Elayne stood before Valerius Thorne's imposing mansion. The lock resisted her clumsy tools, groaning in protest each time she twisted the cheap iron pick. The bag slung over her shoulder clinked softly as she adjusted her posture. Her dark trousers and tunic clung to her skin, damp from the evening's humid air, and her thick, long black braid, tied tightly, pressed against her back.

She cursed under her breath, her fingers trembling as she worked. The cheap picks she’d traded with a back-alley dealer weeks ago were not made for such complex locks. Of course, Valerius Thorne would have the best security money could buy. The man practically swam in gold, after all.

"Ellie," Farren hissed from his crouched position outside the mansion, beside a horseless cargo wagon, shielded by the shadows near the gate. "Hurry."

Elayne didn’t bother looking at him, keeping her focus on the lock. She was a bundle of nerves, every sound intensified by fear. She was keenly aware of the weight of her own fatigue—her aching shoulders from scrubbing floors at Madame Evangeline’s brothel all day, the gnawing emptiness in her stomach from skipping dinner to get here in time.

The mansion loomed over her, its tall, arched windows dark and unwelcoming. Valerius Thorne’s mansion wasn’t just a home; it was a statement of his power. A sprawling estate located in the wealthiest district of Ravencrest, with a carefully tended garden and an iron gate that gleamed like polished obsidian. This mansion was evidence of Valerius Thorne's dominance, a power many whispered was built on illicit deals and the spoils of stolen wealth.

She took a steadying breath, the damp chill of the night air clinging to her skin. Farren would warn her if Valerius returned, but the possibility of being caught still sent her nerves fraying at the edges. Every click of the pick against the lock echoed in her ears, louder than the rustling leaves overhead.

Finally, with a soft snick, the lock yielded. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she pushed the heavy wooden door open just wide enough to slip inside.

The interior greeted her with silence. Cool, stale air wrapped around her as she stepped cautiously into the entry hall, her soft leather boots muffling her steps. The space was vast, the floor polished to a mirror-like shine. Faint moonlight filtered in through the tall windows, casting long, eerie shadows across the walls.

She stood still for a moment, listening.

Nothing.

No voices, no footsteps. Just the faint creak of the door behind her as she closed it.

Her gaze swept over the room, taking in the luxury that surrounded her: the elegant furniture, each piece covered in opulent fabrics; soft velvet, smooth silk, and intricate brocade patterns adorning each piece.

Above her, a grand chandelier hung majestically with its myriad of crystals, each gem catching and refracting the dim light like countless fragments of ice. It was a space meant to impress, to intimidate.

And she couldn’t let herself be intimidated.

Elayne adjusted her bag and crept forward, each step deliberate as she scanned for signs of movement. She had a job to do, and she wasn’t leaving empty-handed.

Elayne moved cautiously through the mansion, her steps silent on the cold, stone floor. The moon cast silvery beams through the narrow windows, guiding her along the dark path. Shadows pooled in the corners of the vast hall, making the air feel thick with tension.

She stopped to observe her surroundings. The place radiated luxury, with its ancient tapestries and intricately carved dark furniture...Even in the dim light, the wealth of Valerius Thorne was undeniable.

Elayne dug into her bag and pulled out the worn scrap of parchment that an angry ex-employee of Valerius had handed her. The map was crudely sketched, with lines shaky and uneven, but it was enough.

She could almost hear the venom in the man’s voice when he’d handed it over.

“The idiotic half-elf guards his treasures like they’re the crown jewels. You’ll find the coffer in the cellar, tucked away like he’s hiding it from the gods themselves.”

His bitterness had been palpable, and Elayne had taken advantage of it. A few coins and some feigned sympathy were all it had taken to loosen his tongue.

She squinted at the scribbled notes, tracing the lines with her finger. The cellar was located at the back of the mansion, hidden behind a door in the kitchen pantry. Of course, she thought. Someplace out of sight, away from prying eyes.

She folded the map carefully and slipped it back into her bag, her ears straining for any sound out of place. Then she heard it—murmured voices, growing closer.

Elayne’s heart jumped, and she pressed herself against the nearest alcove, holding her breath.

Two figures rounded the corner. The first was a stout human man, his face creased with irritation. "Middle of the night, and here we are, cleaning up the kennel after those blasted dogs. Like they’re some sort of bloody royalty. I swear, Thorne treats them better than he treats us."

The other figure, an elf with a lean frame and a quiet smirk, chuckled softly. “Better the dogs than him. At least they don’t yell if you step wrong. You should be grateful.”

The human muttered something under his breath, but the elf just shrugged. They passed by her hiding spot, oblivious to her presence. She stayed frozen in place, muscles tense, until their voices faded down the hall. Only then did she let out a shaky breath.

That was close. She hadn’t anticipated the extra staff at this hour.

Pushing the thought aside, Elayne followed the map carefully toward the kitchen. She had just turned a corner when a shadow shifted ahead of her. She froze mid-step. A guard. He was walking in her direction, his footsteps heavy on the floor.

Elayne stumbled back into a narrow, dark corridor adjacent. She pressed her back against the cold stone wall, barely daring to breathe as the guard’s footsteps grew louder. Her nails dug into her palms.

Keep calm. You’ve done this before.

The guard passed by without a glance in her direction, and Elayne exhaled softly. Her legs trembled as she forced herself to step out from the shadows and back onto her planned route. She couldn’t afford to make another mistake.

Elayne froze as she approached the corridor leading to the kitchen. Two guards stood near an archway; their postures relaxed as they chatted. One gestured animatedly, murmuring something. The other nodded, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. They hadn’t noticed her.

Quickly, Elayne ducked behind a large polished wooden cabinet. They didn’t seem particularly alert, their gazes fixed on each other rather than their surroundings.

Elayne frowned. There were too many guards. This was supposed to be easier.

She had spent weeks studying Valerius’s habits, learning his routines and the layout of his estate with meticulous care. The heist had seemed straightforward at the time. The merchant would not be at home and neither would his personal guard—a group of fearsome warriors he never traveled without.

Yet she’d nearly been caught three times already!

Her jaw tightened as she assessed her options. She wasn’t a fighter. Her powers were weak, unreliable at best. But she was a fairy. If cornered, maybe—just maybe—she could use her magic against someone, though the thought made her stomach churn.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

Elayne remained still, highly aware of every sound, as the murmur of the guards’ conversation continued. After a few tense moments, a third figure approached them from the far end of the corridor. Another guard. This one looked different—tense, his movements rushed, his face tight with apprehension.

