Wednesday:Shadowbound

Adrian sat on the cracked stone steps of a half-collapsed chapel, the cigarette in his hand burning down to the filter, its tiny orange glow struggling against the endless grayness of the place. The wind, cold and bitter, swept across the desolate streets of Pripyat, carrying with it a sense of desolation that was almost tangible. This town—no, this graveyard of a town—had been left to rot decades ago. The people had fled in a hurry, leaving behind their lives, their homes, their memories, like old shoes abandoned on the side of the road.

Six months. Six long months since he had walked away from Shanghai, since he accepted Mei's offer. In that time, he had hunted the creatures in the dark, saved people who never quite understood what he was. Some were grateful—God, they were grateful, clutching their children to their chests, shaking his hand with tears in their eyes, calling him a miracle. Others, though, saw something different. They saw the shadows that followed him. They whispered behind closed doors, unsure whether to thank him or keep their distance.

He took a final drag and flicked the cigarette away, watching it tumble into the dust. For a moment, the embers flared brightly, as if the tiny flame had realized it was dying and fought back, only to be swallowed by the vast nothingness around it. A metaphor, maybe.

The shadows had given him a lot. Teleportation. Healing. Immortality, of a sort. They pulled him through the world in the blink of an eye—from New York to Krakow, and now here. And when he was torn apart—physically or otherwise—they stitched him back together. But the shadows didn't care about the pain. They knit his skin and bones, but the hurt lingered, sharp as the moment it first struck. They refused to let him die, even when he wished, sometimes, that they would.

Adrian stood, stretching, feeling the familiar ghost of pain in his side. An old wound, courtesy of a Wraith he'd killed in Krakow two days ago. A family had been trapped in the basement, desperate, while the thing stalked their home. He'd fought it and won, and this time, the family had hugged him. The father, with shaking hands, had pressed a worn crucifix into his palm, whispering, "God bless you."

He hadn't stayed for more. Gratitude was fleeting, but the fight was endless.

Now, Pripyat called. Or rather, the organization did—the one he worked for these days. They never gave direct orders, just subtle nudges in the right direction, like a current pulling him along. It wasn't glamorous, and he wasn't a hero, but the work needed doing, and he was the one who could do it. When they called, he went, simple as that. This time, it led him to this ghost town, where even the shadows felt abandoned.

Adrian stretched, his muscles stiff from sitting too long, still sore from his last encounter.

Pripyat's air felt different. He couldn't place why. Something heavier than the radioactive dust that settled on everything like a second skin. The whole place smelled of old rot, of wood warping, metal rusting, and water seeping into places it shouldn't. Nature was reclaiming what was left, but even nature seemed reluctant here.

His eyes drifted across the street to where the Ferris wheel loomed like a forgotten relic, its bright yellow carriages now dull and peeling, frozen in place. Once, kids had laughed there, high-pitched and happy, while their parents watched from below, talking about nothing in particular. He could almost hear the echoes of that laughter if he listened hard enough.

But there was no laughter now. Just silence. Thick, oppressive silence. The kind that made you feel like you weren't alone, even when you knew you were.

The shadows moved at the edges of his vision. Always there. Always watching.

"Still creeping around, are you?" he muttered, the words half to himself and half to the shadows that lingered in the alleyways, darkening corners that should've been lit by the noon sun. They didn't respond, but they didn't need to. He already knew what they were saying—what they wanted.

The wind picked up, and with it came the sound of footsteps on gravel—a slow, deliberate crunch. Adrian turned, eyes narrowing at the figure approaching him. A man, tall and thin, with a wide-brimmed hat that shaded most of his face. He looked like he'd walked out of a dust storm and carried the desert with him.

"You're the shadow-wielder, ain't ya?" the man rasped, his voice like sandpaper dragged across bone.

Adrian sighed. "Depends who's asking."

The man stopped just short of the steps, tilting his head like a curious animal. "The kind who needs help... or at least, that's what I'd like you to think."

Adrian smirked, folding his arms. "Most people start conversations with a name. You know, a little courtesy before we get into the inevitable threat. Let me guess—you've got a problem, and I'm the lucky bastard who has to solve it."

