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Soon.
Soon Hunter Thorn would be his.
Chapter 2:
Hunter darted across the street, kicking up muddy water from puddles as he did, heart pattering in his chest. He was being followed, he was certain of it, though he’d yet to see who it was.
It didn’t even matter, really, all that mattered was he’d been found.
How? He’d been so careful for years now, always on the move, never using his real identity. He’d changed his hair color and his style more times than he could count so that when he looked in the mirror, even he struggled to see any lingering remnants of the man he’d once been.
So how had he been discovered? And why?
He was no fool. The Dominus hadn’t let him live by choice; it’d been pure happenstance that had saved Hunter’s life that night. He’d often wondered if it’d been a higher power trying to repay him for the one good deed he’d managed to do in his otherwise dark lifetime.
The good deed that had been an accident. The one that had cost him literally everything and had gotten him tossed from Frost’s good graces, ending with him here, in the dredges of a city half a world away from the one he’d been born in.
The planet is only so large, son, he heard his father’s last words echo in his head and grit his teeth. If you’re wanted for your sins, a Sin will find you.
Too bad getting off planet was next to impossible for someone like him.
Very few ships ever traveled to or from Sanctum, a planet on the outskirts of the galaxy, smaller than most, and poor. So poor.
They had nothing to offer the rest of the universe and were one of the few planets that’d also refused to sign the treaty with the Intergalactic Conference, a system that protected the known galaxies from intergalactic war. Sanctum didn’t need to join though. No one bothered going to war with them.
They were too busy going to war with themselves.
Hunter’s boots splashed in yet another puddle, water instantly soaking through the ends of his dirt-stained gray jeans. He cursed but kept moving, knowing better than to slow, eyes seeking out any place he could hide and regroup.
His father’s parting words to him, though harsh, hadn’t been wrong. Even on the other side of Sanctum, it would only take a day for a speed plane to travel from Kiland Soto.
He’d tried his best in the past decade to separate himself from anything having to do with the nation’s capital, Ovid, but he’d heard the stories over the years, same as everyone else. There was an acting Imperial Emperor on the planet, and yet, the true rulers reigned in the shadows, skirting around the law so seamlessly that even when they were brought to light, there was nothing that could be done to stop or control them.
The fact that they were Shouts was only part of it. The other was that they ruled the Brumal mafia. Hunter wasn’t overly concerned with families this side of the pond—they were mere placeholders with no real power of their own, planted by the Three—but those that reigned over the Northern Hemisphere…
That’s what had Hunter so afraid now. Since leaving, he’d had no interaction with anyone who hailed from the capital state or city, and hadn’t stepped foot in any establishment elsewhere that even looked like it could possibly be associated with or owned by a Shout. He’d kept his head down and his mouth shut. He’d hoped that’d be enough.
Clearly not.
He should have known, had known, that even with everything else on his plate, the King of Saint, the name of the bustling criminal underground, wouldn’t forget or forgive the transgression Hunter had made against him.
One would think having his kingdom sheered into three pieces would have kept him too busy to search for a single escaped ex-employee, but no. Apparently, even the rise of two other families hadn’t deterred Frost.
Hunter turned the corner and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d somehow made it to Eisen, one of the largest strips in Hohum City, already packed with rambunctious tourists. He slipped between bodies, slowing his stride to better blend amongst the crowd, adjusting the collar of his jacket up around his chin.
Not that he was anything spectacular to look at. He wasn’t noticeable by a long shot, not anymore. He’d worked hard at it too, keeping his hair cropped short with only his bangs long to help shield his whisky-colored eyes. His build was lean, fit but unthreatening, wirier than anything, and he wore his clothes a size too large to keep anyone from even noticing his muscles.
It’d only been five minutes since he’d clocked out of work at the fish market when he’d felt the tingle up his spine, signaling danger was near, so there was no doubt dirt was still smudged across his chin and caked under his fingernails. At least he didn’t smell bad enough to draw attention that way.
His apartment was coming up on the right, but he was careful not to even look in that direction, continuing forward instead. There was a cheap hostel he could stay at for the time being, although, when he fingered the coins in his pocket, he wasn’t certain he’d even have enough to cover a couple of hours' stay, let alone an entire night. If only he hadn’t spent the last of his savings on food the other day.
By that point though, the fish he cleaned and gutted for work had started to look appetizing, a sure sign that he’d needed sustenance. Still, if he couldn’t make it back to his place in time to eat the bread before it went moldy, that would be money wasted.
He cursed again and spotted the turn that would take him toward the hostel. That feeling of being watched still lingered, but not nearly as strongly. Chances were good he’d lost whoever had been tailing him and now it was just a matter of catching a random glance here and there from someone in the crowd.
Dodging and weaving through groups of people, he was sure not to take the straight path to the hostel, instead heading down half a dozen streets that all looped him back before deciding he’d done his best. The sky was already starting to darken above, and if he wasn’t quick, the beds would fill up before he got there.
When he’d first arrived at Hohum, he’d been like many other travelers, homeless and trying to make a way of it in the world. During the first four months here, he’d spent bed hopping from one hostel to another as he searched for steady work. The fishery had taken him on less than six months ago, still well within his two-year stay—the timeframe he’d set for himself before he had to pick up and run again. The pay wasn’t great, but it’d allowed him to afford a shoebox of an apartment on the lower west side, which was more than he’d had to himself in a long while.
