Silas's relief was a subtle but palpable thing. The tension in his shoulders eased, and his grandfatherly smile became genuine. He believed me. The frightened-mother act, complete with the single, well-timed tear, had sealed the deal.
"Brave girl," he murmured, patting my shoulder. "I knew you had strength in you. Now, listen carefully. We must be precise."
He released me and began to pace again, his mind alight with his treacherous scheme. I stood there, playing the part of his wide-eyed, terrified accomplice, while my own mind raced, dissecting his every word, anticipating his every move. I was no longer just the bait in his trap; I was the architect of my own.
"The exchange cannot happen within the tower," he mused, thinking aloud. "Serafina is too cautious. She would need you to bring the relic to a neutral location. Somewhere public, but with privacy. A place Rhyian's direct oversight is weakest." He snapped his fingers. "The Cinderfall Grand Museum. During the annual Patrons' Gala, two nights from now. It's perfect."
My stomach clenched. A public gala. A sea of humans and hidden supernaturals. It was a chaotic, unpredictable environment—the perfect place for an assassination or a kidnapping to be disguised as a tragic accident.
"Serafina will be there," he continued. "As will Rhyian and most of the court. Security will be focused on them. You, my dear, will be able to slip away unnoticed. I will leak a message through certain channels that a frightened human is looking to trade the 'Lost Box of Malakor' for safe passage out of the city. Her operative will be instructed to meet you."
"Where?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"The Hall of Antiquities, on the third floor," he said without hesitation. The speed of his answer told me this wasn't a new plan; it was a contingency he had already prepared. "It will be dimly lit, crowded with artifacts. Easy to get lost in. He will find you."
He stopped and looked at me, his expression turning serious.
"Your part is simple. You will take the box. You will go to the gala as part of the Sovereign's entourage. At the appointed hour, you will make your way to the Hall of Antiquities. You will hand over the box to the contact. My own agents will be in place to apprehend him the moment the exchange is made. All you have to do is play your part and walk away."
It was a clean, simple plan. And every part of it was a lie
His "agents" wouldn't be there to apprehend anyone. They would be there to eliminate me as a loose end once I had handed the relic over, leaving the Coven operative to escape and solidifying the story that I was a traitor working with Serafina.
"How... how will I get the box out of the tower?" I asked, adding another layer to my performance of helpless terror. "Rhyian will know."
Silas smiled, a thin, crafty expression.
"Leave that to me. I have ways of shielding objects from the tower's sensors. I will prepare the box for you. You will carry it in a simple evening bag. No one will be the wiser." He patted my arm again. "Go now, child. Act normally. Speak of this to no one, not even the Sovereign. Our lives—and your son's—depend on our secrecy. I will contact you when it is time."
I gave him a final, trembling nod and practically fled from his quarters. The moment the library doors closed behind me, my fear evaporated, replaced by a cold, hard clarity.
I didn't take the elevator straight up to the penthouse. Instead, I went to the command center.
The room was empty. Rhyian was gone. I walked over to the central console. The holographic display was dormant. With a deep breath, I placed my palm on the cool, dark surface.
"Rhyian," I said, speaking to the empty room.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the console flickered to life. His face appeared, not as a hologram, but on a flat screen, like a simple video call. He was in what looked like his private study, a book open in front of him. His expression was a mask of tightly controlled neutrality, but his silver eyes were burning with intensity. He had been watching my every move.
"He's good," I said without preamble. "Better than you think. He's trying to frame Serafina."
"I heard," Rhyian said, his voice a low growl. "Every venomous, manipulative word. He wants to use you as a sacrificial pawn."
"He wants me to meet a Coven contact at the Museum Gala in two nights to hand over the relic," I continued, laying out the plan. "He thinks he's setting a trap for Serafina. In reality, he's setting a trap for me."
"The plan is terminated," Rhyian stated, his voice flat and absolute. "It is too dangerous. You will not be going anywhere near that gala."
"No," I countered immediately, my voice ringing with authority. "The plan is not terminated. The plan is perfect. We're going to walk right into his trap. It's the only way to expose him and the Coven operative at the same time."
Rhyian stared at me from the screen, his disbelief palpable.
"You want to proceed? After he has openly admitted he intends to use you as bait?"
"He thinks he's the fisherman, Rhyian. He doesn't know I'm holding a net of my own," I said, my mind working faster than it ever had before. "We play along. I will go to the gala. I will take the box he prepares for me. And I will go to the Hall of Antiquities."
"And be assassinated by his 'agents'?" he shot back, his control starting to fray.
"No," I said, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face. "Because you are going to be my agent. You, Joric, and a handpicked team of your most loyal Enforcers will be our own invisible net, hidden in that hall. Silas will be watching, expecting his team to move in. Instead, my team will."
I leaned closer to the screen, my eyes locking with his. "We are not just going to stop his plan. We are going to hijack it. We will capture the Coven operative, and we will do it right under Silas's nose. He will be exposed, his conspiracy will be in our hands, and he will never even see it coming."
This wasn't just a counter-move. It was a checkmate. I was using his own strategy, his own venue, his own timeline against him. I was taking control of the war.
Rhyian was silent, his silver eyes searching my face through the screen. He saw the fire in my eyes, the absolute certainty in my posture. He saw the hunter I had become.
"He thinks you are a 'little bird'," Rhyian said softly, a note of dark admiration in his voice. "He has no idea he just invited a hawk into his nest." He looked away for a second, then met my gaze again, his decision made. "Get some rest, Carys. You have a gala to prepare for."