The newcomer leaned in, speaking hurriedly to the others. Though his voice was low, Elayne caught snippets of his words.

“...he’ll want our heads if…”

Her brows furrowed as she listened, but she couldn’t make out the rest. Whatever he had said made the other two guards stiffen. Without another word, all three hurried off down the hall, their boots clicking sharply against the stone.

Elayne exhaled slowly, her mind racing. What was that about?

She shook her head, forcing herself to refocus. Whatever their problem was, it didn’t matter. She had one goal tonight, and she couldn’t afford to get distracted.

She slipped her bag off her shoulder, fishing out the worn scrap of parchment. Her eyes scanned the map quickly, confirming the next turn she needed to take. Satisfied, she tucked it back into her bag and adjusted the strap over her shoulder.

With the corridor now clear, she moved quickly but carefully. When she reached the kitchen, the air smelled faintly of old spices and cold ash from a long-extinguished hearth.

Elayne scanned the room, her body on high alert for any hint of movement. But it was empty, as she had expected. It was late—far too late for any servants to still be around. There was no need for anyone to be in the kitchen at this hour, especially with Valerius away.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but not entirely. Empty didn’t mean safe.

The pantry door was tucked into the corner, modest and plain compared to the rest of the lavish mansion. Ornate chandeliers and gilded frames adorned the hallways, yet the door remained modest and almost forgotten.

She pressed her ear against its cool surface, straining to catch even the faintest sound. Nothing. Slowly, she turned the handle and slipped inside.

There, tucked behind shelves lined with jars of preserved fruits and dried herbs, was a narrow wooden door. Its surface was unadorned, merging so perfectly with the surrounding wall that it was nearly invisible to the untrained eye. However, the subtle marks and scratches on the floor suggested it was used more often than Valerius would like to admit.

Elayne knelt down, her fingers delicately tracing the edges of the stone floor, looking for any hidden mechanisms. Finding none, she pulled out her lockpicks and deftly worked the lock until it clicked open. The door groaned softly as it swung inward, revealing a set of steep, narrow stairs descending into darkness. The air that wafted up to meet her was colder, carrying a faint metallic tang that made her nose twitch. She wrinkled her brow. Magic.

Descending carefully, she gripped the wall for balance. The stairs were uneven, their stone steps worn smooth in the middle from years of use. The cold was biting harder, and the air grew heavier with each step.

At the bottom, the cellar opened into a cavernous space, the darkness thick and oppressive. The faint smell of damp stone and something metallic lingered in the air, causing a chill to run down her spine. She rummaged through her bag to pull out the map again, but the lack of light made it unreadable.

“Alright,” she muttered, taking out the small blue crystal she brought with her. She murmured a single word under her breath— “Luminara.”

The crystal flared to life, casting a cool, pale glow over the cellar. The faint light illuminated rows of barrels and crates stacked haphazardly along the walls. Among the crates, she recognized several boxes filled with wine bottles. Some of the labels were familiar, expensive brands that Madame Evangeline offered to special clients. At the far end of the room, her gaze landed on a large, iron-bound wooden door set into the stone wall.

Her pulse quickened. The coffer.

Elayne approached it cautiously, the faint glow of the crystal casting shifting shadows around the room. The door of the coffer was reinforced. But what drew her attention were the glowing symbols etched around its frame—intricate runes, their faint green light pulsing in rhythm like a heartbeat.

She inhaled sharply, her earlier excitement evaporating. The metallic tang in the air grew sharper, the magic almost tangible now. “Fuck!” She muttered under her breath.

Of course, Valerius wouldn’t leave his treasure unprotected. The runes were ancient, their curves and jagged lines unfamiliar to her. She crouched to get a closer look, the glow from her crystal illuminating the careful precision of the magical seals. They pulsed faintly, as if daring her to try to break them.

“Precautions,” she whispered to herself. Her lips twisted into a grimace as she leaned back on her heels. The coffer might as well have been shouting at her: Try me. I dare you.

Elayne clenched her jaw as she studied the ominously flickering runes. Her magic wasn't strong enough to break through ancient defenses like these. Panic nudged at her, reminding her that time was running out and Valerius could return at any moment.

No. Focus.

She slid her worn leather bag off her shoulder, searching through its cluttered contents until her fingers closed around the familiar texture of the leather-bound book she always carried. It was a small yet heavy spell book. The leather cover, aged and weathered, bore the marks of time with cracks that traced like ancient rivers across its surface. Enigmatic symbols danced and shimmered in the dim light, as if alive with a mysterious energy.

It had been hers for years, obtained through a careful bargain with a wealthy widow in exchange for a spy service. The widow had offered gold; Elayne had demanded the book instead.

Rumors surrounded the book saying that it had belonged to a powerful mage in the widow’s family, long dead. Elayne had taken the chance, hoping to learn something— anything —that might help her refine her fledgling abilities. But there was one glaring problem: she could barely read. Words were a puzzle she had never fully solved, and deciphering the mage’s writings felt impossible. Still, she kept trying.

She flipped through the brittle pages; her movements hurried but clumsy. A faint scent wafted from the book—a mix of old parchment and something sharper, metallic, like the tang of forgotten magic. Each page was covered in looping writing and intricate diagrams, but the letters swam before her eyes.

Elayne clenched her teeth. Numbers she could handle—she’d always been good with counting and measuring, skills that had served her well in her trade. But reading… Her father hadn’t seen the point in teaching her more than the basics. She’d picked up scraps here and there, enough to muddle through when she had to, but the dense script of the spell book might as well have been a foreign language.

She traced the letters with her finger, sounding out syllables under her breath. Some of the words were familiar, others were completely alien. Her eyes darted to the coffer and back to the book, frustration clawing at her. There wasn’t time for this, but giving up wasn’t an option.

Finally, she spotted a section marked with dark ink. A diagram of runes, paired with what she guessed might be a counterspell. Her heart leapt, though she forced herself to temper her hope. She didn’t fully understand the writing beneath the diagram, but she had pieced together enough to grasp the basics—or so she thought.

It could go horribly wrong. She knew that. The spell could misfire, do nothing, or worse—turn her into something unintended. A frog, a statue, or perhaps even one of those undead guardians she’d heard about in cautionary tales.

But she needed to take the risk.

Her hands trembled as she traced the runes in the book and murmured the spell. Each repetition made it feel more natural, as if the magic was settling into her bones, ready to be unleashed. She hoped—prayed—it would work.

Her fingers darted to her belt, where her dagger hung in a well-worn sheath. Unsheathing it, she yanked off her glove with a sharp tug. The steel glinted faintly in the light of her crystal as she pressed the blade to her fingertip.

