Sister Iris's steps echoed lightly as she walked ahead, her hands folded neatly in front of her robe.
"The Grandmaster asked me to help you, Azazel," she said without turning.
Juan frowned. "And what about me?"
She ignored him entirely, her pace steady and unbroken. The boys exchanged a look but instinctively followed. The torchlight faded as they passed through the abbey's rear gate, emerging into the narrow veins of Rome's backstreets.
Azazel kept his voice low. "What's this about?"
Iris finally stopped at the mouth of a crooked alley and turned her pale eyes on him.
"Because you need a mask. The Grandmaster wasn't subtle—he knows eyes are on you already. And from the way you two bolted from Basil…" she allowed herself a small, knowing smile, "you'll need every trick we can give you before supper."
Azazel clenched his jaw.
"The supper. Where Aurelius plans to parade his 'apprentice' before the heads of every branch, heh" entertained Juan said.
After a cross eye from Azazel his wide smile dropped.
Juan crossed his arms. "You still haven't told me—what happened between you and Basil?"
For a long moment, Azazel hesitated. But Juan's gaze was firm. At last, Azazel exhaled and told him everything—about Basil's secrecy, the urn, and the betrayal he suspected.
By the time he finished, Juan only laughed.
"Dude! That's insane," he chuckled under his breath, elbowing him lightly . "You broke into his house?! No wonder he's hunting you."
Sister Iris, however, only gave a thin, understanding smile, as though nothing Azazel said surprised her.
They rounded another corner, descending into a shadowed side street. At the end of the alley stood a heavy iron door. Iris stepped forward, whispered a phrase in French, and the metal groaned as if alive, slowly opening inward.
The boys followed her inside—and froze.
Before them stretched a vast courtyard, hidden in the very heart of Rome, ringed by ancient arches and cloaked in ivy. Lanterns of strange design hung overhead, illuminating rows upon rows of stalls. Hunters bartered in hushed tones, steel flashed, alchemical jars gleamed, and exotic beasts shifted in iron cages.
It was no ordinary market. It breathed secrecy, danger, and power.
Sister Iris spread her hands slightly.
"Welcome," she said, "to the Hunters' Market of Rome!"