The man chuckled, the sound dry and humorless. "Call me Jacob. I've been following you since the Ghoul's Gate incident."

Adrian's fingers twitched slightly. He kept his voice steady, casual. "That was over a hundred miles from here. You got long legs, or just too much time on your hands?"

Jacob tipped his head back slightly, just enough for the moonlight to catch his eyes—gleaming, unnaturally bright against the worn, tired lines of his face. Something about them was wrong, but Adrian couldn't place what.

"You're good. But you're also walking blind," Jacob said, voice raspy, like the air itself had scraped against his throat.

Adrian felt the shadows coil at his feet, restless. They knew. Of course, they always did. But he kept them in check, the same way you'd keep a rabid dog on a tight leash. "Blind's better than walking dead."

Jacob's mouth twitched into a grim approximation of a smile. "Perhaps."

There was a beat of silence. Not the kind of awkward pause you get when you don't know what to say, but the kind where two men—both knowing what the other is—are sizing each other up. Like wolves. You don't have to see the teeth to know they're there, ready to tear flesh if the moment calls for it.

"You got a job for me, Jacob?" Adrian finally asked, his voice gruff. He'd heard this song and dance before—some outcast needing his help, thinking they could use him like a hired gun. But it was never that simple. "I've got things to do. Demons to kill."

Jacob tilted his head again, slower this time, almost as though considering something that hadn't crossed his mind before. "You ever heard of La Llorona?"

Adrian's eyebrow twitched, just barely. The Weeping Woman. Old story. Old nightmare. One of those tales that got passed around from generation to generation like an heirloom nobody really wanted but couldn't throw away either. Mothers used it to scare their kids—keep them from wandering near rivers after dark. But for someone like Adrian, the stories were always more than just that.

"I know the story," Adrian said, glancing over Jacob's shoulder at the river that snaked its way through Pripyat. Even now, in the moonlight, the water looked black, stagnant. Like it had been dead for a long, long time. "A woman drowns her kids. Now she spends eternity crying and dragging the damned into the water."

Jacob smiled again, that thin, humorless line. "Close. But she's not just a story. Not anymore."

Adrian felt something cold creep up his spine. It wasn't fear, exactly—more like a sinking feeling, the way your stomach twists when you're about to step into something you know you'll regret. "She's here?" He gestured vaguely toward the river. "And what, she's collecting souls? Dragging people into the water?"

Jacob didn't answer right away. He just stared at the river for a moment, the way someone looks at something they've seen a hundred times but still can't quite understand. "She's been dragging men in for weeks now. Bodies are piling up. But it's not just the bodies, Adrian."

Adrian clenched his jaw. He didn't like where this was going. "What do you expect me to do? Have a heart-to-heart with her? I'm not a therapist."

Jacob's grin widened, but this time, it wasn't just teeth—it was something darker, something that slithered behind his eyes. "You're the only one who can handle her. The only one she won't see coming."

Adrian frowned, stepping down off the chapel steps, his boots crunching on the gravel below. "Why?"

Jacob's grin faded. "Because she's seen men before. Seen monsters. But not one like you."

There it was again, that itch at the back of Adrian's mind. The shadows whispering, telling him to embrace his role in this story. He shoved the thoughts down and scowled. "I'm not a monster."

Jacob gave him a slow nod, though his eyes said something else. "Maybe not yet."

//=//

Later that Night

The river shimmered under the moonlight, too still, too dark. Not a single ripple disturbed its surface, as though even the wind was afraid to touch it. Adrian stood at the edge of the bank, the cold air biting at his skin through the fabric of his coat. His breath formed small clouds in the night air, vanishing almost as quickly as they appeared.

Pripyat was silent, save for the occasional groan of a forgotten building settling under its own weight. Since the Chernobyl disaster, the place had been abandoned by everything that once lived here—except, apparently, the dead.

Adrian flicked the cigarette he'd been holding into the water, watching it hit the surface with a tiny hiss. For a moment, he wondered if she'd notice. La Llorona. The Weeping Woman.