But her hands were shaking.

The cut went deeper than she intended, and a sharp sting shot up her hand. She gasped softly, watching as bright red droplets welled up, one after another, faster than she’d expected.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, clenching her jaw against the pain. The blood trickled down her hand, dripping onto the floor.

But she couldn't waste any more time. “Shit! Shit!”

Elayne knelt before the coffer, her breath shallow as she used her bloodied finger to trace over the runes etched into the metal. She carefully replicated the counter-runes from the spell book, each line trembling slightly but precise.

When she finished, she glanced back at the book. The words swam before her again, but she forced herself to focus, mouthing the spell until she could speak it aloud.

“Chains of …magic, now..b.. be go-gone. S-Stone stone..and spell, no.. lon..ger bound. By my …..will, and by my power, let..le-t? let hidden path…Pathways meet the light.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, but the spell carried. The air around her shifted, and a faint hum resonated through the cellar. The coffer’s original runes flickered violently, pulsing green light in protest before fading altogether.

Elayne exhaled sharply, her chest heaving with relief. It worked! Against all odds, it worked.

But she had no time to celebrate. The counterspell had cost her precious minutes, and every second spent here increased the chance of being caught. She was tense, constantly worried that someone might overhear something or appear at any moment.

Sliding her glove back on, she focused on the coffer’s locks. They were intricate, a challenge for any thief. Elayne’s fingers moved deftly, manipulating the mechanisms. The final lock clicked open, and she allowed herself a small, grim smile.

With a creak, the coffer’s heavy door swung outward, revealing the darkness within. She hesitated briefly, before stepping inside.

It was not a simple coffer, but a small room, like a vault. Elayne stepped cautiously into the vault, her magical crystal casting a soft, eerie glow. The small room felt suffocating, its low ceiling and narrow walls pressing in on her. Shadows stretched and twisted in the flickering light, making the space seem alive, almost malevolent. The air was thick with the scent of old wood, a slight musty smell, and the faint metallic tang of magic.

Wooden shelves lined the walls, each sagging slightly under the weight of countless treasures. There were sturdy boxes stacked haphazardly, their surfaces scuffed and worn, alongside soft velvet pouches that sagged with unseen riches. Leather-bound folders were crammed onto shelves, their edges frayed with age. Piles of gold and silver coins spilled from overflowing chests, glittering like miniature suns.

Her gaze shifted to the assortment of jewels scattered across the shelves. Necklaces of brilliant emeralds and rubies coiled like serpents on velvet cushions, and rings adorned with strange, glowing symbols seemed to hum faintly in the still air. Her fingers itched to grab everything in sight.

Elayne’s breath caught as she turned, taking in the room's contents. It was more wealth than she’d ever dreamed of seeing, let alone holding in her hands. Her bag felt woefully inadequate for the task.

Her stomach twisted with longing and frustration. The riches in this room could solve everything—her desperate need for money to attend the Academy of High Magick in Celimora, where admission alone cost a fortune. Even becoming an apprentice to a mage would drain her pockets faster than she could count. And then there were the immediate concerns: paying Madame Evangeline the exorbitant rent she charged her and Farren.

More open boxes revealed stacks of documents, their parchment yellowed with age and covered in intricate letters. Some were tied with ribbons, while others lay scattered randomly, containing detailed maps and financial records. These boxes were arranged across a large, ornate desk in the corner of the vault.

Elayne inhaled sharply. No time to waste. Her hands darted to the nearest shelf, grabbing a fistful of jewelry and shoving it into her bag. Her gaze fell on a large stack of coin pouches.

More coins. More than she’d ever seen in one place.

She reached for another pouch. Her pulse quickened at the thought of what this wealth could mean—safety, freedom, maybe even a chance to buy herself time to learn, to grow stronger.

The thought made her greedy. She snatched another pouch, the jingle of coins muffled by the fabric. As she moved, her elbow nudged a small wooden box. It tipped over, the lid falling open and its contents spilled onto the floor with a dull clatter. Papers—folded, aged, and brittle—scattered at her feet.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, crouching to gather the mess.

As she reached for the papers, her eyes caught a familiar word written in bold, clear, handwritten script: Evangeline.

Her heart stuttered. She didn’t know much about reading, but she recognized the name. Madame Evangeline. The woman who ran the Pink Pearl, the brothel where she and Farren lived, where she had worked for so long, scrubbing floors, washing linens, and tending to the endless chores of the house. Her fingers trembled as she tried to focus on the words, piecing them together as her mind struggled to make sense of the jumbled letters.

Elayne leaned closer, the crystal’s light illuminating the documents. She squinted, tracing the letters with her finger, sounding them out clumsily under her breath. The effort was exhausting, her limited literacy dragging her down like a heavy weight. But she managed to make out fragments:

“Evangeline… shipments… The Crow…”

She felt a pang of fear. She had heard the rumors about Valerius’s connections to the criminal world—the whispers of smuggling, the illicit trade in magical artifacts and rare poisons. But seeing Madame Evangeline’s name here, alongside The Crow, the infamous crime lord of Ravencrest, made her blood run cold.

Another phrase caught her eye, the letters dancing before her as she tried to make sense of them: “trafficking… captives… luxury buyers.” Elayne felt a surge of dread. The implications made her sick. Madame Evangeline, with her sharp tongue and calculating gaze, had always seemed like an astute businesswoman. But this? Could the brothel be a front for something far darker?

She stared at the papers, her mind spinning with questions she wasn’t sure she wanted answered.

A noise—sharp and sudden—broke through her spiraling thoughts.

Her head snapped up, every muscle in her body going taut. The sound was faint but distinct: footsteps descending the stairs. Thanks to her fey hearing, she could hear them clearly.

Her pulse raced. She had been here too long. Too long.

Valerius is back? If it's him, his full personal guard would be here too.

Swallowing her fear, Elayne stuffed the scattered papers back into the box, her hands shaking as she tried to replace the lid. Her mind was no longer on the treasure. It was on the danger waiting just beyond the door.

But her eyes lingered on the papers. There was something about them...They seemed... important. Perhaps even more valuable than the gold and jewels she had taken.

With a quiet curse, she made her decision. She grabbed the documents, folding them hastily before tucking them into her bag. Whatever secrets they held, she wasn’t leaving them behind.

"Exstara," Elayne whispered, and the crystal went dark, leaving the vault in pitch blackness. The sudden absence of light was disorienting, but she didn’t dare make another sound. Her ears caught the faint scuff of boots on the stairs, followed by murmurs of voices.

