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The notification was still burning in Rowan's vision when something moved in the fog.
He froze.
The docks stretched out behind him, wooden planks slick with salt and rot. Ivy was three blocks away, locked in a cell with his name on the arrest warrant. Mara Voss was somewhere in the city with a blade and a rope and zero patience left. And the glowing blue box hovering in front of his face said he had eleven hours to kill something called a Tideborn or the reset would lock him out forever.
Great. Fantastic. Exactly what he needed.
The shape in the fog moved again.
Rowan's hand went to his belt. No knife. He'd ditched it two alleys back when a patrol got too close. All he had was a length of chain he'd pulled off a broken wagon and a bad feeling that was getting worse by the second.
The thing stepped into the light.
It looked human. Mostly. Pale skin stretched too tight over too many joints. Eyes that didn't blink. It wore the torn remains of a dock worker's coat, but the fabric was soaked through, dripping black water that hissed when it hit the wood.
"Hey," Rowan said. His voice came out steady. Good. "You lost?"
The Tideborn's head tilted. Not like a person thinking. Like something deciding whether to bite.
Then it lunged.
Rowan threw himself sideways. The chain swung out, caught the thing across the shoulder. It didn't flinch. Didn't make a sound. Just turned and came at him again, fingers hooked into claws that scraped splinters off the planks.
He rolled, came up swinging. The chain wrapped around its wrist. He pulled hard, dragged it off balance. It stumbled.
He kicked it in the chest.
It went down.
Rowan didn't wait. He dropped on top of it, knees pinning its arms, chain looped around its throat. The thing thrashed. Cold. Everything about it was cold. The water soaking through his coat, the skin under his hands, the breath that wheezed out of its mouth and smelled like low tide and dead fish.
"Stay down," he hissed.
It didn't. It bucked, hard enough to crack his ribs against the planks. He tightened the chain. The Tideborn's mouth opened. No teeth. Just darkness.
Rowan pulled.
The thing's neck snapped.
The body went limp.
The notification flared.
[KILL REGISTERED: TIDEBORN THRALL] [+50 XP] [LEVEL UP: 2] [NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: THREAT SENSE]
Rowan's vision went white. Heat poured through him, top to bottom, like someone had lit a fuse in his spine. His muscles locked. His lungs stopped. For three seconds he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything except feel his body rewrite itself from the inside out.
Then it stopped.
He gasped. Fell forward. His hands hit the planks, and he realized they weren't shaking anymore. The bruises from the hanging—gone. The ache in his ribs—gone. He felt good. Better than good. He felt like he could run ten miles, fight ten men, and still have enough left over to smile through the arrest.
He hated it.
No. That was a lie. Part of him hated it. The part that remembered the rope, the crowd, the way his vision had gone black while Mara watched.
The other part wanted more.
Rowan shoved himself upright. The Tideborn's corpse was already dissolving, black water spreading across the planks. In ten seconds it'd be gone. No evidence. No body. Just wet wood and the smell of salt.
He should go. Ivy was waiting. Mara was hunting. He had eleven hours, maybe less, before the reset locked and the city drowned in whatever the hell these things were.
But his eyes kept drifting back to the fog.
How many more were out there?
How much stronger could he get?
"Stop it," he muttered. He wiped his hands on his coat. The chain clinked when he picked it up. "Ivy first. Power later. Don't be stupid."
The fog didn't answer.
He turned toward the warehouse district. Ivy's holding cell was in the old garrison, three blocks north. If he moved fast, if he kept his head down, if he didn't run into Mara or her squad—
Something crunched behind him.
Rowan spun.
Another Tideborn stepped out of the fog. Bigger this time. Broader shoulders. It wore the remains of a city guard's uniform, the kind with the brass buttons and the high collar. One of the buttons was missing. The fabric around it was scorched black.
Rowan's new skill kicked in.
[THREAT SENSE ACTIVE] [WARNING: TARGET STRENGTH EXCEEDS CURRENT LEVEL]
The thing's head snapped toward him. Its eyes locked on. No hesitation. No question.
It knew what he was.
"Right," Rowan said. He took a step back. "So we're doing this."
The Tideborn charged.
Rowan ran.
Not away. Toward. He dropped low, slid under its swing, came up behind it. The chain lashed out, wrapped around its knee. He pulled. The thing stumbled. Didn't fall.
It spun.
Its fist caught him in the ribs.
Rowan hit the planks hard enough to crack wood. Pain exploded through his chest. The world tilted. He rolled, coughing, tasting blood. The Tideborn loomed over him, arm raised.
He kicked its knee.
It buckled.
Rowan surged up, chain swinging. Caught it across the throat. Once. Twice. The third time he heard bone crack. The thing staggered. He didn't stop. He wrapped the chain around its neck, braced his foot against its spine, and pulled until something gave.
The Tideborn collapsed.
[KILL REGISTERED: TIDEBORN SOLDIER] [+75 XP] [LEVEL UP: 3]
The heat hit again. Harder this time. Rowan's vision whited out. His heart slammed against his ribs, too fast, too hard. He could feel his bones shifting, his muscles tightening, his blood moving faster than it should. When it stopped he was on his knees, gasping, and the dock was spinning.
He forced himself upright.
The Tideborn's body was dissolving. Slower this time. The uniform stayed intact longer, buttons glinting in the fog. Something metallic clinked as the fabric collapsed.
Rowan bent down.
A badge. Blood-soaked, dented on one side. The kind city guards wore on their chest, with the Fogharbor seal stamped in the center.
He turned it over.
Engraved on the back: *Deputy J. Hale.*
Rowan's stomach dropped.
Hale. Mara's second. The deputy who'd been missing for three days. The one she'd been tearing the docks apart looking for.
The one she thought Rowan had killed.
He stared at the badge. At the black water still dripping off the edges. At the scratches that looked like claw marks.
Hale hadn't been murdered.
He'd been turned.
And if Mara found out—if she knew what these things were, what they could do—
Footsteps. Close. Too close.
Rowan's head snapped up.
Mara Voss stepped out of the fog, sword drawn, eyes locked on him.
She saw the badge in his hand.
Her face went cold.
"Drop it," she said.
Rowan didn't move.
"Drop it, Vale, or I'll take your hand with it."
He looked at her. At the blade. At the way her jaw was set, the way her knuckles were white around the hilt.
She thought he'd killed Hale.
She thought he was holding proof.
And the reset timer in the corner of his vision said he had ten hours and forty-three minutes left.
"Mara," he said quietly. "You need to listen."
"I'm done listening."
She stepped forward.
The badge slipped from his fingers.
And behind her, in the fog, something else moved.