He could feel the weight of Jacob's eyes on him from a distance, the man lurking in the shadows like a snake in tall grass. Adrian had met plenty like him—people who knew just enough to get by, always asking for help when things got too ugly for their liking. But it didn't matter. He was used to being the one people called when things went sideways.

The problem was, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep answering.

A faint ripple broke the surface of the river, and Adrian's heart skipped. There—just beneath the water, a shape moving slow, deliberate. His breath hitched, and a familiar chill crawled up his spine. He could feel her. The sadness, the rage, the endless grief clinging to her like a second skin. The Weeping Woman.

His fingers curled into fists, and the shadows stirred again, rising like smoke, ready to strike. But he didn't call on them yet. Not yet. His mind screamed at him to move, to strike first, but something kept him rooted to the ground—something in the way the air had thickened, pressing down on his lungs like a heavy fog.

Adrian closed his eyes for a moment, letting the silence wash over him, feeling the cold bite of the air on his skin. This was how it always started. He could almost hear her whispers, carried on the wind.

The river rippled again, and this time, he saw her. She rose from the water slowly, as if the river itself was birthing her—a pale, hollow figure, her long black hair clinging to her face and shoulders, soaked and matted. Her eyes were black voids, reflecting none of the light, none of the life around her. She was death personified, sorrow given form.

Adrian felt his throat tighten, the weight of her grief settling over him like a second skin. It was palpable, almost suffocating—the loss, the rage, the endless torment that clung to her like the water dripping from her tattered white dress. He had faced monsters before, but this... this was different. This was raw.

She opened her mouth, and the sound that came from her lips was more than a scream. It was a wail, a lament that pierced through Adrian's skull, driving into his bones. He staggered, gasping as the sound enveloped him, thick and oppressive. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he saw them—her children. The ones she had lost. Their faces flashed before his eyes, pale and lifeless, dragged beneath the surface of the water.

"They were mine," she whispered, her voice a broken thing, each word dripping with bitterness and loss. "They were all mine."

Adrian's heart pounded, the shadows surging in response to his growing fear. He could feel them begging to be let loose, to tear into her, but he held them back. For now. His hands trembled as he reached for the spear that formed in the darkness around him. "Yeah, well," he muttered, voice hoarse, "they're not yours anymore."

Her head snapped toward him, her dead eyes locking onto his. The air around them seemed to shudder, thickening with the weight of her fury. The river churned, growing darker, as if her very presence was poisoning it. Adrian's grip on the spear tightened.

La Llorona moved first, faster than anything that should be dead. One second she was standing at the river's edge, the next she was upon him, her clawed hands swiping at his chest. Adrian barely had time to react. The shadows surged, pulling him back just enough to avoid her first strike, but her second came too fast. Her nails sliced through his coat, raking across his skin with a burning sting.

"Shit," he hissed, stumbling back, blood soaking into the fabric of his shirt. The pain was sharp, immediate, but it wasn't enough to slow him down. He'd been here before. He'd felt worse.

La Llorona shrieked again, her hands reaching for him, her grief turning her movements into something wild, erratic. She didn't fight with precision or strategy. She fought with desperation. She fought with the weight of loss that could never be mended.

Adrian swung the shadow-spear wide, aiming for her chest, but she slipped past him, her form flickering, half-real, half-illusion. Her hand shot out, cold and unyielding, wrapping around his throat. His breath caught as she lifted him off the ground, her strength inhuman.

"They were mine," she whispered again, her voice trembling with rage. Her face was inches from his, her breath cold against his skin. "You took them from me."

Adrian's vision swam, black spots blooming at the edges of his sight. He could feel the shadows stirring beneath his skin, desperate to break free. His hand trembled, the spear slipping from his grasp as her grip tightened on his throat. But he didn't panic. He'd been here before—on the edge, where the line between life and death blurred.

And in that space, he always came out on top.

"Yeah," he rasped, forcing the words through the pressure on his windpipe, "and now you're mine."

The shadows exploded outward at his command, slamming into her with the force of a tidal wave. Her grip loosened, just enough for him to wrench free, gasping for air as he stumbled back. For a moment, the world tilted, his head swimming from the lack of oxygen. But the shadows steadied him, their weight familiar, comforting.