Her heart raced as she strained to listen. Valerius’s voice was easy to recognize—smooth and self-assured, dripping with his usual arrogance. But the other voice was unfamiliar: gruff and irritated.

The footsteps stopped, and she guessed they were lingering either near the top or the middle of the stairs. Valerius’s voice drifted down to her, calm and casual. “You seem tense,” he said, amused. “I take it our friend Radek is causing trouble again?”

The other man’s response was sharp, almost a growl. “Radek is an idiot. He thinks he can sell his stolen wares on my territory. He’s playing a dangerous game.”

Elayne held her breath, her thoughts racing. Radek. She had heard that name before—a human with a reputation for smuggling and an appetite for power that far exceeded his reach.

Valerius chuckled softly. “Radek has always been bold, but boldness often comes hand-in-hand with stupidity.”

“He needs to be taught a lesson,” the other man snapped. “Something permanent.”

"Hmm…Odd," Valerius’s voice carried down, soft but bordering on irritation. “The front door was unlocked. And now this door too?"

With a voice thick with disdain, the other man said, "What are you suggesting, Valerius? That someone waltzed into your house under your watch? Bold, even for Radek."

Elayne swallowed hard.

"I’m not suggesting anything," Valerius replied defensively. "Nothing appears to be missing. But I’ll check the cellar to be sure."

"You think that’s where they’d go? The cellar?" The mysterious man laughed. "No one would waste their time here unless they had a death wish. If you’re so suspicious, check the coffer and stop wasting time."

Valerius hesitated. "I thought I might grab a bottle of the Roselle vintage while I’m here. A finer drink might settle my nerves."

The other man's response was a growl, low and threatening. "Settle your nerves later. That rat Radek is making a fool of you—and by extension, me. Do you think I tolerate fools, Valerius?"

"No," Valerius replied quickly, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. "But—"

"No ‘buts.’ Get back upstairs. Deal with Radek. Spill his blood, display his head somewhere public, and remind everyone whose territory this is."

Valerius muttered something inaudible before the sound of his footsteps resumed, heading back up the stairs. The door above creaked shut, leaving the cellar in silence once again.

Elayne exhaled shakily, her knees threatening to give out. Her entire body was trembling, and cold sweat dampened her palms. But there was no time to linger in fear. She had almost been caught…again! She had to move. Whoever that man was, his words were clear—blood was coming. If she didn’t move soon, it might very well be hers.

She carefully closed the door of the vault, her fingers working quickly to replace the locks. She fumbled in her bag, pulling out a small vial of white powder. It had cost her more than she cared to admit, purchased from a shadowy figure in a clandestine market. It was expensive, but worth every coin.

She couldn’t leave even a trace of her blood behind—not when Valerius could hire a mage to use it to track her. It might be a minuscule amount, but she wasn’t willing to risk it.

Elayne scattered the powder over every spot she touched and the bloodstains she had left behind. The powder hissed softly as it dissolved the evidence into harmless dust.

Satisfied, Elayne tucked the empty vial back into her bag and turned her attention to the room. Her eyes scanned the dim cellar, searching for another way out. A hidden passage… maybe. If not, the stairs would be her only option—and far too risky.

Elayne's gaze landed on a discreet section of the stone wall near the far corner, half-obscured by stacks of dusty crates. Something about it seemed… off. She approached cautiously, running her hands along the uneven surface until her fingers caught on the edge of a wooden panel, almost perfectly camouflaged against the wall.

A hidden door.

She felt a rush of both relief and incredulity. The wood was old, worn smooth with time, and there was no visible lock. Elayne hesitated for only a second before gripping the edge and pulling it open.

A narrow, cavernous tunnel stretched before her, the walls rough and jagged. The air was damp and smelled faintly of mildew. And everywhere, thick, dusty cobwebs clung to the walls, some swaying slightly in the faint breeze, others heavy with trapped dust, a sight that made Elayne's skin crawl—she hated spiders with a passion. It was barely wide enough to crawl through, and the thought of squeezing into such a tight space, especially with spiders, made her stomach churn. But she had no choice.

She muttered under her breath, “This better not lead me straight to the grave.”

With her bag slung awkwardly over one shoulder, she dropped to her hands and knees, inching forward with difficulty. The weight of the stolen goods made her progress slow and exhausting. The tunnel was mercifully straight, but the oppressive darkness and the scrape of stone against her gloves set her nerves on edge.

At last, a faint glimmer of light ahead spurred her onward. She reached the end of the tunnel and pushed through another small, camouflaged door, this one low to the ground. Her body protested as she wriggled out of the cramped passage and into open space.

The room she entered took her breath away.

It was an office—Valerius’s office. She knew it immediately. Flickering candles cast long, dancing shadows across the walls, revealing dark wooden shelves crammed with books, scrolls, and trinkets that practically radiated wealth. A massive oak desk dominated the room, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen and cluttered with papers, an ornate quill, and an inkpot.

A heavy, velvet-draped window overlooked the gardens, but the thick fabric kept the moonlight at bay, leaving the room shrouded in an intimate gloom. The floorboards, polished to a dark sheen, creaked softly under her boots, each sound echoing in the stillness of the room.

Voices.

Her head whipped toward the door, catching Valerius's irritated tone, though she couldn’t make out the words. Another voice, probably one of the guards.

They were close.

Panic threatened to overwhelm her as she desperately sought an idea, any idea. Desperate, Elayne decided to risk a shadow camouflage that would push the limits of her ability. But she had to try. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

Thin tendrils of shadow snaked toward her, curling around her like smoke. They responded sluggishly, as if uncertain of her command.

Please work.

The chill of the magic seeped into her skin as the shadows obeyed, enveloping her form. The air around her shimmered faintly, like heat rising from stone, and she was cloaked in darkness. But the strain hit her immediately—like a weight pressing down on her chest, making her muscles tremble with force.

She wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. But she had no other choice.

The door creaked open.

The air in the office turned heavy as Valerius stormed in, his presence was pure fury. Even the warmth of the crystal lamp's glow couldn't melt the icy tension radiating from him.

He was striking, in a way that spoke of wealth and danger. His dark hair, cut sharply at the jawline, gleamed under the light, and his emerald eyes burned with an astute, calculating glint. He wore a finely tailored tunic of deep red, embroidered with silver thread, its cuffs adorned with glittering gems. Rings of gold and emeralds decorated his fingers, which twitched as though aching to grab a blade—or someone’s throat.

