By the time we returned to the safehouse, the fog was gone, replaced by the biting chill of the pre-dawn air. But the night's events clung to me like smoke. Two assassins in the fog. A meeting gone cold. Ardan's blood on the street.
It wasn't just an attack. It was a message.
Inside, Elara was waiting. She scanned our faces, her sharp gaze settling on the cut along my cheek. "You were followed."
"Ambushed," I corrected, stripping off my gloves. "Two Serpents. Ardan's gone."
The room went silent. Even the low murmur of the others died away.
Elara stepped forward, her voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "Then they've decided you're a threat worth eliminating. That means you're close."
Mira crossed her arms. "Close to what, exactly? We don't even know who's paying them yet."
"Not yet," Elara agreed. "But we can change that." She slid a folded map across the table toward me.
I unfolded it, revealing a layout of the East Ward—narrow streets, abandoned warehouses, and one building marked in red ink.
"What's here?" I asked.
"An old spice warehouse," she said. "Officially abandoned. Unofficially, it's where the Serpents keep their payment ledgers and contact records. If someone in this city has been feeding them information about you, the proof will be there."
It was risky. Too risky. The Serpents guarded their secrets with blood, and breaking into their stronghold was a good way to end up dead.
Which, judging by Mira's look, was exactly why she was already on board.
"You're thinking about the danger," she said softly, "but you're not thinking about what happens if we do nothing. More dead allies. More ambushes. We can't keep running blind, Kael."
She was right. Damn her, she was always right.
I looked back at Elara. "When?"
Her smile was sharp. "Tonight."
The East Ward at night was a graveyard of shadows. Even the rats seemed to avoid the cracked cobblestones near the warehouse.
We moved in silence—Mira ahead of me, her steps ghost-quiet, my hand never straying far from my sword. The air smelled faintly of spice and rot, a reminder of the building's former life.
At the side entrance, Mira crouched low, working the old lock with a slender piece of metal. It clicked open after a few seconds, the sound too loud in the still night.
Inside, the darkness was absolute. Only the faintest shaft of moonlight filtered through a broken skylight, glinting off rows of dust-coated crates.
"Basement," Mira whispered. "That's where they'd keep ledgers."
We found the stairs easily enough, but halfway down, my Soul Resonance stirred—a prickle at the base of my neck.
We weren't alone.
I caught Mira's arm, pulling her back into the shadows just as a figure passed below us, carrying a lantern. His face was half-hidden by a scarf, but the tattoo curling along his jaw was enough to tell me—Silent Serpent.
We waited, holding our breath, until his footsteps faded. Then we moved.
The basement was colder than above, the air thick with the scent of mold and dust. Against the far wall stood a desk piled with ledgers and loose parchment.
Mira darted forward, flipping through the papers with quick, precise movements. "They're coded," she muttered. "But if we take them back—"
The sound of a door slamming above cut her off. Then came the heavy tread of boots.
"They know," I hissed.
The first Serpent appeared at the top of the stairs, sword drawn. Another followed, and another. The lantern light caught the edge of their blades, turning them into gleaming fangs.
No time to run. No way to hide.
I drew my sword, my Soul Resonance flaring into a searing arc of light. "We fight our way out."
Mira's dagger flashed as she fell into step beside me. The first Serpent charged, and I met him halfway, our blades colliding with a sharp ring that echoed in the confined space.
The fight was chaos—steel on steel, shadows leaping in the flickering light, the tang of blood heavy in the air. My blade found the gaps in their defense, each strike fueled by the memory of Ardan's body lying in the fog.
One by one, they fell. But more were coming.
Mira snatched the ledgers, shoving them into her satchel. "Now!" she barked.
We tore up the stairs and into the night, the sound of pursuit close behind. My muscles burned, every step a battle against exhaustion.
Only when we'd crossed into the maze of alleys far from the warehouse did we finally slow.
Mira doubled over, panting, but there was a fierce light in her eyes. "We got them," she said, tapping the satchel. "Names. Transactions. We'll know who's behind this."
I looked at her, chest heaving, and realized the truth—we'd just crossed a line.
No more hiding. No more running.
The fire was answering.
To be continued…