La Llorona staggered, her form flickering, unstable. She looked at him with those hollow eyes, and for the briefest second, Adrian thought he saw something there—something human. A flicker of recognition, maybe even relief.

But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the cold, merciless rage of something that had lived in grief for too long.

Adrian didn't give her the chance to strike again. He lunged forward, driving the shadow-spear straight into her chest. Her scream ripped through the night, worse than anything he'd heard before—like the breaking of a soul, a sound that scraped against his very bones.

But it didn't stop him. He twisted the spear, and the shadows surged around it, black tendrils wrapping around her, pulling her down, down, down.

La Llorona dissolved into the darkness, her wail fading into the night, until there was nothing left but the stillness of the river.

Adrian stood there, the spear still in his hand, his chest heaving with every breath. The shadows receded slowly, curling back into the earth, leaving him feeling... hollow. It was always like this. The fight ended, but something lingered. Something dark. Something that always felt too close to home.

He looked out over the water, the moon casting a pale glow over its surface, and for a moment, he felt like something was watching him from beneath. But it was gone. For now.

"Another day," he muttered, "another monster."

But as he turned to leave, a familiar voice echoed in his mind—the shadows, whispering again, always whispering.

You're one of us.

Adrian clenched his fists, as he exhaled sharply through his nose, pushing the thought aside. It didn't matter. He had to keep moving. He had to keep fighting. It was the only thing that made sense anymore. The only thing that quieted the whispers.

As he turned to leave the riverbank, his phone buzzed in his pocket. For a second, he debated ignoring it, but the persistent vibration finally made him pull it out.

Unknown Sender: Heading back. Don't forget. You owe me.

Adrian stared at the screen, knowing exactly who it was from. Mei.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen her message like that. Lately, their encounters had shifted, become something... else. It wasn't love—hell, it wasn't even really connection. It was just a way to silence the noise, to forget for a few hours that his life was spiraling into something he barely recognized. And it was clear she felt the same. There were no whispered promises or expectations. Just release. Just quiet.

For a few hours.

He pocketed the phone, his eyes scanning the empty town. No one would miss him here, not tonight. The job was done. La Llorona was gone.

Jacob had been watching him earlier, standing at the edge of the river like a vulture waiting for the fallout. But now, he was gone too.

Adrian shook his head, letting out a breath. Typical.

Outcasts had a habit of slipping away when things were done, leaving Adrian to pick up the pieces alone. He wasn't surprised. People like Jacob were shadows themselves—around when they needed to be, and gone just as fast when it suited them.

With a grunt, Adrian turned away from the river. There was no use worrying about it. Jacob had come and gone, like always.

The night stretched on, and Pripyat remained as still as it had been for decades.

//=//

Later that night

Adrian blinked, and the cold, eerie silence of Pripyat was gone. In its place, the sultry night air of Mumbai wrapped around him like a blanket, thick with the scent of spices and diesel fumes. He had never quite gotten used to the sensation—how the shadows could pull him from one place to another in the blink of an eye, from one hunt to the next.

She was waiting for him as always, though never in the same place twice. This time, she had chosen a cramped apartment overlooking a crowded alleyway that buzzed with life, even in the dead of night. The city was loud, but here, inside, the air was still, almost too still.

Adrian pushed the door open, the muted creak of the hinges the only sound in the stillness. Inside, the dim glow of Mei's cigarette cast faint shadows on the walls, blending with the scent of incense that always seemed to linger in her space. It was a heady mixture—smoke, sweat, and the faintest hint of something herbal, like sage, burning away bad spirits. He hated how familiar it was. Hated that he kept coming back to it.

Mei was already there, sitting cross-legged on the floor near a low table, a cigarette dangling from her lips and wearing nothing but a loose-fitting tank top that hung off one shoulder, her hands busy cleaning the gleaming blades of her knives. A hunter in her own right, just like him. She never stayed in one place for long—like Adrian, she hunted. From Paris to Rio, Tokyo to Istanbul, she tracked her own monsters, ones just as deadly as his.

They never met in the same city twice. Each time, a different backdrop. Tonight, it was Mumbai.

Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked toward him as he walked in, but she didn't say anything. Not yet. The silence was more honest than any greeting could be.

Adrian leaned against the door for a moment, scanning the small room. His body still hummed with the aftermath of the fight, shadows stirring beneath his skin like restless ghosts. He needed something to quiet them, to push away the buzzing in his head, and he knew exactly why he was here.

"Thought you might be off somewhere else tonight," Mei finally said, exhaling a plume of smoke, her voice a low murmur, as if she was bored with the whole scene but couldn't stop playing her part. "Maybe back to that riverbank, brooding about whatever monster's waiting for you next."

Adrian smirked, his eyes narrowing as he stepped further into the room, shrugging off his coat. "Brooding's not my thing. I leave that for people with more patience."

Mei's lips quirked up. "Right. You're all about action. No time for reflection."

He sat beside her on the floor, feeling the tension still coiled in his muscles. "We all have our methods." He met her gaze, his voice low, teasing but sharp around the edges. "And you? You gonna ask about the job? Or are we skipping to the part where you pretend this is about something else?"

She held his stare for a beat longer, her dark eyes searching his face for something she'd never quite find. "You look like shit," she said, taking another slow drag on her cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray. "What happened to you?"

"Same as always." He leaned back, his fingers brushing her thigh. "Monsters. Shadows. The usual."

Mei didn't flinch, but her breath hitched ever so slightly at his touch. She liked the way he lingered, the way his presence was like a storm cloud hanging over her, unpredictable and electric.

"You're not going to talk about it?" she asked, voice soft now, intimate. The tension between them was always a push and pull, an undercurrent that made these moments crackle.

"Nope," Adrian said, his hand moving up slowly, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his calloused fingers. "Talking isn't what we do."

Mei rolled her eyes but leaned in closer, her lips brushing against the corner of his jaw, teasing. "And what do we do, Adrian? Enlighten me."

His hand slid around her waist, pulling her toward him. "We forget."

The kiss came fast, almost rough, the kind that had nothing to do with love or affection. It was all heat and frustration, the need to push away the world and the constant chaos they faced every damn day. Their hands moved with practiced ease—her fingers tracing the lines of his chest, his grip firm on her hips, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. The tension from the night, from the past few months, dissolved in the heat of it, in the way her lips crashed against his, hungry and demanding.

He liked that about her. She never asked for more than he could give.

As they tumbled back onto the bed, there was no softness to their movements. It was fast, urgent, and full of that familiar desperation to lose themselves for a while—to forget the monsters, the shadows, the endless cycle of hunting and being hunted. The world outside faded, replaced by the heat between them, the pulse of their bodies moving in time, no room for thoughts, only sensation.

//=//

The morning after

Adrian woke to the faint light creeping through the blinds, casting long, uneven shadows across the floor. The familiar sounds of Mumbai drifted in through the half-open window—car horns, distant voices, the pulse of the city that never truly slept. But in this room, it was still. Too still.

Mei lay beside him, her back bare, the sheet barely covering her. Her breathing was soft, steady, and for a moment, Adrian just watched the way the morning light played across her skin. It wasn't a tender scene—not really. There was no peace in it. Just the quiet aftermath of another night spent forgetting who they were. Or trying to.

He shifted, running a hand through his tangled hair, feeling the tension that never quite left his body. The shadows stirred at the edge of his mind, always waiting, always restless. The fight was never over. Even now, the weight of their presence pressed against him, urging him to get up, to move, to start again.

Mei stirred beside him, rolling over onto her back with a sigh, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked against the light, her gaze sliding to him without surprise—just the same quiet understanding they always shared in the mornings.

"You're still here," she murmured, her voice rough with sleep, but there was no accusation in it. No expectation either. Just an observation.

Adrian shrugged, reaching for his shirt crumpled on the floor. "Guess I am."

She watched him for a moment, propping herself up on one elbow. There was something distant in her gaze, something she'd never say out loud. "Thought you'd slip out like usual."

Adrian pulled his shirt over his head, the fabric pulling against his skin. "Yeah, well... I didn't feel like running today."