Behind him followed a human guard, middle-aged with red hair, touched with gray, tied back in a loose ponytail. The man’s shoulders slumped slightly, his aged face showing frustration and worry. Valerius barely spared him a glance as he strode to the center of the room, his fine boots clicking against the polished floor.

“Idiots! All of you!” Valerius’s voice lashed out like a whip. “How does someone slip past my walls, my gates, and into my house without a single one of you noticing?”

The guard stiffened. “We’ve checked the grounds—”

“Clearly not well enough!” Valerius snarled, his voice rising in frustration. His elegant demeanor cracked, the surface of calm giving way to unrestrained anger. “The front door? Unlocked! The cellar door? Unlocked!” He swept an arm dramatically toward the hidden tunnel door that Elayne had left slightly ajar. “What next, hmm? Should I expect an assassin in my bed tonight?”

The office door opened again, revealing one of Valerius’s personal guards. An elf, broad and towering, stepped inside. His frame seemed too large for the room, his presence intimidating enough to steal the air from Elayne’s lungs. He wore a heavy leather chest plate, and his long, golden hair was tied back, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face. A gleaming sword rested on his hip, and his cold, unblinking gaze settled on Valerius.

"This won't sit well with The Crow," the elf said in a low, calm tone, interrupting Valerius's speech. "This will make you look incompetent."

Valerius's anger faded, replaced by apprehension. “I don’t need you to remind me of that, Eravon. He’s the one who demanded results tonight, not excuses. I already had to listen to him complain on about Radek—”

Elayne froze. The Crow.

That was the name of the mysterious man she had overheard earlier in the cellar. So, he was The Crow, the infamous crime lord, a figure even the boldest thieves whispered about with unease. The realization sent a chill down her spine. She had expected danger, but not this.

“Should we bring out the dogs?” The human guard asked hesitantly.

“Yes, release the dogs. And when you find whoever’s responsible, I want them dragged to me in chains.” His voice dropped, becoming more threatening. “They’ll regret ever stepping foot in my house.”

Elayne’s heart hammered wildly. Sweat dampened her forehead, and her chest heaved with the effort of maintaining the magic’s hold.

“And the coffer?” Eravon asked.

Valerius’s jaw tightened. “The vault is sealed with magic, as you well know. Impenetrable. However, I’ll check it myself, just to put my mind at ease.”

The elf nodded, and with that, Valerius dismissed them with a sharp wave of his hand.

The room grew eerily quiet once the door closed behind them. Valerius remained, pacing slowly as if contemplating his next move.

Elayne’s limbs trembled, the strain of the magic pressing harder against her chest. Her breaths were quick and shallow, and every muscle in her body cried out for relief. She couldn’t hold it any longer.

Panic seized her, and she made a split-second decision. Gathering the last dregs of her strength, she stepped back—through the wall itself. The magic pulled at her like icy claws, dragging her through the stone and spitting her out into the garden beyond.

The night air hit her like a slap, cool and damp. She collapsed onto the soft grass; her bag clutched tightly to her chest. The shadows around her dissipated as her magic gave out entirely.

Her cover vanished.

The sudden absence of the magic was startling. The oppressive weight of the shadows, which had been suffocating moments ago, lifted completely. For a moment, she exhaled deeply, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease. But the relief was fleeting. She was utterly drained, completely exhausted, the magic having sucked every ounce of her energy. With great effort, she pushed herself to her feet, pulling the heavy bag with her.

The cool night air greeted her like an old friend. The faint scent of roses and earth wafted from the garden, mingling with the crispness of the breeze. She took a deep breath, her lungs filling with the scent of freedom.

Not yet. You’re not safe yet.

She moved. Her legs felt like lead, every step a battle against exhaustion. The bag slung over her shoulder felt heavier with each passing moment, its weight dragging her down. But she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t.

The garden stretched before her, bathed in silvery moonlight. Tall hedges, trimmed trees, and vibrant flowerbeds adorned the space, their beauty almost mocking her desperation. Marble statues loomed in various poses, their stony gazes catching faint glimmers from the torches scattered across the grounds. The glow of the flames was a beacon of danger, casting sharp shadows across the paths.

Elayne moved stealthily, slipping behind hedges and crouching low beside statues whenever a guard passed too close. Torches bobbed in the distance, carried by guards as they searched the garden. Their voices carried on the night breeze—sharp orders and muttered curses.

She froze as two guards paused near a flowering hedge, their silhouettes stark against the torchlight. One gestured toward the statues while the other scanned the shadows.

"Check over there," one of them barked.

Elayne's breath came shallow and quick as she approached the front of the garden, where the gate, her only way out, stood.

Servants scurried back and forth, some holding lanterns, others calling out in frantic tones.

Then came the barking, the dogs' low growls and sharp barks echoing through the garden. Though she couldn’t see them, the sound sent a jolt of adrenaline through her tired limbs.

And then she saw it—the gate. Dark and tall, it shone faintly under the moonlight, like salvation wrapped in steel.

Elayne's lips curved into a trembling smile upon seeing Farren. He was crouched low in the shadows of the street, just outside the gate, his blond hair shining in the moonlight. His wide eyes locked onto her, filled with worry and relief.

He raised a hand, motioning toward the guards scattered across the garden.

Elayne nodded, her own hand signaling him to stay hidden.

Elayne shot forward, her legs burning with exhaustion, each step a battle against the overwhelming weight of fatigue threatening to bring her down. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body begging for mercy, but she couldn’t afford to stop. Not now. Not with the guards behind her, not with the dogs so close.

And then—

A shout ripped through the night, piercing the silence like a dagger.

"There's the thief!!" A guard cried out, his voice full of rage and alarm.

The sound rang in her ears like a death knell. She froze, her heartbeat thundering in her chest as her eyes snapped toward the source of the cry—a guard, tall and broad, his arm extended, finger pointing straight at her. His voice was guttural, barking commands to the others.

“There!” he shouted pointing straight at her.

No... No, no, no.

Her pulse raced as the guard called out to others. They were coming. They were closing in fast, like wolves on the hunt. The sound of their boots, the snap of their weapons being drawn, it was all too close.

“Ellie!!” Farren shouted.

The low growls of the dogs, now unleashed, echoed across the garden, their paws striking the earth like the beat of an impending death march.

"Ellie, run!" Farren's urgent voice pierced the chaos.

And run she did. She could barely feel her feet beneath her, her body heavy with the strain, but she forced her legs to move. She had no choice. Her muscles screamed in protest, her vision blurring from the strain, but she pushed forward, driven by the raw instinct to survive. The wind bit at her skin as she dashed through the garden, her fey speed a blessing against the wave of fatigue that threatened to overwhelm her.

