Rook moved through the shadowed backstreets of Oryn-Vel, the cold night air crisp against his skin. His long coat billowed with each step, his boots near silent on the worn cobblestone. Beside him, a man of similar stature kept pace—Davin, an old friend from the Syndicate days, back when they had both worked under Braelan Marrow.
They walked in easy silence, the quiet companionship of men who had seen too much and lived to tell of it.
"They're not going to stop, you know," Davin finally said, his voice low, measured. "Varrel's like Marrow, in the sense he's got the same relentless fire. He wants you in the Syndicate, and he's not going to take 'no' forever."
Rook scoffed. "Then he'll be disappointed."
Davin shook his head. "You're too stubborn for your own good, brother."
They reached a fork in the road, where the streetlights barely touched the deep shadows. Davin turned to face him, expression unreadable. "Just don't let that pride of yours get you killed."
Rook smirked. "You forget who you're talking to."
Davin chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "Be careful, Rook." Then he turned, vanishing into the night.
Rook exhaled, rolling his shoulders before making his way home.
His estate was one of many hidden residences scattered across the city, but this one was special. On the outside, it was unassuming—aged stone walls, wooden beams, vines creeping up its facade. A place no one would look twice at. But the inside? That was a different story.
Warm candlelight flickered against the deep red curtains. The scent of spiced wine and slow-roasted meat filled the air. Plush furniture, polished mahogany, golden accents—it was the kind of luxury a man like him deserved.
And waiting for him—his three treasures.
Valesse, perched at the edge of the dining table in a sheer black robe, silver hair spilling down her back, legs crossed elegantly. Seraphine lounging on the velvet chaise near the fire, her silk slip draped just enough to tease. And Liora, ever the quiet storm, standing by the window, fingers tracing the glass, her smirk knowing, her body wrapped in something dangerously delicate.
"You're late," Valesse murmured, sliding off the table to greet him.
"Had business to deal with," Rook replied smoothly, undoing the clasp of his coat.
"Mmm," Liora hummed, stretching like a cat, the firelight casting golden hues on her skin. "Well, no more business now. Just us."
Seraphine approached from behind, looping her arms around his waist, pressing close. "Dinner is nearly ready," she whispered, lips brushing his ear. "But we thought we'd give you something to tide you over."
Valesse tilted her head, her fingers grazing his collar. "Shall we?" She pulled off his shirt as the others worked the rest of his clothing, their hands moving sensually over his scarred and muscle-bound torso.
Rook smirked. This was his domain. His kingdom. And these three women? His most prized possessions.
Then came the knock at the door.
The moment shattered like glass.
The girls moved like shadows—Seraphine's hand finding the hilt of a dagger, Liora slipping behind a chair, her muscles tensed, and Valesse turning toward the entrance with narrowed eyes.
Rook sighed, rolling his shoulders before reaching for a robe, tying it loosely around his waist. He strode to the door, flexing his fingers, then pulled it open.
Standing outside, framed by the cold night air, was Ishmael.
His face was unreadable, eyes sharp. Serious.
"I want to talk."
*
Harker leaned against one of the ruined pillars inside Keep Valcian, arms crossed, watching as Alden and Zefaria adjusted to their new place among the Syndicate. The two former Holy Knights were a striking pair—Alden, silent and severe, his black-and-silver armor gleaming even in the dim light, and Zefaria, moving with the kind of confidence that turned heads without even trying.
"I don't like him," Harker muttered, nodding toward Alden.
Grendon snorted. "That's because you don't like anyone who doesn't drink or gamble."
"No, it's because he's unnerving. Guy barely blinks, barely speaks, and when he does, it's like he's reading your last rites."
Grendon chuckled, leaning closer. "Yeah, well, Zefaria makes up for it. That woman could kick my ass any day, and I'd thank her for it."
Harker rolled his eyes. "Of course. Leave it to you to get all hot and bothered over someone who could run a sword through your gut."
"Admit it, she's got that dangerous charm. Like a panther in silk."
"More like a snake in armor."