Mei smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. "That's new."

They sat in the quiet for a few moments longer. Outside, the city was waking up, but in here, it was just them—two hunters caught between the battles they fought and the emptiness that followed. There was no romance in it, no real connection beyond the shared need to forget.

"You're going to keep doing this, aren't you?" Mei asked, lighting a cigarette. The smoke curled lazily into the air, catching the early light. "Chasing shadows until they finally catch you."

Adrian didn't answer right away. He buttoned his coat slowly, glancing down at the floor, at his boots that still had mud from Pripyat caked on the soles. "That's the idea," he said finally, voice low.

For a moment, she was quiet, taking a long drag on her cigarette. "You ever think about what I said? About Nevermore?"

Adrian froze, the mention of it hitting him harder than he expected. His fingers paused on the last button, and his jaw tightened. "No," he lied, though the tension in his voice gave him away.

Mei raised an eyebrow, exhaling smoke in a slow, deliberate breath. "Liar. You've thought about it."

"Doesn't mean I'm interested," Adrian said, standing up, brushing off the dust from his coat. He hated how she could read him, how she could see right through the armor he wore. "I'm not cut out for school, Mei. You know that."

She snorted softly, flicking ash into the tray beside the bed. "Right. Because you're so well-adjusted for this life. You're sixteen, Adrian, but you act like you're forty. Like you've been doing this forever."

"Maybe I have," he muttered, not meeting her gaze.

Mei's eyes softened, just a fraction. "You're burning out," she said, her voice quieter now, no longer teasing. "You can keep pretending you're fine, but if you keep this up, one day, the shadows are going to catch up to you."

Adrian clenched his fists at his sides, the familiar knot of frustration tightening in his chest. "And what? You think going to some academy is going to fix me? Make me play nice with the other outcasts?"

"It might," she replied, her tone steady. "Or at least it'll keep you alive. Longer than this will."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Adrian knew she was right, but admitting that meant something he wasn't ready to face. He wasn't ready to stop running, to stop fighting.

"I'm not going to Nevermore," he said finally, his voice flat. "I've got better things to do."

Mei looked away, but there was no anger in her expression—just the same resigned frustration that had been growing between them for months. "Better things? Like what? Wandering from city to city, fighting monsters until there's nothing left of you? That's not a plan, Adrian. It's just surviving."

He didn't have an answer for that. He wished he did, but all he had was the shadows and the fights, and the pain that never really went away.

She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm, her touch cool against his skin. "I'm not asking you to stop," she said, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "But you don't have to do it alone. You don't have to carry all of this by yourself."

Adrian looked at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. For a brief moment, he considered what she was saying—what it would mean to let someone else carry the weight. But then the shadows stirred again, pulling him back to the only thing that made sense. The fight.

"Maybe," he said, pulling away from her touch. "But now I've got work to do."

Mei sighed, leaning back against the pillows, watching him with that same knowing look. "Yeah," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I figured."

He stood by the door, hesitating for just a second. There was something in the air between them—something unspoken, heavy with things they'd never say. But it didn't matter. Not really.

"Take care, Mei," Adrian said, not turning around.

"You too, shadow-wielder," she called after him, her voice light, but there was something deeper underneath. Something he wasn't ready to face.

He left without another word, stepping out into the humid Mumbai morning, the city alive around him. But inside, it felt like something was missing. Something he couldn't quite put into words.

The sharp contrast between the life outside and the stillness inside that room gnawed at him. People passed by, unaware of the world he operated in, the monsters he hunted, the weight of shadows that constantly hung over him like a second skin.

Then, his phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. He hesitated for a moment before fishing it out, the soft vibration like a whisper in the back of his mind.

It was a message from the organization. A single line, no more, no less.

Next location: Budapest. Something's stirring. We need you there.

Adrian stared at the screen, the name of the city burning into his brain. Budapest. Another place, another fight. Another opportunity to get lost in the work, to forget everything else.

He glanced back at the building he'd just left, but he didn't pause. There was no point. Not anymore.

Slipping the phone back into his pocket, Adrian turned toward the street, the shadows already stirring at the edges of his vision.