Suddenly, a sharp hiss of air sliced the night—a warning, and before she could react, the ground before her erupted with a thud as an arrow buried itself into the earth, narrowly missing her.

The second arrow flew by her, a reminder of how close death was.

The dogs' growls followed—deep and guttural—as they lunged forward. She could hear the snap of their teeth, their claws digging into the earth as they surged toward her.

“Faster, Ellie! Hurry!” Farren screamed, his voice urgent, frantic.

Elayne’s body was on fire, every muscle screaming in protest, but she surged forward, the adrenaline in her veins pushing her faster, her speed the only thing that could save her now. She was almost there. She could make it.

When she was close enough to the gate, with a desperate cry, she hurled the bag over the top with every ounce of strength she had left. She winced as a sharp pain tore through her shoulder. The bag flew through the air like a stone thrown from a sling. It landed with a muffled thud on the cobblestones beyond.

“Move, Ellie!” Farren shouted from the other side of the street, pacing frantically, waiting for her to make it.

The moment she grasped the cold iron bars, her hands slipped slightly. She didn’t stop and began to climb. The sound of the guards’ footsteps grew louder, their shouts echoing in the night, and she heard the snapping jaws of the dogs, closer now, desperate to sink into her flesh.

One of the guards yelled. “Stop them!”

When she reached the top of the gate, she heard the dogs’ vicious barking behind her. Their jaws snapped as they tried to grab at her, their paws scrabbling against the gate as they jumped, desperate to reach her, but she was already on the other side.

She dropped onto the hard ground, crashing into the uneven stones below with a bone-shaking impact. A sharp jolt of pain shot up her legs.

Farren was at her side in an instant, pulling her to her feet.

“Run!” He urged, his voice tight with panic.

Elayne grabbed her bag, clinging to it like her life depended on it, and the two of them took off down the narrow, shadow-drenched streets, their boots clapping against the cobblestones like thunder. The guards’ shouts followed them, but Elayne didn’t dare look back. Her bag slapped against her side with each frantic step as they darted through the dark alleys, desperation driving them forward.

The narrow, fetid alley reeked of urine and sour ale, but Elayne barely noticed, her legs feeling like lead with every step, trembling as if they might give out beneath her. Farren’s arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her as they stumbled through the shadows.

"Just a little further, Ellie," Farren murmured, his voice soft but urgent. His blond hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat from their frantic escape.

Elayne’s breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. The magic she’d used to escape Valerius’s mansion had drained her completely, leaving her feeling hollow, like an empty shell barely held together. Even her vision blurred at the edges, her surroundings a haze of flickering torch flames and jagged shadows.

"I… I can’t," she whispered. Her knees buckled, and Farren shifted quickly, taking more of her weight.

"Yes, you can," he said firmly, though his kind eyes betrayed his worry. "We’re almost there. Just stay with me a little longer."

Finally, the Pink Pearl appeared before them. It's grand facade standing in contrast to the city's grim shadows. Warm light spilled through the arched windows, golden and inviting, while delicate floral carvings adorned the polished wooden entrance. Even in her haze of exhaustion, Elayne couldn’t help but think how out of place the bordel looked amid the worn, shadowy streets—a jewel gleaming in the dirt.

But getting inside without being seen was another matter entirely. The front entrance was out of the question; too risky, especially if Valerius’s men were still scouring the city for them.

Farren guided her toward the back of the building, where a narrow door used by suppliers and staff was hidden behind a stack of empty barrels. They crouched there for a moment, listening for any sounds of movement.

"Do you think anyone’s still back here?" Elayne asked, her voice hoarse.

Farren shook his head. "It’s late. Most of the staff will be in the front or already done for the night."

Still, they waited as the seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity. When Farren finally considered it safe, he opened the door a little, peeking inside.

"Clear," he whispered, glancing back at her.

Elayne nodded, though her body protested every movement. She clung to him as they slipped through the doorway, her feet dragging across the worn wooden floor. The corridor was dimly lit, the air thick with the faint scent of fresh bread mixed with the smell of spilled wine and old perfume.

A stack of burlap sacks, likely containing supplies, leaned against a wall. A dried trail of mud, probable from a recent delivery, marked the floor near a side room.

Farren shut the door quietly behind them, his gaze darting down the hall. "This way. Lean on me."

She didn’t have much choice; her strength was long gone. Every step felt like a battle, her limbs sluggish and uncooperative. But Farren didn’t falter. He kept her upright, his arm steady around her, even as her vision darkened further.

"Almost there," he whispered, his voice both comforting and determined.

The faint hum of distant voices and muffled laughter reached them from the front of the building, but this wing was mercifully quiet. Soft lute strums drifted in, a slow melody, and the occasional clink of glasses. A murmur of voices floated from a nearby storeroom, and the sound of someone sweeping echoed from the far end of the corridor. The staff quarters weren’t far now.

Elayne’s legs gave out just as they reached the door to her small room. Farren caught her, his arms tightening around her as he guided her to the bed.

"We made it, Ellie," he said softly. “Rest. I’ll take care of the rest."

Her head hit the pillow, and the world tilted sideways before slipping away entirely.

Elayne woke slowly, blinking as the familiar pink walls of her bedroom came into focus. Moonlight poured through the single window, bathing the room in soft, silvery light. Shadows danced delicately across the walls, while the faded cream curtains swayed gently in the cool breeze slipping through the open window.

She felt a faint throb in her finger, and noticed the makeshift bandage wrapped around it. Farren. He must have patched her up while she was sleeping. Her boots were gone too, sitting neatly by the bed. Of course, Farren had taken care of everything.

The room was small, just large enough for the essentials. The single bed took up most of the space, leaving just enough room for a couple of worn chairs pushed against the lone table cluttered with small jars and bundles of herbs, and an old wardrobe whose door never fully closed. The stone floor was cool and uneven, its age showing in every scuff and crack.

In the corner, Farren was curled in the armchair, a thin blanket barely covering him. His blond hair flopped over his forehead, his head tilted awkwardly to the side, mouth slightly open. Elayne’s heart softened at the sight.

Quietly, she slid out of bed, careful not to wake him. She approached and tugged the blanket higher, tucking it gently around his shoulders.

“You do too much for me,” she whispered, with a faint smile.

She turned toward the table, her gaze falling on the small pots of herbs she kept there. Lavender, chamomile, rosemary—simple things, sold to the bordel's clients or the occasional traveler looking for remedies. It was her way of explaining the money she scraped together. Enough to pay the rent, enough to keep Evangeline from suspecting the truth. For now, anyway.

