Jake awoke to Luckie shaking him, his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the dying fire. “You gotta see this,” Luckie whispered, an edge of excitement in his voice. Jake sat up, his muscles sore from the day’s exertion. He followed Luckie, who led him past the camp and into the trees.

  When they arrived at the location, a single bead of sweat rolled down Jake’s face. His eyes darted between the four sleeping forms. He recognized them, some of the delinquents they’d fought earlier in the Great Hall. Jake’s voice was low but tense. “What are we doing here?”

  “We’ve struck it rich,” Luckie whispered back, pulling out a dagger. “We can get them now. While they’re sleeping.”

  “No!” Jake hissed, grabbing Luckie’s collar. “We should at least call the rest of the party before engaging. A five-on-two is suicidal.”

  “We’re the ones with unfinished business, not the others. Plus, we did it before against even more of them, you wuss.”

  “I’m against it. They have a Corp Officer with them this time around,” Jake said.

  Luckie laughed at his face, which, when done by a teen younger than him, felt much more degrading than Jake had expected. “Cowardice!”

  Jake was having none of it, “I’d argue stabbing them in their sleep is just as cowardly!”

  “Who’s there?!”

  Jake’s heart stopped. One of the delinquents bolted upright, clutching at a weapon. In that split second, Luckie burst forward, leaving Jake behind.

  Goddammit.

  Jake’s hand moved instinctively to Kuroyuki. The blade felt heavier than he remembered, a physical reminder of the choice he was making. It was his first time unsheathing it in a real fight, and the sound of steel slicing out of the sheath sent a shiver down his spine. He dashed forward, following Luckie.

  Luckie reached the alert delinquent first, driving the dagger through the man’s open mouth. Arching through the air, Kuroyuki found the chest of the nearest form, cutting clean through.

  His hands trembled on the hilt, but he reminded himself of the cancellation ring—no permanent harm would come to anyone.

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  Two down, two more to go… wait… four? Where’s their corp officer?

  Jake looked at his side, Luckie’s face of panic contaminated him, “WHAT’S WRONG?”

  “The bodies… they’re not real—” Luckie’s words cut off as a metallic arm seized them both, hurling them backward through the air. They hit the ground with enough force to knock the wind from their lungs. Jake gasped, clutching at his side.

  A deafening explosion followed, the shockwave tearing through the clearing. Trees shook violently, and owls erupted in screeches from their hiding. Jake’s ears rang as he staggered to a knee, looking around in a daze.

  That blast must have woken up the whole damn forest.

  Jonas stood between them and the source of the explosion. His massive shield, still on his back, creating a glowing dome that had absorbed the worst of the blast. “Illusion magic,” he said, turning slightly to glance at Jake and Luckie. “The two of you would have been blown to bits and promptly eliminated.”

  Luckie cursed, his voice laced with frustration. “Cheap tactics,” he spat.

  Jonas remained composed, his eyes scanning the clearing. “Stay alert. Illusion mages rarely work alone. They’ll strike again.”

  The three stood tense, their weapons ready, as a bush rustled in the distance. A figure emerged, a delinquent armed with a crossbow. The man’s expression was cold as he trained the weapon on Jonas.

  Jonas seemed to touch his shield, perhaps a reflex to block the arrows—but the arrows didn’t come. Instead, a flash of bright green light cut through the air, striking the crossbowman cleanly through the head. The figure dissolved into a puff of black smoke—another illusion.

  Jake spun around to see Erolith high on a branch, her bow still drawn. Her hood had slipped back slightly, but the darkness still concealed her features.

  Before anyone could breathe a sigh of relief, the atmosphere shifted. The temperature plummeted, and the moon above split into two, eerily human, faces, casting a red radiance over the clearing.

  What in the world…

  The faces stared in different directions. One seemed to mock, while the other judged. A low, ominous hum filled the air.

  From the sky descended a figure, skeletal and shadowy, its movements jerky and unnatural. It landed at the center of the clearing, balancing on the tip of a long staff. The staff bent under its weight but did not break, and atop it rested a hollowed, grinning mask. A tarnished cap ‘n bells sat crooked on its head, jingling faintly with every small movement.

  The figure’s voice was a discordant sound of whispers and screams. “Scurrying about, thinking themselves the hunters when they’re truly the prey.” The figure crooned, “what little mice we’ve caught.”

  For a moment, no one moved. The clearing seemed frozen in time, everyone focused on the theatrical entrance. Then, the ground beneath them shifted. Cold, wet earth wrapped around their ankles, pulling them down. Jonas’ face was grim as he drove his sword into the ground, trying to stabilize himself.

  Above them, the jester’s hollow laugh echoed through the forest.

  Jake’s heart jumped to his throat. The cold, sucking grip… he knew what it was.

  Quicksand.