Pulling my glider to a stop, I step off and sweep it up under my arm, feeling its electronic hum die against my ribs. I grip its edge tightly and silently dare anyone to try to steal it from me. I'd probably just hop right back on and ride away, but pretending that I will kill anyone who touches my glider is a lot less work.

I walk two blocks, scanning the dimly lit streets and the withering buildings. The Evernight is much more present here—lurking on the edges of the Aura and in the eyes of the civilians I pass. Just when the darkness starts to settle in my skin, making my cheeks clammy, I spot the half-lit red sign.

Sighing in relief, I cross the street and slide through the doors as a man stumbles out, reeking of alcohol. I'm not sure what I imagined the inside to look like, but I at least envisioned a few more lights. The place, a tavern, is cast in shadow, the dull white glow from dangling lights not enough to illuminate every corner. The bar dwellers don't seem to mind the darkness, their silhouettes relaxing on stools, snuggled closely in booths along the walls. A song scratches through speakers somewhere in the shadows, but it is an old tune I don't recognize.

Macon has to be here. What better place for a thief to hide but in the dark?

Luckily, there is enough light for me to see where I step as I make way to the bar in the middle of the open room. The bartop's metal edge is illuminated with a strip of red that blinks on and off. My hands start to shake. What if this whole place blinks out?

I prop myself up onto a stool at the bar and fold my hands in my lap to keep my fingers still. My throat is tight with nerves, my breathing quick and heavy. I can't escape the feeling of unease that swims through me despite my attempt to flush it out. There is no way I'll be able to do this. I'll have to go into hiding. I'll have to live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, wondering if Jojin has finally found me after my betrayal to the House of Horns.

I will die the last of my kind, and I will die a coward.

"First time in the Cobalt District?"

The smooth question hits me so sudden I almost fall off the stool. I turn to my left to answer the person who pulled me from my inner-turmoil, but words fall from my lips like stardust through my fingers.

Macon Falcove leans against the bartop to my left, his crooked smile shining at me even in the dark room. His eyes are hidden under the shadow of his brow, but I know he is the electric Starfox from the signature black tattoo that curls up out of his shirt and trails up his neck, its tip stopping just below his sharp jawline. I didn't notice before, but two lightning bolts cut through the buzzed sides of his hair. He's staring at me, waiting for me to answer while my heart is on the verge of bursting in my chest.

He knows, I think to myself. He knows and I'm three seconds away from being electrocuted in this dark, smoke-filled tavern.

"No," I quickly lie, hoping that my voice doesn't shake. Only one word has left my mouth and I've already revealed my ulterior motives.

Then I straighten my spine, pretending I'm surrounded by Jojin's cronies and slip a confident mask over my features. Pulling my braid over my shoulder, I toy with the ends of my hair and shamelessly look him straight on. I don't squint or flutter my eyelashes, only pure eye contact—the best form of flirting.

It works. Macon inches closer, probably unaware that he even responded to my gaze.

"Is it that obvious?" I ask, softening my voice as I try to mimic what most people imagine or remember an elf sounds like. I pretend that I can cast a spell with my lyrical lilt and lure anyone into doing my bidding. "What gave it away?"

As shaded as his eyes are in the terrible lighting, I still notice him quickly glance at my ears. "Well," he drawls, quieting his voice like what he is about to say is a secret for only me to hear, "I've never seen you around here before. I would remember if I did."

I cock my head to the side, letting my lips curl up into a playful smirk. "And do you say this to all the ladies who wander into...?" My voice trails off as my gaze travels around the tavern, trying to find a hint as to where exactly I am.

"The Bitbucket," Macon finishes for me.

"The Bitbucket?" The confident mask I'd donned slips away at the odd name and I scramble to replace it. "So that's what the blinking letters outside are supposed to spell."

Macon chuckles, glancing down at the dark drink in his glass. The dull light from above hits his face just right and I find myself leaning in further, wondering what color eyes sit beneath those thick eyelashes of his. But then he looks back up at me, and the shadow is back on his face.

"Yeah," he says, the smile falling from his lips as he continues. "If the Court would ration out more electricity to this side of the city, maybe we could fully light the sign."

"I'm sorry," I say truthfully. I am already frightened enough of the dark, I can't imagine living in a district with barely enough lights to go around. I'm not sure what else to say because my apology does absolutely nothing for the state of the Cobalt District, so I focus on a separate piece of his explanation. "You said 'we'. Is this your place?"

The curve is back at his lips, and I smile back, relieved I've said the right thing. He thinks I'm grinning for other reasons. Good.