Not that Elayne thought it was fair. Between the hours she spent scrubbing floors, washing linens, cleaning rooms and fetching supplies to keep the bordel running, she had already paid more than she owed. But arguing with Madame Evangeline was pointless.

With a sigh, she moved to the wardrobe, pulling out her thin nightdress. It was old, with a few small tears along the seams, but it was clean, and that was all that mattered. She slipped out of her clothes, her muscles still aching from the earlier escape, and tugged the nightdress over her head.

Her eyes fell to the table again, where her bag sat. Inside were the documents she'd risked her life stealing from Valerius's mansion, along with coins and gold.

Elayne reached for her bag, her movements slow, as if the contents might burn her fingers. The worn leather creaked as she pulled it open, her hand slipping inside to get the hastily folded papers.

She hesitated for a moment, then pulled out the chair and sat. She unfolded them, her fingers brushing over the stiff parchment. The lines of ink stared back at her, sharp and meticulous, but as her eyes scanned the words, her frustration grew.

Nothing made sense. Symbols, obscure phrases, layers of meaning she couldn’t quite reach. She’d hoped for something simple—a name, a location, anything that could give her answers. Instead, she’d gotten a puzzle she wasn’t sure how to solve.

Elayne leaned back in the chair, her brow furrowed as she stared at the papers. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath.

Why did she risk herself to steal these documents, if she couldn’t even decipher the damn thing?

Elayne jolted at the sudden warmth of a hand on her shoulder. She turned quickly, only to find Farren standing there, his blond hair a tousled mess and his brown eyes heavy with sleep.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse from waking.

She nodded, though it wasn’t entirely true. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

His brow furrowed as he glanced at the papers on the table. “We didn't have time to talk about...but did you get much?” he asked, his tone careful, like he didn’t want to push too hard.

Elayne exhaled and leaned back in her chair again. “The vault was… full. Jewels, gold, more wealth than I’ve ever seen. I grabbed what I could fit into the bag and—” she gestured to the documents spread out in front of her “—these.”

Farren tilted his head, his curiosity evident. “What are they?”

She gave a dry laugh, the sound devoid of humor. “No idea. I can’t read any of it. It’s all symbols and riddles.”

Farren dragged the other chair closer and sat down slowly. He held out a hand. “Let me see.”

Elayne passed one of the pages to him, though she wasn’t hopeful. His brows knitted together as he stared at the intricate markings, his lips twitching in concentration. After a long moment, he set it back on the table with a sigh. “Yeah, no clue. Wish there was some spell that could just… make us fluent in riddles or something.”

Elayne’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Wouldn’t that make life easier?” she said bitterly.

Farren leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “So why are you sure these papers are important?”

“They have to be,” she said, leaning forward and pointing to the text. “This has something to do with Madame Evangeline. And Valerius Thorne. And…” she hesitated for a moment before adding, “The Crow.”

Farren froze, his face paling at the name. He stared at her, unblinking, before finally whispering, “Ellie, you can’t be serious.”

“I am,” she replied, her voice firm despite the way her chest tightened at his reaction.

His fingers gripped the edge of the table as if it might steady him. “The Crow is dangerous—more than dangerous. You don’t mess with someone like that and live to tell about it.”

“I’m not trying to mess with him,” she said. “But whatever this is? It’s tied to something bigger. And if it involves Madame Evangeline, it’s even more important that we figure it out.”

Farren shook his head, his expression a mix of fear and frustration. “Or maybe it’s more important that we leave it alone. Ellie, this is playing with fire. The kind that burns everything.”

Elayne sighed, the weight of exhaustion settling back over her. Her body still ached, her energy far from restored, and even as she tried to stifle a yawn, it broke through. She rubbed at her eyes, the frustration of the night giving way to the undeniable need of sleep.

“We’re not getting anywhere with this tonight,” she said softly, her voice heavy with weariness. “Or any night, at this rate.”

Farren gave her a tired smile, his worry still visible, but he didn’t argue. “You’re right. Sleep first, mystery riddles later.”

With a nod, Elayne folded the documents carefully, her fingers lingering on the edges of the parchment for a moment before slipping them back into her bag. She ensured the bag was closed tightly and placed it under the bed.

Farren stood and stretched, his movements languid and unbothered despite the tension still lingering in the room. “Goodnight, Ellie,” he murmured, returning to the armchair. He slumped into the seat, pulling the thin blanket over himself again.

“Goodnight, Farren,” she replied, watching him settle in before turning toward the bed. She pulled back the worn quilt and slid beneath it, the mattress creaking softly beneath her weight.

As she closed her eyes, the night’s events played on a loop in her mind—the escape, the documents…. The Crow.

But the ache in her muscles and the pull of sleep were too much to fight. Soon Elayne let herself drift off, the questions she couldn’t answer fading into the haze of her dreams.

Elayne woke to a strange but welcome sensation—rest. Complete, undisturbed rest. Her body felt lighter, her mind clearer, as though she’d slept for days instead of hours. The soft rustle of movement drew her attention, and as her eyes adjusted to the morning light spilling into the room, she saw Farren standing by the small mirror, fastening the laces on his simple tunic, his kitchen uniform.

She shot upright, her heart racing as she realized how late it must be. “Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked, in a panic as she swung her legs off the bed.

Farren turned, his blond hair slightly tousled and a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Relax, Ellie. I was going to wake you before I left. I just thought you could use a little extra sleep.”

“You should have woken me up,” she huffed, pushing past him toward the old wardrobe. Its doors hung slightly ajar, one hinge creaking when she pulled it open. The wood was scratched and worn, but it still served its purpose. She rifled through the handful of dresses hanging inside, searching for the plain, practical one she wore for work.

“You needed the rest,” Farren said firmly. “You’ve been running yourself ragged, and last night proved it.”

Elayne sighed but didn’t argue further, her fingers pausing as they found the familiar fabric of her work dress. She pulled it out, holding it up to inspect it for any new holes or stains.

“Let me see your hand,” Farren said suddenly, stepping closer.

“It’s fine,” she replied dismissively, shaking her head. “Really.”

“Elayne,” he said, his voice carrying a note of warning. “Even a small cut can get infected. Let me see.”

She relented with an exaggerated sigh, holding out her hand. The makeshift bandage he’d applied last night was still in place, though the edges had frayed slightly. Farren carefully unrolled it, frowning as he inspected the wound.

The cut was already closed, but the skin around it was pink and slightly irritated. “It’s healing,” he said, though confusion flickered in his eyes. “But... shouldn’t it be better by now? I mean, you’re fairy, Ellie. You’re supposed to heal faster than this, aren’t you?”