Grendon grinned. "You have no taste, my friend."
Their banter was cut short as Varrel's voice rose above the murmurs of the gathered Syndicate members. He stood at the head of what remained of their meeting table—a splintered mess ever since Edmund Ardent's attack a month ago. Felix Cailen stood at his side, arms folded, listening intently.
Varrel's gaze swept the room before settling on Felix. "I have a task for you."
Felix stepped forward. "Name it."
Varrel exhaled, then spoke evenly. "Find Elyan."
A hush fell over the immediate group. Even Grendon and Harker shared a glance. Elyan, huh?
"She disappeared after the attack," Felix said cautiously. "Last we heard, she cut ties and vanished."
"Exactly," Varrel said. "But she was one of our best, and we need her now more than ever. She knows this city inside and out. If she's still alive, she'll be useful. You find her, you tell her what's coming."
Felix hesitated, then nodded. "And if she doesn't want to be found?"
Varrel's eyes darkened. "Make her want to be."
Felix gave a curt nod, then turned, already thinking of where to start the search. Harker and Grendon watched him go, the weight of the name Elyan lingering in the air.
"Well, that'll be fun," Harker muttered.
Grendon smirked. "And we thought the Holy Knights were the biggest surprise today."
*
Elyan's safehouse was a modest space, tucked away in one of Oryn-Vel's quieter districts. It wasn't grand, nor particularly well-furnished, but it was secure—multiple exits, thick curtains to block prying eyes, and weapons within arm's reach no matter where she stood. A lifetime of caution had made her this way.
Across the room, Tess sat perched on the edge of a worn couch, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. Her usual confidence was still there, but her sharp blue eyes were softened by something rare—relief.
"You're really doing okay?" Tess asked, leaning forward. "No one's come sniffing around?"
Elyan smirked. "If they had, we wouldn't be sitting here catching up." She shifted, leaning against the small wooden table between them. "Besides, I didn't stick my neck out just to get caught immediately after. I know how to disappear."
Tess scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, Oryn-Vel's greatest shadow, always two steps ahead. I just—" she hesitated, then shrugged. "I just needed to see for myself that you were okay. After everything."
Elyan's expression softened. She had trusted Tess more than most, enough to break her cover and reveal her double allegiance before the Syndicate's downfall. And yet, they both knew that kind of risk had a price.
"I made my choice, Tess," Elyan said. "I was never going to let Varrel and his lot take this city without a fight. And now? I'm just waiting to see what comes next."
As if the world itself had heard her words, a sharp knock echoed from the door.
Both women froze. There was a sudden quietness to the room, as if that knock had muted every other sound in the vicinity. A chilly draft wafted in from a small crack in the wooden panelling of the wall.
Elyan was already moving, slipping a dagger from the side of her boot as she gestured for Tess to hide. Without argument, Tess melted into the shadows, moving swiftly to a concealed nook in the adjacent room. She took pulled out a dagger, a wolf head accessory dangling off the back on a slight chain, twinkling slightly in the dark.
The knock came again. Firm. Measured. Not the frantic pounding of an amateur, nor the impatient hammering of someone looking for trouble.
Elyan took a slow breath, schooling her expression into something neutral as she reached for the door handle. She didn't even hesitate before clasping it in a firm hold. The moment she turned it, she prepared herself for anything.
But she hadn't expected him.
Felix Cailen stood in the doorway, his sharp blue eyes flicking over her, assessing her just as quickly as she did him. He hadn't changed much since she last saw him—a little more worn, maybe, the shadows under his eyes deeper and his jaw coated with stubble, the weight of the Syndicate's fall pressing heavier on his shoulders.
"Elyan," he said evenly.
She tilted her head, dagger still loosely held at her side. "Felix."
The air between them stretched, heavy with unspoken words.
"We need to talk," Felix said.
Elyan smiled, slow and knowing. "Do we?"
Behind her, Tess held her breath, listening. She was prepared at any time to jump out and lunge at the man, but for now, she just kept quiet and listened.