Chapter 235: Another Identity

Tobias wasn’t shocked. He should have anticipated this outcome.

He’d known long before the flames began to rise that the plan was too neat, too predictable.

He showed his people the secret passageway—one that Sam had once told him about back when she was still a part of the black market.

The passage wasn’t something many knew existed. It hid between two broken walls behind the old smithery, half-swallowed by vines and cracked stone. To find it, one had to push through the narrow split and step into a crevice that opened into darkness. The air inside always smelled of wet rock and rusted metal. It led under the market—a forgotten tunnel that wound toward a derelict storage facility. Tobias didn’t know much about it, except that no one went there anymore. That was enough.

After ensuring his people knew the way through, Tobias turned back toward the heart of the chaos. He couldn’t leave yet. Not without the child.

He searched the burning alleys until he found him in a corner—holding hands with a little girl who was crying quietly. Beggars, the both of them.

Children abandoned by rogue wolves, doing whatever jobs the market threw their way just to survive.

He recognized the boy; they had worked together before. The sight of him made something pinch Tobias’ chest. He remembered Sam’s eyes when his father had taken her in—wild, hungry, hopeful. This boy had the same look.

He crouched and beckoned to them. "Come with me."

They hesitated at first, but the sound of a woman screaming somewhere behind them made their decision for them. They ran into Tobias’ waiting hands, trembling.

He led them through the maze of smoke and debris, back toward the hidden passage.

"Go through here," Tobias said, pointing into the dark. "Keep moving until you reach the other side. My people are waiting. They’ll keep you safe."

"What about you?" the boy asked.

"I’ll be fine," Tobias said, forcing a small smile.

The boy hesitated, then reached into his pocket and held up a leather pouch. "I did what you asked."

Tobias blinked, then let out a soft breath. "You did well."

"Don’t you want your money back?" the boy asked.

"It’s yours," Tobias told him, pushing the pouch back toward him. "Take it."

The boy frowned, shaking his head. "You’ve done a lot for us already. We can’t—"

"Yes, you can," Tobias said firmly. "You and your friend need it more than I do."

"She’s my sister." The boy told him.

"Then you and your sister need it more than I do." He told him.

The little girl’s hand squeezed the boy’s, urging him. After a long moment, he nodded.

"Thank you," the boy whispered.

Tobias smiled faintly. "Thank you too—for being brave enough to take a risk."

The boy lingered, his young face searching Tobias’ masked one. "Will we ever see you again?"

"Yes," Tobias said, even though he didn’t know if that was true.

The boy nodded once, then pulled the girl with him into the tunnel. Tobias watched until their small figures were swallowed by the dark.

Only then did he turn back to face the burning market.

The once-bustling maze of trade and shadows had become a warzone. Shouts and snarls mixed with the crackle of fire. A man—one of Victoria’s—slipped on a puddle of blood and fell, cursing. Another tried to help him up only to take a blade through the gut.

Tobias moved through the chaos like a shadow, silent and swift. He didn’t shift, stealth didn’t require claws after all.

The air stank of iron and smoke.

He watched a group of Victoria’s men drag a merchant from his stall, accusing him of hiding something. When the man resisted, they cut him down without thought. The black market’s unspoken law—mind your business—had evaporated into blood and flame.

Tobias clenched his jaw. He needed to stop this somehow.

Then he saw him.

A man stood near a collapsed tent, his back to Tobias. He was relieving himself—urinating over the body of a young girl, no older than eighteen. Her lifeless eyes stared blankly toward the flames.

"It’s not my fault you died," the man sneered. "You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time." Then he laughed loudly, the sound grating on Tobias’ ears.

Something in Tobias snapped.

He approached quietly, his steps soundless even on the rubble-strewn ground. One hand slipped to his dagger. In a single smooth motion, he was behind the man—his hand clamping over the man’s mouth, the blade sliding cleanly between ribs. The man convulsed once, a strangled sound dying in his throat.

Tobias lowered him to the ground gently, eyes cold. No one noticed. The chaos covered everything.

He glanced around quickly—then dragged the corpse behind a half-toppled stall. There, he set to work.

He stripped the man’s cloak and tunic, tossing his own into a sack he kept slung across his back. The air was hot with smoke and ash. He peeled off his mask—the black one with the owl markings—and stared at it for a second before laying it aside. Then he pulled on the man’s tunic and cloak. The fit was a bit loose, but the scent was just what he needed.

From his sack, he pulled his own old clothes: the Owl attire. The one everyone in the black market knew. He dressed the corpse carefully, making sure every buckle and strap was right.

He placed his own wolf mask—the distinct one that marked him—on the man’s face.

Then he crouched, reaching into the dead man’s satchel. Rope. A small flask of oil. Perfect.

He soaked the man’s clothes lightly in oil, just enough to ensure they’d burn fast, then dragged the body toward the fire spreading from one of the nearby stalls. The heat kissed his face as he worked.

Tobias muttered under his breath, the words more ritual than thought. "Forgive me."

He laid the body down near the embers and arranged it with a strange reverence—arms spread, face tilted toward the light. Then he added scraps of wood, fabric, anything that would catch quickly. He wanted the burn to be violent, unrecognizable.

He stepped back. Tossed a spark from his flint.

Flames whooshed up immediately, devouring the oil. The fire licked the man’s body, blackening the mask and curling the cloak. Smoke rose thick and greasy.

The heat was intense. Tobias took two steps back, the shadows painting him in orange.

No one noticed what he’d done—they were too busy fighting, running, killing.

The black market was no longer a place of trade or rules. It was chaos incarnate.

Tobias adjusted the hood of his new cloak, hiding his face. He took a deep breath, letting the dead man’s scent mingle with his own until his trail was gone completely. A small vial hung at his belt—something Sam had once given him. When he opened it, a faint metallic scent escaped. Masking powder. It clung to him like fog, burying every trace of his real scent beneath the stranger’s.

Somewhere in the market, a wolf screamed before its voice was cut short.