She shrugged, pulling her hand back. “Maybe I’m just... defective,” she tried to joke, but couldn't hide her uncertainty.

Farren’s frown deepened. “I’m serious. I’ve heard that your kind heal quickly. This doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know, Farren,” she admitted, her tone quieter now. “Maybe I’m not as... pure as the rest of them. Or maybe I’m just unlucky.”

She tried to make it sound like a joke, but the truth was, she had no idea why her body didn’t work the way it should. It was just another mystery she’d learned to live with.

Farren sighed, his concern not entirely eased. “Well, at least it’s not infected. Just keep it clean, okay?”

She nodded, taking the dress and heading for the screen in the corner to change. “Thanks, Farren. For patching me up. And for letting me sleep.”

“Someone has to look after you,” he said with a small, lopsided grin.

Elayne couldn’t help but smile back, though the weight of his words lingered as she slipped behind the screen.

Elayne smoothed her dress as she and Farren approached the door, both ready to head out, when a sharp knock startled them. Elayne froze, her hand hovering above the doorknob, and she exchanged a wary glance with Farren.

“Who is it?” she called, hiding her apprehension.

"Madame Evangeline," came the reply. "May I come in?"

Elayne hesitated. Saying ‘no’ wasn’t an option, not with Evangeline. “Of course,” she said finally, stepping back to allow the door to open.

Madame Evangeline swept into the room like a queen, her heels clicking against the worn floor. She was an old human woman, perhaps sixty-five, though she never spoke of her age, making it impossible to be certain. Her fiery curls framed a face thick with makeup, and her green eyes immediately observed the space, lingering on Elayne and Farren. The cigarette in her long holder left a trail of smoke as she waved it lazily, her perfume—a sickly-sweet combination of rose and vanilla that barely masked the heavy odor of cigarettes that followed her—filling the room.

“You two are late,” she said, her tone cutting as she fixed them both with an accusing stare. "You think you can just dance around on your own schedule?"

Farren opened his mouth to respond, but Evangeline’s attention snapped to him. She scoffed, her lips curling into a sneer. “You,” she said, the disdain in her voice unmistakable. "Why are you still standing there, you little useless faggot? The kitchen’s waiting. Now get out of here!”

Farren's throat tightened, but he swallowed the words he wanted to say, his face reddened. He cast a quick, reassuring glance at Elayne before slipping past Evangeline and out the door.

Elayne moved to follow, but Evangeline’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “Not you.”

Elayne turned, feeling scrutinized as the older woman's eyes roamed over her in silent inspection.

“You really don’t know how lucky you are, do you?” Evangeline said, her gaze lingering on Elayne’s face and figure. She circled the girl slowly, her eyes tracing the lines of her body as if assessing the quality of a piece of merchandise. Her hands reached out, touching Elayne's arms and waist, her touch both possessive and degrading.

Elayne stood frozen, her skin crawling beneath the woman's touch, feeling like nothing more than a piece of meat. Evangeline chuckled, a low, dismissive sound, and stepped back, her eyes still fixed on Elayne. “That beauty of yours could buy you a life of luxury,” Evangeline said, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Men would pay generously for a face like yours—and more.” She hinted, assessing Elayne up and down, as if judging her worth. "And yet, here you are, scrubbing floors. Such a waste.”

The meaning was clear. Evangeline wasn’t just talking about Elayne’s looks; she was offering an invitation to join the women who worked under her roof, selling far more than charm or conversation.

Elayne’s cheeks burned, but she kept her tone polite. “I prefer to keep my honor, Madame.”

Evangeline threw her head back and laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Honor? Oh, sweet girl, you're dreaming of fairy tales. That honor of yours won’t pay the rent.” Her smile twisted cruelly. “Though it didn’t stop your charming elf boyfriend from leaving you for a half-elf with a heavier coin purse, did it?”

The stab hit its mark, and Elayne stiffened, but she quickly masked her hurt. “Is there something you need, Madame?” she asked, her voice tight.

Evangeline’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. “The rent is going up,” she said bluntly.

Elayne’s heart sank. “But the current rate is already—”

“—barely worth it for me,” Evangeline interrupted, waving her cigarette dismissively. “If you can’t afford it, I’m sure there are other tenants who can.”

Elayne’s fists clenched at her sides, but she forced herself to remain calm. “We’ll pay,” she said, crossing to her bedside table and retrieving two small pouches of coins. She handed them to Evangeline, whose eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Well, well,” the woman said, turning the pouches over in her hands. “Where did this come from? Business must be booming in your little herbal... ventures.”

Elayne smiled tightly. “It’s been... good.”

Evangeline’s eyes narrowed as they drifted from Elayne’s bandaged hand to the small, worn table where Elayne’s dagger lay gleaming amidst the jars of herbs. “Interesting,” she murmured suspiciously. “Cut yourself, did you?” Her tone was light, but her gaze sharpened, as if seeing right through Elayne.

Elayne swallowed, forcing her voice to remain calm as she lied. “Just a stupid accident in the kitchen. I wasn’t paying attention while chopping vegetables.” She flexed her bandaged fingers slightly, hoping the movement would make her excuse more convincing.

Evangeline hummed, clearly unconvinced, as she stepped closer to the table. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, lifting it with deliberate care. She turned the blade slowly in the light, her gaze tracing the intricate carvings on its handle. A thoughtful frown deepened the lines on her brow.

“Something big happened last night,” she said casually, though her eyes remained fixed on Elayne’s dagger. The whole city is buzzing about it. Someone broke into Valerius Thorne's mansion —a brazen little thief. He’s absolutely furious, hunting high and low for the culprit. A small fortune in jewelry and coins was stolen.”

Elayne's violet eyes widened in fake surprise. "Valerius Thorne? Robbed? That's awful! I can't believe someone would dare. The city's security is terrible these days." She paused, then added with a dismissive shrug, "Though, honestly, Valerius is so wealthy, a few coins won't even make a dent in his coffers."

Evangeline's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Indeed," she replied, her voice smooth as silk. "But even a man of his stature doesn't appreciate such... inconveniences." Her gaze lingered on Elayne’s bandaged hand, then flickered to the dagger still clutched in her own. With a sharp, dismissive flick of her wrist, she tossed the dagger back onto the table, the blade clattering against the wood amidst the jars of herbs. Then she turned on her heel, the pouches of money clinking as she tucked them into her pocket.

“Get to the kitchen,” she ordered without looking back.

Elayne wasted no time, slipping out of the room and heading down the hallway.