The Rogue

**Six Months Later**

Cinder-Keep had changed. The lights on the Rim flickered more often now. Supply caravans went missing in the dark. The Governor slept with a nightlight.

In a high tower apartment, Silas Thorne sat in front of a vanity mirror. He was still a Knight. He was still rich. He had everything he had ever wanted.

He picked up a jar of heavy foundation makeup. He applied it thickly to his left cheek, covering the black handprint. He powdered it. He blended it.

Perfect. He looked like a hero again.

He stood up and walked to the window. The sun was setting. The shadows in the room were lengthening, stretching out like claws.

Silas flinched. He stepped away from the window, his heart hammering against his ribs. He locked the window. He checked the bolts. He turned on every lamp in the room until it was blindingly bright.

He sat on his bed, clutching a dagger, his eyes darting to the corners of the room.

He knew Jace was out there. Every time a candle flickered, every time a floorboard creaked, Silas knew.

He wasn't dead. He was just waiting.

Silas Thorne had escaped the Pit, but he would never escape the fear. He was a prisoner in a cage of light, watching the shadows, waiting for the day they would finally decide to eat him.

Outside, in the smog-choked alleyways, a shadow detached itself from a wall and smiled.

The hunt was long. And Jace had all the time in the world.