By the time the convoy reached the outskirts of the Shadow Keep, the sky had bled into a deep, bruised purple. The spires rose higher than Kiro had imagined—narrow, jagged towers of black stone, their surfaces catching the last traces of dying sunlight like shards of glass.
From their perch on a rocky ridge, Kiro and Ara watched the guards fan out, escorting the wagons toward a massive, ironbound gate.
Ara studied the layout. "Outer wall patrols every four minutes. Gate squad rotates in two. Archer nests… three, maybe four, but we can't see all of them from here."
Kiro adjusted his visor, eyes drawn to the faint shimmer of threads weaving between the guards. "I can feel them. They're… tighter here. Less slack."
Ara's head turned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," he said slowly, "someone's already keeping their minds in formation. Like—someone else is pulling strings."
Her jaw tensed. "So the Regent's got a mentalist of their own."
Kiro nodded, feeling the itch in his skull. It wasn't just that the threads were tighter—it was that they were braided together in patterns he didn't understand.
"That makes this harder," Ara said. "One slip, and you could end up in their web instead of pulling your own."
"Good pep talk," he muttered.
They moved quickly, hugging the cliffside until they found a half-collapsed aqueduct leading toward the Keep's rear quarter. The stone channel was narrow, slick with moss, and stank faintly of stagnant water—but it offered cover.
Halfway through, Ara stopped, raising a hand. Ahead, two guards stood on a crumbling maintenance platform, their armor reflecting the torchlight.
Kiro crouched, focusing on the faint strands linking them. He could feel the mentalist's grip—firm but not absolute.
Ara glanced at him. "Can you?"
He took a slow breath. "I can try."
Reaching through the threads felt like pushing against a current. The mentalist's presence resisted, but Kiro slid in carefully, weaving his own suggestion like a whisper between thoughts.
You're cold. You need to warm up. The torches are too far. Go inside.
The first guard shivered. The second frowned, then—
A sharp spike lashed through the thread, like static.
Kiro jerked back, clutching his head.
Ara's eyes narrowed. "They felt you?"
"Not them," Kiro said, wincing. "The other one. They know someone's here."
The guards stiffened, scanning the darkness. Ara grabbed Kiro's arm and hauled him into the deeper shadows of the aqueduct.
"Change of plan," she hissed. "We move fast, hit the wall before they can triangulate us."
They sprinted, the aqueduct walls flashing past in the torchlight. Behind them, a horn sounded—low, rolling, and far too close.
The aqueduct ended at the base of the Keep's outer wall. The black stone loomed, slick with moisture, twice Kiro's height. Ara didn't hesitate—she leapt, fingers catching a narrow seam, hauling herself upward with brutal efficiency.
Kiro followed, boots slipping once before he found his grip. He climbed fast, the horn still echoing.
At the top, Ara grabbed his forearm and yanked him over just as a bolt from an archer's nest hissed past where his head had been.
They dropped into the shadowed courtyard, landing between stacked crates.
Ara crouched low, scanning. "We've got maybe thirty seconds before that mentalist sweeps the whole area for us."
Kiro's gaze darted to the central keep—its highest spire burning with a faint, unnatural glow. "They're in there."
Ara followed his eyes. "Then that's where we go. Ready to meet your opposite number?"
Kiro exhaled slowly, feeling the threads hum under his skin. "Let's see if they can keep up."