Chapter 29. New Tenants

  Raven moved through the ruins of the city, his newfound vision cutting through the darkness like a knife. The world had changed and so had he.

  He had already swept most of the Sink, mapping the streets, noting where threats lurked and where safety could be found. But tonight, he pushed further. He needed to see what lay beyond. The city had been manageable, but the outer suburbs? That was unknown territory.

  Darryl’s place called to him.

  It wasn’t just about checking on his old home. He knew it wouldn’t be there the way he remembered it. But some part of him needed to see it with his own eyes, to know what had become of the place that had sheltered him when he had lost everything.

  The roads stretched out before him, empty, silent but for the wind threading through hollow buildings. As he left the last of the city’s ruined structures behind, he slowed to a stop.

  His breath caught as his eyes widened. The suburbs he had grown up in had become something else entirely.

  The first thing that struck him was the silence. No distant hum of streetlights. No barking dogs. Just the whisper of leaves rustling against one another and the rhythmic sound of insects in the distance, it felt like the whole place was holding its breath.

  Nature had reclaimed the area in a way that didn’t make sense—not in the short time since the Reckoning began. Towering trees loomed over the roads, their roots splitting asphalt like old scars. Vines choked houses, wrapping around fences, creeping up telephone poles like they had been growing undisturbed for centuries. Flowers of every shade speckled the overgrowth, their colours vivid even under the moonlight. He could only imagine what they would look like in the day—thousands, maybe tens of thousands of shades painting the ruins.

  It was overwhelming.

  The streets he had once walked, the houses he had once known—gone beneath a blanket of unchecked life.

  Raven exhaled, pushing past the disorientation. He wasn’t lost. He just had to adjust.

  A flicker of movement caught his eye. His instincts sharpened as he crouched low, pressing himself against the overgrowth. The sounds of the night were everywhere—the rustling of leaves, the chirping of unseen insects, the distant growl of something not quite an animal anymore.

  He wasn’t the only predator out here.

  His eyes snapped to the end of a side street where a pack of dogs moved between abandoned cars and overgrown sidewalks. At least a dozen. They weren’t normal anymore—their bodies were leaner, their eyes brighter, and their movements coordinated in a way that spoke of something more than instinct. Their fur bristled with something unnatural, something like the spikes he had seen on the hound that attacked him before.

  Raven pressed himself deeper into the shadows and waited.

  The pack sniffed the air, ears twitching, but after a moment, they moved on.

  He let out a slow breath. He did not want to see what the rest of the wildlife had turned into.

  Keeping low and moving carefully, he made his way towards Darryl’s place.

  The moment he stepped inside, it was as if he had gone deaf, not a sound could be heard and the house held an unnatural stillness.

  It was strange—he had been moving nonstop for days, always surrounded by people, conflict, the weight of survival. But here? It was just him.

  The house was untouched on the inside. He had been forced to cut his way through the vines growing outside.

  Dust hung in the air, disturbed only by his presence. The old couch sat in its place, the coffee table cluttered with old papers and junk mail that had never been read. The familiar scent of home—aged wood, faint traces of Darryl’s old cologne—still lingered beneath the dust.

  His eyes roamed the walls, the shelves, the pictures.

  Photos Darryl had kept of him and Raven. Of his parents.

  For the first time in too long, Raven let himself stop. Let himself feel.

  Darryl had been his anchor, the last person who had ever truly given a damn about him. And now he was gone.

  Raven had spent so long running—running from his grief, running from the weight of everything he had lost. But standing here, surrounded by the life Darryl had built, he felt something inside him shift.

  The burden didn’t disappear.

  But it settled.

  He wasn’t ready to let it go. The feeling of abandonment, the anger, the grief, he knew they would always be a part of him going forwards.

  But being here, knowing Darryl wouldn’t have wanted him to spiral into the dark feelings that had come with his death, made him stand straighter and shoulder the weight of what had happened.

  His eyes landed on a framed photo of the two of them, taken on some long-forgotten day. He stepped forward, carefully pulling the picture from its frame. He folded it once and slid it into his pocket.

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  Something to take with him.

  Something worth keeping.

  Raven moved to his old room; he had expected it to feel foreign, but it was exactly as he had left it. The bed, the dresser, the small collection of things he had cared about before everything changed.

  He didn’t need much.

  A change of clothes. A bar of soap. Small things that still mattered.

  As he slung the bag over his shoulder, he let out a breath.

  It was almost midnight.

  He needed to get back.

  He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to this place.

  But he had to.

  Stepping back into the overgrown streets, Raven didn’t look back.

  He had a long walk ahead of him.

  And a world waiting for him to return.

  Raven moved swiftly through the overgrown streets, his body tense, instincts screaming at him. Something was hunting him.

  He didn’t know how he knew—there was no sound, no movement, nothing tangible—but the darkness around him whispered, warning him of unseen eyes. His steps slowed as he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the warped suburban jungle. Nothing.

  Cautiously, he pressed forward, his senses straining for the slightest hint of pursuit. As he passed a rusted-out sedan, half-swallowed by vines, he caught it—a flicker at the edge of his vision. His muscles coiled, ready to react.

  Nothing came.

  He exhaled slowly, frustration mounting. He hated the feeling of being stalked.

  Keeping low, he veered toward a nearby building, intending to phase through the wall and sneak out the other side. But as if sensing his intent, the beast attacked.

