And here's the next chapter! I've finally completed the official outline of this fic, so I have a tentative posting plan! It's my intention to post a chapter every Monday and Thursday until this story is completed.

As you can see, the fic has a total of 52 chapters planned. I hope you're all as excited to read it as I am to write it and get the content out to you all! A big thanks to everyone who's commented, given kudos, and shown support for this fic. It means a lot to me and helps fuel me to keep going!

You all rock! Stay safe and enjoy~

CHAPTER SIX

A human saw me.

Nezumi picked his way carefully through the pitch-black woods as he tried to wrap his head around the events of the evening.

The looming trees were empty aside from a few sprites and night-dwelling insects. Most had vacated when the Seelie Knight and Nezumi's skirmish drifted from the concrete roads and into the security of the forest, when their spines smacked into solid tree trunks and their bodies collided with the dirt.

It was a messy brawl. The Seelie Knight was a skilled combatant, but his human blood had failed him. He'd forgotten to deck himself in iron―or perhaps had chosen against it in honor of his fae heritage―and Nezumi took him down quickly enough.

And yet, even though he'd managed to drag the edge of his silver blade in a messy line down the Seelie Knight's face, carving him from the corner of his left eye to the bottom of his right cheek, producing a wound that would leave a lifelong scar, the Seelie Knight had still managed to land a devastating blow to Nezumi's arm before turning tail and disappearing into the shadows.

If that human hadn't come by when he had, then...

Nezumi's left bicep ached where the strips of fabric were wrapped. He could still feel the warm surge of his blood, slowed dramatically by the tourniquet. Nezumi could feel the phantom brush of the human's delicate fingers against his bare skin, meticulously tying the fabric in place.

He could see me. And I let him go.

In Nezumi's years living in the Unseelie Court―after the Seelie Queen had handed him, a trembling child with tears in his eyes, over to the sinister King as an offering of good faith between the two Courts―the Unseelie King had meted out especially nasty punishments for the Folk who refused to dispatch Sighted humans. Humans cursed with the Sight became faerie hunters. Humans with the Sight trapped solitary Folk under glass baubles and tortured them for information. Sighted humans were dangerous, and death was their only fate.

Nezumi should have snapped that human boy's neck the moment he revealed he could see him. A normal human wouldn't have come running at the sound of Nezumi's pained shout, wouldn't have spotted him crouched against the trunk of a tree. A normal human wouldn't have bandaged his wounds, even under threat of death.

But the human―Shion, Nezumi remembered, the name rolling around in his skull like a loose stone―had seen him. He'd responded to Nezumi's threat on his life with genuine concern and kindness, offering to bandage his wound without asking for anything in return.

Nezumi's lips pressed in a thin line. In the Seelie Court, there were fields of beautiful flowers stretching as far as the eye could see. Countless arrangements of colors and shapes no mortal could hope to recreate with poetry and artwork. As a child, Nezumi had loved nothing more than to pluck little clusters of purple asters, weaving them into flower crowns for both himself and his young sister. He loved weaving the little, pale petals in his hair, letting the fresh scents drift around him like an aura.

What am I doing? Nezumi lifted his uninjured arm and shoved his bangs out of his face. His hair was tangled from the brawl with the Seelie Knight; at some point in the beginning of their battle, the Knight's hand had clamped on Nezumi's ponytail, ripping the tie holding Nezumi's hair up out and taking a few strands of dark hair with it.

Having his hair loose made him feel vulnerable. Nezumi dragged it away from his face, his fingers itching to pull it back off his neck. He needed to get back to the Unseelie Court.

There was no audience. The small Folk living in the trees had fled the scene long ago. No one had seen Shion sprint into the woods at the sound of Nezumi's shout. No one had seen him use Nezumi's knife to slice his shirt to ribbons and wrap the makeshift bandages around his arm to stop the bleeding.

Nezumi retraced his steps and quickly located the backpack he'd retrieved earlier that night from Rikiga. When the battle ended up in the woods, he'd deposited it off to the side so its strange weight wouldn't hinder him. Nezumi wasn't surprised to find it untampered with. His scent was on it; none of the Folk would be foolish enough to snatch it up.

Nezumi hefted it up with his uninjured arm and tossed it over his right shoulder. He winced as the backpack thumped against his spine, its contents rattling within. He exhaled, trying to shove the unease of the evening to the back of his memory.

A human had seen him. So what? As long as Nezumi wasn't asked about it, he'd take this secret to the grave. Without witnesses, there was no way the Unseelie King would be able to tell he'd been rescued by a mortal. Nezumi could get his arm bandaged properly, explain that he was attacked by a Seelie Knight, and omit the rest of the tale. He was certain Shion wouldn't do anything as foolish as mentioning that he'd rescued a member of the Fair Folk, especially after the way Nezumi had jammed his knife against his throat and threatened him―

Nezumi's blood went cold.

He grasped for his waistband and felt nothing.

His knife.

It was gone.

