Chapter 2 Rebirth
Pip led me through the forest like she'd walked these paths a thousand times.
Her small feet picked paths between roots and rocks I would have tripped on. She moved quietly, never wasting a step, as if she belonged to the shadows. For a kid who said she heard voices in the walls, she seemed surprisingly steady.
I followed, still weak and trying to process everything that had happened.
A dead assassin wakes in a dead girl's body.
A ghost shares her chest.
A silver-eyed child appears with impossible knowledge.
An ancient woman watches from the trees.
Normal day, apparently.
"You're thinking too loud," Pip said.
"I'm not making any sound."
"Not with your mouth," she said, glancing back. "With your head. The voices say it's annoying."
I stopped walking. "The voices in the walls?"
"Everywhere," she said, still walking. "They like you. Say you're loud because you're confused, not stupid. That matters."
My chest tightened, breath short, unease prickling across my skin, something heavy and cold curling in my gut. I had no response, just a sudden, raw awareness that I was being watched from the inside out.
Pip led me to a stream, a thin line of water running through the forest, cold and clear. I knelt and drank until my stomach hurt, then drank again. The water tasted fresh, washing away the bitter taste of death I'd carried since waking.
Pip sat on a rock, watching me with those unsettling eyes.
"How long was she dead?" I asked. "Liana. Before I woke up."
"A few hours." Pip turned a stone in her hands. "I watched. People die a lot. They don’t usually get better."
"Liana didn't get better. She's still—" I touched my chest. "Here."
"I know. I can see her." Pip tilted her head, looking at something I couldn't see. "She's smaller now. Quieter. Like she's waiting for something."
A cold impatience pressed against my ribs. Waiting for revenge. Waiting for me to keep the promise I'd already made.
"What else do you see?" I asked. "When you look at me?"
Pip was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Blood. A lot of blood. Some of it is yours, some of it is not. Fire. A house burning with people inside. A wolf with golden eyes." She paused. "A woman with silver eyes, watching everything. The same one from before. She's important."
"The old woman on the cliff."
"Yes." Pip's forehead creased. "But also not old. Sometimes she's young. Sometimes she's not even a person. Just... eyes. Watching."
The ancient woman. The one who'd smiled as I fell. The one who'd somehow put me in this body.
"She's the reason I'm here," I said slowly. "She did something. Made this happen."
"Maybe." Pip shrugged again. "Or maybe she just watched it happen. The voices say there's a difference between making things and watching things. Most people don't understand that."
"What do the voices say about her?"
Pip's face went very still. For the first time, she looked like a child, frightened, uncertain, small.
"They say she’s watched forever. Longer than the city or trees. She’s looking for someone." Pip’s eyes met mine. "They say she’s looking for me."
The market was in chaos.
I'd forgotten what normal life looked like: merchants shouting, customers arguing, kids running between stalls, animals making noise, wheels creaking, voices blending into a wall of sound. In my first life, I avoided crowds. Too many risks. Too many eyes. needed information. I needed to understand the world I'd landed in.
Pip stuck close to my side, her small hand wrapped around two of my fingers. She'd gone quiet again, her eyes darting everywhere, taking in everything.
"The golden sister," she murmured. "She's here."
I followed her gaze.
A carriage was making its way along the edge of the market. It was elegant, gold-trimmed, and pulled by two white horses that cost more than most people's houses. The curtains were open.
Seraphina Vex.
Golden hair arranged in elaborate curls. Golden eyes that caught the sunlight like precious gems. A smile like poisoned honey, directed at something a companion was saying inside the carriage. She laughed. The sound was musical, carefree, and seemed harmless on its own.
Liana's memories flooded me, years of mockery, the sting of dismissals. The way Seraphina looked at Liana was as if she were nothing.
The ghost in my chest clawed upward, ice flooding my veins. Anger and hunger tangled into a knot, sharp and blinding, pulsing beneath my skin. Her wrath scorched through me, fierce as my own, electric and impossible to ignore.
Soon, I told them. But not yet.
"Don't," Pip said.
"Don't what?"
"Don't kill her yet. It's not time." Those ancient eyes met mine. "She's not the one you need to kill first. There are others. Worse ones. The woman is watching. The man with the knife. The people who made you."
The ones who made me. The ancient woman.
"How do you know about them?"
A mix of emotions flashed over Pip’s face. "They’re in the voices. In the walls and water. They’re everywhere, and they’ve waited for you a long time."
The carriage vanished. Seraphina disappeared into the crowd, but I stayed braced, tense, and alert.
And someone else appeared.
A man leaned against a stall across the market, watching me with open curiosity. He had dark hair, cut shorter than most, and sharp dark eyes. His face was handsome but dangerous. He wore mercenary leathers and carried a plain, worn sword. Scars on his hands showed years of work.