  A blur of black shot through the air, aiming straight for his throat.

  Raven’s bow was over his shoulder in an instant, his knife already in hand as he dropped and rolled beneath the pouncing creature. He came up on his feet, blade poised, eyes locking onto the predator now standing between him and his escape.

  It was a cat—but unlike any he had ever seen.

  Easily the size of a panther, its sleek, pitch-black coat rippled like living shadow. Its eyes glowed faintly, deep pools of amber cutting through the dark. The way it moved—silent, fluid, hypnotic—made Raven’s skin crawl.

  The beast’s tail flicked as it prowled toward him, muscles coiling for another attack.

  Raven braced himself—but instead of striking, it hesitated.

  Then, in a single heartbeat, it retreated.

  His breath hitched.

  It was still hunting him.

  It was playing with him.

  Without wasting another second, Raven turned and bolted for the city. He needed open streets, places where the beast wouldn’t have the advantage of thick overgrowth.

  He didn’t make it far.

  As if stepping out of thin air, the feline slammed into him, sending him crashing into the pavement. He phased on instinct, slipping out from under its weight, rolling to his feet in the same motion.

  The creature skidded to a halt, turning to face him. Its amber eyes narrowed.

  Confusion.

  It had expected to pin him down.

  Raven shared its sentiment. Where the fuck had it come from? He had been looking everywhere, watching every shadow, and yet the moment he turned his focus away—

  It was just there.

  His pulse pounded. No normal creature could do that.

  The beast roared, its guttural growl sending a shiver down Raven’s spine. Then it charged.

  Raven phased back—only for the beast to vanish and reappear right next to him.

  Holy fuck. It has space magic.

  I’m so fucking dead.

  He ran.

  Phasing through walls, slipping between ruined houses, vaulting fences—it didn’t matter. The beast matched him step for step, phasing in and out of existence, never more than a breath behind him.

  Raven ducked into an alley, pivoting to face the inevitable attack. He couldn’t keep running.

  As the beast phased into the alley, he struck.

  His dagger sliced across its chest, scoring a deep wound along its front leg. The beast snarled, its massive paw slamming into Raven, sending him sprawling across the cracked pavement.

  Pain flared up his arm. Three deep gouges burned into his flesh, his blood hot against the night air.

  But the cat didn’t press the attack.

  Instead, it stared at him.

  A long, measuring look.

  Its ears twitched. It chuffed once, a sound that almost felt… amused. Then, without another sound, it turned and phased back into the shadows.

  Raven saw it in its eyes before it disappeared.

  Respect. And recognition.

  And then it was gone.

  Leaving him to bleed in the street.

  By the time Raven reached the hospital, exhaustion dragged at his limbs, the adrenaline from his escape wearing thin. His arm throbbed, his muscles ached, and for the first time in days, the weight of everything settled heavy on his shoulders. The entrance loomed ahead, the faint trickle of the fountain the only sound in the silent plaza. With a slow breath, he forced himself forward. The guards stationed at the door barely acknowledged him, able to pick him out on site now.

  He flexed his injured arm, wincing as fresh pain flared along the torn muscle. He needed to get this looked at.

  With a sigh, he made his way toward Carter’s office, his boots muffled against the linoleum. He hesitated for a second before gently knocking on the door. He felt bad waking the man in the middle of the night, but the burning pain in his arm wasn’t going away on its own.

  There was a muffled thump, followed by an irritated groan.

  Then a shuffling noise.

  Then...

  "What?!—" Carter flung the door open, candlelight spilling from the small office. His expression twisted from frustration to concern in a blink. "Oh, it’s you, Raven—" His eyes dropped to Raven’s arm, and his frown deepened. "Oh, shit. Your arm. What the hell got you?"

  Raven smirked, stepping into the office. "A real angry kitty. Patch me up, and I’ll tell you all about it."

  Carter exhaled through his nose, already rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. "Sounds like a deal."

  They moved to the surgery room, the sterile scent of alcohol and old linens lingering in the air. Raven took a seat on the examination table while Carter grabbed a bowl of water and a clean cloth.

  "Alright, talk. What happened?" Carter asked, carefully peeling back the torn remains of Raven’s shirt.

  "I was heading back from my old place, and something started stalking me. Big cat, black as night, moved like a damn ghost. And then—” Raven paused as Carter swabbed the wound, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. "—it phased. Right next to me. Just like I do."

  Carter stilled for half a second before continuing his work. "You’re shitting me."

  "Wish I was."

  "And it let you go?"

  Raven let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "Yeah. After clawing the hell out of me. But before it left, it looked at me like—like it recognized something in me."

  Carter gave him a long look. "Raven, at this point, I’m convinced you pissed off a god in a past life."

  "I’m starting to think so too."

  The healer wrapped Raven’s arm with practiced efficiency before stepping back with a nod. "Alright, you’re patched. Try not to rip it open before morning."

  Raven slid off the table, rolling his shoulder. The pain was still there but dulled beneath the tightness of the bandages. "Appreciate it."

  Carter yawned, waving a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. Now get the hell out. I need sleep."

  "Fair enough."

  As Raven made his way to the ward, exhaustion finally settled into his bones. His mind felt clearer than it had in days.

  Maybe it was returning home.

  Maybe it was finally taking a moment to breathe.

  Either way, sleep took him the moment his head hit the pillow.

  For the first time since the world ended—

  He didn’t dream.