⁂

The soles of Shion's sneakers thumped against the pavement as he trudged past the empty trash can and bustled down the crooked stone walkway leading up to the bakery.

All the lights in the little building seemed to be off aside from the tiny blue light above the backdoor. The oily glow of the street lamps didn't quite reach the corner walls of Shion's home. He could feel the darkness creeping behind him as he fumbled in his coat pocket for his house keys.

Shion's fingers itched around the hilt of the silver knife as he unlocked the back door and stepped into the bakery.

He closed the door behind him with a sigh. The bakery had always felt like a sanctuary―a place the Fair Folk couldn't breach. Except now the Folk had breached the safety of this place in the form of Nezumi's knife. Nezumi knew Shion could see the faerie world. The bakery was no longer safe.

Shion peered into the dark kitchen. The dishes had been washed and tucked away for the evening, the left-over pastries wrapped in cellophane and safely secured for the morning.

He undid the laces from his sneakers and left them neatly on the mat by the door, next to his mother's worn shoes. He didn't turn on the lights; he made his way carefully up the stairwell in the darkness, fishing his house key out of the several clustered on his blue keyring.

The house was quiet and bathed in shadow. Karan went to sleep early, as her job required her to wake before the sun. Shion locked the door behind him and hurried across the sitting room to his bedroom. He held the silver knife by the handle, aiming the point at the ground on the off-chance he tripped over his own two feet and fell.

Once in the safety of his bedroom, Shion exhaled, the weight of the strange evening tumbling down his shoulders. He leaned back against the closed door, the wood solid and cool against his skull.

What did I do?

Shion peered into the darkness of his bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights. Moonlight filtered in from behind the thin white curtains. The tiny oak dresser and the twin-sized bed covered in a paper-thin, blue comforter, felt otherworldly. The sounds of mice in the walls, once a familiar comfort, felt unsettling in the darkness.

Nezumi's silver knife offered little comfort, either. Shion's knuckles ached around the hilt. He unclenched them with a wince, holding the blade in a loose grip. It felt different than when he'd held it in the woods, using its sharpened silver to slice through his button-down.

Shion unzipped his coat and let it fall to the floor in a heap. He nudged it to the side with his foot, then worked on unbuttoning his ruined shirt. He was mindful of the silver blade in his hand, and once he'd undone the button-down, Shion dropped it to the floor, too.

Standing in the middle of his bedroom, shirtless and holding a faerie blade, Shion tried to memorize what his bedroom looked like. He took in the plain walls, the twin-sized bed jammed up against the wall, the little dresser and closet door nestled into the wall.

I'll miss this.

Shion crossed to the window and yanked it open. A gentle gust of wind picked up the white curtains. Shion took a deep breath, tasting the evening air. He closed his eyes and let the night swirl around him.

With trembling hands, Shion set the knife on the windowsill. The streetlamps caught against the silver of the blade; Shion turned away from it and hurried over to his coat.

If Nezumi was coming back for his knife, Shion wanted to make sure he could find it. He hadn't stolen it. He had always intended to return it. Shion had no way of knowing it Nezumi would be able to tell the difference, or if he would be merciful even if he could tell.

Shion pulled his cell phone out from his coat pocket. The screen was covered in dirt, and Shion gently brushed it away. He unlocked the screen, scrolled through his messages, and sent Safu a quick text message: Made it home safe. Uneventful. Heading to bed.

His thumb hovered over send. Shion rarely lied to Safu. Ever since they'd met as children, Shion had confided in her about everything. Safu could see the same things Shion could, and she understood his concerns in a way no one else ever had.

If Shion told her what he'd done, told her that he was foolish enough to let a faerie―especially a dangerous court faerie―know that he had the Sight, then Safu might be able to offer him some advice.

But... telling Safu might put her at risk, too.

Shion closed his eyes and hit send.

He stripped down to his boxers, crossed to his dresser and pulled a blue tee-shirt out of his dresser. He yanked it on and climbed into bed. He turned his back to the cracked-open window. It was supposed to start raining at around two o'clock. His mother wouldn't be happy with puddles on the floor in the morning, but Shion couldn't find the strength to care.

There was a chance he wouldn't be here in the morning. The puddles would be the least of Karan's worries when she found Shion's bed vacant.

Shion knew what fear tasted like―the bitter flavor of rot on the backs of his teeth that came and went just as his visions did. Fear thrived in Kronos. It lived in the hollow eyes of the children who played in the parks after the sun had gone down. It lived in the creeks, in the nests of birds, in the mouths of crystal wolves that snapped at unaware ankles.

But for one night, Shion didn't want to be afraid.

He allowed himself to forget about the silver knife waiting at his exposed back. Instead, he thought about the knife's owner. Shion focused on the color of those flickering irises, so unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Nezumi's eyes were a blade all their own, sharp enough to cut Shion to the bone. And it was those same eyes that lingered in his dreams as the night dragged on.

To Be Continued...