He was looking directly at me.
Not at Pip. Not at the crowd. At me.
I went still. In my experience, men who looked at women that way wanted one of two things: company or trouble. This one's expression suggested something else entirely.
Recognition.
But he couldn't recognize me. I wore a dead girl's face; no one here knew Specter.
No one except—
Pip tugged my hand. "The wolf," she whispered. "The one with golden eyes. That's him."
Kael Drakon. The name surfaced from somewhere, a rumor, a whisper, information Mags would later confirm. Leader of the Ashen Wolves mercenary company. Dangerous. Connected. Not someone to ignore.
He pushed off from the stall and walked toward us.
I had three choices: run, fight, or stand my ground. Running would confirm I had something to hide. Fighting in a crowded market would draw attention I couldn't afford. So I stood, and waited, and kept my face blank.
He stopped a few feet away, close enough to be intimate, far enough to be non-threatening. His smile was warm, genuine, and utterly unsettling.
"You're the ghost girl," he said. "The one who's been haunting the Vex estate."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." His eyes moved to Pip, lingered, and returned to me. "And the seer child. Interesting company for a ghost."
Pip pressed closer to my side. Pip pressed closer, her fingers tightening. Her jaw set, eyes flickering with silent warning. She watched Kael, not with fear, but sharp alertness, as if ready to spring. I felt her tension shivering through my hand.
"Right now? Breakfast." He gestured toward a food stall. "There's a baker around the corner who makes the best pastries in the city. My treat. We can talk."
"Talk about what?"
"About the fact that you're wearing a dead girl's face and have no idea what you're walking into." His smile didn't waver. "About the fact that the Syndicate is already asking questions about you. About the fact that you have maybe a week before they find you, and when they do, they won't ask nicely."
The Syndicate. Already.
"How do you know about the Syndicate?"
"Because I make it my business to know things." He pulled a silver coin from his pocket, stamped with a wolf's head. He tossed it to me. I caught it reflexively. "If you need help, send that to the Rusted Nail tavern. Ask for the Wolves."
"I don't need help."
"Everyone needs help." He was already walking away, disappearing into the crowd with the ease of someone who'd spent his life moving through shadows. "Especially ghosts. Especially ghosts carrying dead girls and seer children."
He was gone before I could respond.
Pip tugged my hand again. "I like him," she said. "He's loud inside, too. But his voice is different. It's warm."
"His loud?"
"The voices. His voice is loud. But they're not scared like most people. They're..." She searched for the word. "Hopeful."
I stared at the silver coin in my palm. A wolf's head, mouth open in a silent howl. The ghost in my chest shifted again, but not with anger this time. A flicker of hope, or maybe just curiosity, pressed against my ribs.
"Come on," I told Pip. "Let's find that baker. I need to think."
The baker's pastries were as good as promised.
We sat on a low wall at the edge of the market, watching people flow past. Pip devoured three pastries in the time it took me to finish one, her small face smeared with sugar and jam. She looked, for the first time, like an actual child.
"My mother used to bring me here," she said quietly. "Before. When I was little."
"Before what?"
"Before the voices got loud. Before they threw me away." She wiped her face with her sleeve. "She said the pastries were magic. That if you ate enough, you'd forget all the bad things."
"Did it work?"
"No." A small smile. "But the"No." A small, brittle smile. But the sweetness faded quickly, replaced by a shadow. Her eyes dropped, her voice almost shaky. I didn’t ask about her mother. Grief and old wounds flickered across Pip’s face, answers best left untouched, scars that would only ache if uncovered. “Kael, what else do the voices say about him?"
Pip closed her eyes, listening to something I couldn't hear. "They say he's looking for something too. Something he lost a long time ago. They say he's been looking for years." Her eyes opened. "They say maybe you're what he's been looking for. Or maybe you'll help him find it. The voices aren't sure."
"That's not helpful."
"The voices aren't usually helpful. They just... are." She shrugged. "You get used to it."
I finished my pastry and stood. "We need to find shelter. Somewhere safe. Somewhere, the Syndicate won't look."
"I know a place." Pip jumped down from the wall, landing lightly. "It's not nice. But it's hidden. And the voices there are quiet."
"Where?"
She pointed toward the poorest part of the city, where buildings leaned together, and smoke rose from too many chimneys. "The Warrens. No one goes there unless they have to. The guards don't bother. The Syndicate doesn't care."
Perfect. Exactly the kind of place I needed.
"Show me."
The Warrens were worse than I expected.
Narrow streets felt more like alleys, with buildings ready to fall down and people watching from the shadows with hungry eyes. The smell was strong: sewage, smoke, unwashed bodies, and rot. Children played in the dirt. Old people sat in doorways, staring at nothing. Everyone looked half-dead. But Pip moved through it as she belonged. She greeted a few people by name and got nods in return. She was known here. Accepted.