"Sure, it's mine, but really, it's all of ours." He must notice the confusion on my face and continues to explain. "Okay, my uncle is the real owner. But we all get to come and go as we please, no questions asked. Most of the lights in this place always stay on because it's a public venue. So when street blocks blink out, everyone has a safe haven."

"Wait," I say, still not fully understanding. His words ignite fear inside of me again and the image of glistening black teeth flashes in my mind. "You think the lights are going to go out?"

"They already have."

"You're lying," I say, hoping that he will chuckle again, but he doesn't.

"If I were lying, then how to you explain this?" He sets his glass on the bartop with a clink that echoes in the sudden deafening quiet inside my mind. Pinching the sleeve of his leather jacket, he pulls it up, revealing the black tattoo swirling across his skin. At first, I see no significance to this, but then I notice how the lines are marred and slashing through his ink is a glittering ebony crescent, matching my own scars on my back.

"You've seen a nightstalker?" I ask in disbelief. I completely forget why I'm at the Bitbucket, why I'm seated next to this powerful mage, why I'm even talking to an enemy Starfox. I'm with another survivor, one who doesn't seem as brutally torn up about it as me. Maybe there is hope for my suffocating fear.

But then I remember I'm here to kill him.

I smother the feelings that rise inside of me and remind myself what is at stake—my freedom. It's just so incredibly hard.

"Yeah," Macon answers. "Two months ago, the lights in the outer block died. Mostly everyone was able to evacuate, but there was this kid that was too afraid to leave his bedroom. I went back in the dark and saved him. Nightstalker nipped me, but it was better my arm than the kid."

"How did you make it in and out of the shade alive?" I ask. I know what he can do, I saw it in that video, but he doesn't know that I know anything about him.

Macon grins wide and leans closer to me, bringing his hand up between our faces. He blinks and then his fingers are suddenly ablaze with flickering blue lightning. It dances across his skin, but never touches, like it is a part of him, yet is a separate piece that bends to his will.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Macon muses. But his eyes aren't on his lightning. They're on me, and his smile is no longer inviting.

We both react. I reach behind me and whip out one of my knives from my belt, pointing its tip at his gut. But his electric fingers dart to hover over my throat at the same moment.

"One touch and you'll be twitching on the floor," he whispers. The hum from his lightning tingles the skin on my neck. It's a sizzling burn that raises every hair on my body, a buzz that I feel all the way down to my toes. He's not touching me, but he may as well be.

I have my own tricks.

I press the small button resting under my thumb and we both glance down at the violet glow radiating from my knife against his leather jacket. The blade flashes once and a faint crackle and hiss fills the air between us.

"Fancy," he purrs.

Our interaction doesn't rouse others in the bar. Maybe they're used to it, or maybe we're just that close and quiet, they believe we're two lovers teasing each other.

"How did you know?" I ask him, my voice barely a whisper.

Macon inches away slightly from my blade, but the crooked smirk doesn't fall from his lips. He is so quiet I barely hear the next words he says. "You're the only elf I've ever seen in this enormous city. I'm supposed to believe that not a single gang has picked you up?" His chuckle rumbles through the pulse of his lightning. "The real question is—which gang sent you?"

"You must be stupid to think that I'd tell you," I whisper back.

"Are you a Dusker?" he asks, his eyes glinting in the blue glow. He narrows his gaze as he looks closer at me, then shakes his head. "No, you don't look like a Nether addict. Your eyes would be all hollow and empty-like and they're not. No...they're very much alive."

"That's because I currently have a scary amount of voltage at my neck." I glance down at the flickering blue then back at Macon.

"I know," he muses. His eyes widen as if an idea has just come to him. "You're a Bountie spy. Whatever they sent you here for, they lied. I was told the sprite dragons have been de-fried. If they're burning up the Council's Suites, then it isn't my problem." He sighs, and his hand lowers slightly. "You think you know your dealers..."

With his fingers away from my throat, I have an opening to make a move, but I'm too close to strike. His electric touch would be right back at my throat and then we'll both be down on the dirty floor of this dark bar. Without another thought, I jump back, keeping my volted knife in front of me.

Macon's eyes widen in surprise and the lightning swimming around his fingers blinks out. "So that's how it's gonna be, huh?"

"You started it," I answer, taking another step back, inviting him to make the next move.

"You started this the moment you walked through those doors." His lightning is back, but this time, the bolts extend from his hand, growing until they fuse together, brushing against the floor. The end of it curls, and when he lifts his arm and flicks his wrist, the blue volts roll up as one with a sizzling crack.

A fucking lightning whip.