open to reveal the long narrow hallway within. The lights inside do not flicker or dangle from the ceiling like the cheap wire of the alley-lamp above my head. Boss has one thing some civilians do not—the shinies to pay the electric bill. The amount of shinies it must cost to illuminate the entire inside of his complex as well as power the machinery needed to build the light-weapons they sell illegally is a number that I'm not sure I'd be able to calculate. Math has never my strong suit, nor any other elf's for that matter. At least, none I'd ever heard of. The last time I'd seen another elf was three years ago when the last group left on the yearly skyship that made dock in Voltyss. They didn't come back—none of them did.

I am the last elf left in Voltyss.

"Well wishes, Alyndra." Grit bows his head as I pass him.

"Wish you well," Grubble says from my other side.

I guess I can say I like the twins more than the rest of the lorkins. They have a funny way of rephrasing what the other had just said and they... they are different. Maybe they are fooling me into a false sense of comfort since I was forced into the House of Horns, but maybe, possibly, they care a little bit under all the muscles and claws and horns. Then again, maybe not.

The doors close behind me, leaving me alone. I don't need an escort. I've walked this hallway enough times since my forced initiation that I can find my way in the dark, even though I'd rather not.

I narrow my eyes at the sudden brightness that engulfs me. The overhead lights reflect off the waxed marbled floor, a stark contrast to the shaded, cracked stone back in the alley. Locked doors line the white walls and my dirty boots leave dark smudged tracks as my footsteps echo down the hallway.

Voices. Through the double-doors at the end. I only pick up the punchline of one of a terrible joke, but it's enough to know it's stupid. Another fact about lorkins—their sense of humor is horrid.

I don't knock. I throw the doors open like I own the place.

Don't show your fear, I remind myself. Every lorkin in here will know you're piss-scared of them.

I swallow, roll my shoulders, and continue forward, trying to ignore the stares of Boss's cronies. I know their names—Yavo, Kazko, Ekon, Zuma—but they don't need to know that. They don't matter to me. I'm above them. At least, that's what I want them to believe.

I scan the room for the one I came to see. The lorkin who put the shinies in my pocket.

Vibrant neon light fixtures are scattered around the room, pink and blue auras cast on the walls, fusing into a shade of fuchsia where the two colors meet. I find Boss in his white leather chair—a king on his throne.

Jojin Zhane.

His ebony horns are longer than Grit and Grubble's, curling past his ears, nearing his jaw. The tips are so sharp that just looking at them makes me fear for my eyes. His dark brown, silver-streaked hair is slicked back, his beard trimmed close and brows plucked. Being the boss of the most powerful gang in Voltyss is treating him very well on the outside it seems, but is he torn up on the inside? Does the blood he orders to be spilled haunt his dreams at night? That would be a big, fat no.

"I don't believe it," Jojin grumbles, his steel eyes taking me in. "The elf is back already."

Murmured agreements of awe sound from the cronies four.

"Venjo!" Jojin yells, even though his son stands right next to his throne. "How long ago did we send the elf out to deliver that last batch of daybreakers?"

I have no choice. My eyes betray me.

I glance at Venjo Zhane.

As much as I dislike his brooding nature, I can't deny that he is nice to look at, which is typically why I try to keep my gaze far, far away. Ebony horns curl from his coffee-brown hair that is much unrulier than his father's. Below his sharp brows, are silver lightning eyes, his gaze quick and never missing a thing. His strong jaw works as he holds his usual expression on his smooth tawny face—pissed off.

"A little over an hour ago, Boss," Venjo answers, his gaze on me.

Jojin laughs then, loud and long like it is the most unbelievable thing he's ever heard. "You're telling me, Little Elf, you got to the Emerald District, to the House of Teeth, delivered the daybreakers, and got back here in 'a little over an hour'? Horseshit!"

I shrug my shoulders. "I like to drive fast."

"You got the payment?" Venjo asks me as Jojin chuckles again to himself. Always business with this one.

"Of course," I reply, glaring at him. Does he think I'm stupid? I reach into the pack at my back and pull out the zipped-up bag of the orc's shinies they traded for the guns that shoot flares of light. Daybreakers are said to be able to blow a burning hole right through the chest of a Nightstalker. I'd pay a good amount to see that show with my own eyes.

I toss the bag to Venjo who catches it with one ebony-clawed hand. He doesn't say thank you like a proper gentleman would. Seems Jojin never taught him manners either.

"You know, Little Elf," Jojin says with a twisted smile. "You're really starting to prove yourself with the House of Horns. I think it's time you really became one of us... I have a new job for you."

"No," Venjo cuts in, his hand resting on his father's shoulder. "She isn't ready."

"The she-elf just delivered a case of daybreakers in record-time during rush hour traffic, Venjo. I'd say she's ready as ever."

Venjo lowers his voice. "This is something entirely different. Father, I implore you. Let me handle it."

"Like you handled it the last time?" Jojin yanks his shoulder from his son's grasp. Pain flashes in Venjo's eyes before he quickly dons his brooding mask again, but I don't dare let him see me notice.

Flicking my gaze back to Jojin, I plaster a smile on my face. "What do you need me to do?"

I might've been forced into this gig, but more shinies in my pocket means more food in my belly, and hopefully, a way to buy myself out of this mess.

Jojin pauses, whether for dramatic effect or to collect his thoughts, I don't know. "There's a mage," he says with Venjo sighing in disappointment behind him. "He's been causing trouble for my crews and for the House of Horns. I need him dealt with."

"What kind of trouble?" I ask, curious.

"A true member of the House of Horns accepts the mission while blind to the details," Jojin answers. "Do this for me and the payout will be grand. You'll become a one of us, protected by us... a part of the family, I guess. I know you don't have any left with the whole Fall of Night and the fleeing of the elves thing. So, consider this a favor. You do one for me, and I've got you for life. Shit, with your driving skills, I might even name you as our racer in this year's Race for Light."

Big stuff coming from a big boss. If he is offering me a spot in his lorkin-only gang, then the job must be something monumental, something that requires a sacrifice on my end, for sure. His promise of family tugs at my heartstrings. Being alone sometimes feels worse than anything. But it's his mention of the city-renowned Race for Light, the annual street race tournament hosted by the Court, that has my mind ticking. One of the prizes for the winning racer is enough shinies to buy a Sky Suite in the Ivory District. It could be enough to buy me a ticket on that skyship out of this city.

Jojin's voice turns quiet as if his next words are a secret for only me to hear. "All you have to do is one thing. Kill him."

Just like that, the light shining through my hopeless wasteland flickered out entirely.