Chapter 5

Kenny shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he scanned the bustling marketplace. His uncle had just thrown him out of the store, leaving him with nowhere to go. Home was an option, but the thought of it made his stomach twist. His aunt would be there, waiting with her sharp tongue and cruel hands, eager to find a new way to make his life miserable or work him to the bone.

His only real refuge had been Grandpa Wang’s house—a place where he felt safe, where he felt wanted. But Grandpa Wang was gone now, murdered right in front of him. And the murderers might still be out there, watching, waiting.

Kenny kicked a loose stone, sending it skittering across the dusty road. His head felt heavy with the weight of it all. He hadn’t even begun to process what had happened. He had seen a man die today. Not just any man—Wang, his friend, his mentor. And somehow, in the chaos of it all, Wang had given him something, something invisible to everyone else but real enough to burn against his skin.

"Kenny, everything alright?"

Kanti’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. The old cobbler leaned out from his shop, wiping his hands on a rag.

Kenny forced a tight smile. "Yeah, just thinking."

Kanti frowned but didn't press. Kenny knew if he lingered, the old man would call him inside, offer him tea, maybe even try to get him to talk. But he couldn’t. He had to move.

He needed somewhere to go.

With no plan, Kenny reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. He held it up, then tossed it into the air. Heads, I go right. Tails, I go left.

He caught it and slapped it onto the back of his hand. Heads.

So he went right.

Each time he reached a new junction, he flipped the coin again. Right, left, left, right. Wandering aimlessly, letting fate decide his path. It was a stupid game, but it kept his mind occupied, kept him from thinking about Wang, about the killers, about the tattoo that only he could see.

But as he walked, a strange feeling crept over him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

He was being watched.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, trying to be subtle. Two figures moved through the crowd behind him. A man and a woman. Tall. Muscular. Their movements were deliberate, not browsing the market, but keeping a steady pace behind him.

His heart slammed against his ribs. It was them.

It could be a coincidence, he tried to reason. This is a market. People are everywhere.

But deep down, he knew.

He had to be sure.

Kenny picked up his pace, weaving through the crowd. He took a sharp turn into a shop that sold clothes, stepping in front of a large mirror display. His eyes flickered to the reflection, hoping to catch a glimpse of them.

Nothing.

They hadn’t taken the bait.

They’re smart.

He needed another plan.

The shop had two entrances. He walked inside, pretending to browse, then slipped out through the other side. Quickly, he ducked behind a stack of wooden crates and waited.

Seconds passed. Then, there they were.

The man and woman stepped out of the shop, scanning the street. Looking for him.

Kenny’s breath caught in his throat. They were following him.

He was about to slip away when—

"Hey, you!"

Kenny flinched as a sharp voice rang out.

The shopkeeper, an older woman with a mean scowl, was pointing right at him.

"What are you doing back there?" she barked. "Trying to steal something?"

Kenny’s heart plummeted.

The two figures turned. Their eyes locked onto his.

And just like that, the chase was on.

Kenny bolted.

The killers were fast. Their footsteps pounded against the dirt road as they pushed through the crowd, gaining on him with every stride. Kenny didn’t dare look back. He zigzagged through the marketplace, ducking beneath carts, shoving past merchants, anything to slow them down.

He turned a corner—

Kenny head back to where his uncle’s was.

He turned and ran again, feet slamming against the ground. If he could just reach his uncle’s shop—people knew him there. He was somebody there. If he screamed, people would help.

So he did.

At the top of his lungs, he screamed, "HELP! HELP ME!"

Heads turned. People stopped.

And just like that—

The killers were gone.

Kenny slowed, panting, scanning the street. No sign of them. He had lost them.

He found himself standing in front of his uncle’s store again.

Orvin was back, hammering away at a piece of metal, pretending not to see him. But Kenny knew better. His uncle wasn’t mad. He was just done with him.

Kenny swallowed hard. He couldn’t go in. Orvin wouldn’t listen.

And then he remembered.

The police.

It was risky—how could he explain what happened without sounding insane? His uncle had already dismissed him as a liar. Would the police think the same?

He had no choice.

But first, he had to make sure he wasn’t still being followed.

Kenny took a long, winding route to the station, ducking into shops, taking random turns, doing everything he could to lose any potential tail.

By the time he halfway to the station, the streets were nearly empty. It was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

If they catch me here, no one will hear me scream.

Panic clawed at his throat. He took a deep breath—then sprinted the rest of the way.

Inside, relief washed over him. He had made it.

A police officer led him to an interrogation room, where another man was waiting.

The officer introduced himself. "Hernandez Sarabi."

Hernandez studied him carefully. Then, out of nowhere—

"Show me your arm."

Kenny’s breath caught. His stomach turned. Why was he asking that? Did he know?

Then it hit him.

Wang’s last words.

"Find Hernie."

Hernie, as in Hernandez? He thought to himself

Shakily, Kenny extended his arm.

Hernandez muttered something under his breath, eyes locked onto Kenny’s skin.

"You can see it?" Kenny whispered.

Hernandez smiled. "Yes I can."

Kenny felt his world tilt. His uncle had thought he was crazy. But this man? He knew.

"I’m a friend," Hernandez said. "Xi’s friend."

"Who?"

"The man who gave you that tattoo."

Kenny blinked. "You mean Grandpa Wang?"

"Xi Wang," Hernandez corrected.

Kenny felt a little stupid. "Oh."

"Who else have you shown it to?"

"My uncle. But he couldn’t see it."

"Of course not. He’s a normie."

"A what?"

"A non-magical person," Hernandez clarified.

The word magic made Kenny’s head spin.

This wasn’t a bad dream.

It was real.

"The murderers," Hernandez continued. "Did they see the transfer?"

Kenny hesitated. "Yes. A man and a woman."

"Can you describe them for a sketch artist?"

"Yeah, but—"

"I know you have a lot of questions," Hernandez interrupted. "But not here. First, we need to make sure you’re safe."

Kenny nodded.

"Come on," Hernandez said. "Let’s get those sketches done."

And for the first time that day, Kenny felt something close to hope.