"I don't ask for much. And sometimes I tell them things. Like when the guard is coming. Or when a building's going to collapse. They think I'm lucky."
"You tell them what the voices say."
"Sometimes. The useful parts." She led me to a building that looked more abandoned than the rest, with boards over the windows, a crooked door, and a sagging roof. "This one's empty. The last family died last winter. No one's taken it yet."
We entered.
The inside was dark, dusty, and cold. But dry. Sheltered. And as Pip had promised, it was quiet. No voices in the walls here. Just silence and shadows.
"It'll do," I said.
Pip nodded, already making herself comfortable in a corner. "What now?"
Now. Good question.
I had no money. No weapons. No allies except a strange child and a mercenary who'd bought me breakfast. I was wearing a dead girl's body, carrying her ghost, and being hunted by the organization I'd once led.
"Now we survive," I said. "We learn. We plan. And when we're ready—"
The door slammed open.
A man stood in the doorway, large, armed, drunk. He swayed, squinted at us, and grinned with rotten teeth.
"Well, well. Two little rats in my building." He stumbled inside. "This is my place now. You want to stay, you pay. And I know exactly how pretty things like you can pay."
Pip went very still beside me. Her small hand found mine.
The ghost in my chest blazed with rage, Liana's rage, memories of men like this, of times she'd been cornered with no one to protect her.
But she wasn't alone anymore.
I moved.
Three steps and a turn, my borrowed body aching from the sudden effort. But twenty years of muscle memory ignored weak legs and hunger. My hand grabbed his wrist, twisted, and used his own weight against him. He hit the floor, his arm bent at a wrong angle. He screamed. I knelt on his chest, my knee pressing into his throat.
"This building is mine now," I said quietly. "These rats are mine. If you come near us again, I'll kill you. Slowly. In ways that will make you beg for death long before it comes."
His eyes went wide with terror. He believed me.
Good.
I released him. He scrambled up and ran, still screaming.
Pip watched me with those ancient eyes. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then: "The voices were wrong about you."
"Were they?"
"They said you were dangerous." A small smile crept across her face. "They didn't say you were terrifying."
I almost smiled back.
Almost.
That night, I dreamed of the old woman.
She sat across from me in a void of endless gray, her silver eyes gleaming. Up close, she was both ancient and ageless, with wrinkled skin but smooth movements, cloudy eyes but sharp focus. She studied me like a collector studying a prized artifact.
"You're wondering why," she said. "Why are you here. Why her body? Why now?"
"Among other things."
She smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. "You were my finest creation, Specter. The perfect weapon. I shaped you from nothing, watched you rise, took such pride in what you became." A pause. "And then you became something else. Something I didn't intend."
"What's that?"
"Human." The word dripped with disappointment. "You started caring. About Corvus. About the Syndicate. About things that shouldn't matter to a weapon. You became unreliable."
"So you had me killed."
"I had you replaced." She leaned forward. "But death isn't what it used to be. The world is thinner now. Reality is cracking. When you fell, I saw an opportunity. A chance to reclaim my creation, to start over, and to make you into what you should have been."
"This body. Liana. You put me here."
"I opened a door. You walked through it." Her smile widened. "The girl was dying anyway. Her ghost was ripe, furious, desperate for revenge. Two broken souls, two raging ghosts, sharing one vessel. The potential is... extraordinary."
"I'm not your creation anymore."
"You are always my creation. You just don't know it yet." She stood, began to fade. "But you will. When the time comes, you'll understand that you belong to me. That you've always belonged to me."
"I'll die first."
"Darling." Her voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. "You already did."
I woke gasping, my heart pounding, Liana's ghost a burning presence in my chest.
Pip was sitting beside me, watching.
"She's real," Pip said. "The woman with silver eyes. She's real, and she's coming, and she's been waiting for you for a very long time."
"I know."
"What are you going to do?"
I looked at this impossible child in this impossible situation. At the ghost in my chest and the enemies gathering in the dark. At the mercenary who'd offered help and the family that needed destroying.
"Survive," I said. "Grow strong. Find answers. And when she comes—" I touched the silver coin in my pocket, Kael's wolf, a promise of help I wasn't sure I'd use. "When she comes, I'll be ready."
Pip nodded, satisfied.
Outside, the city stirred with the first light of dawn.
Somewhere, Seraphina was waking to her golden life.
Somewhere, the Syndicate was planning its next move.
Somewhere, Kael Drakon was wondering if his coin would ever return.
Somewhere, the ancient woman watched and waited, smiling.
And in a ruined building in the worst part of the city, a dead woman and a seer child began to build something new.