Isilyn

  The thud in the hallway was followed by a quiet scrape, as if whoever was out there had caught their balance just in time. My pulse quickened. I wasn't about to let anyone get the drop on me. Not here, not now.

  I moved toward the door, the dagger in my hand feeling like an extension of myself. My fingers tightened around the hilt, and I took a slow, steady breath, forcing my mind to focus.

  I didn’t know who the fuck Draeven Locke was, but the name burned in my mind like an unhealed wound. I had to find him. I had to know what this was all about before it tore me apart. And as much as I hated it, I wasn't the only one looking for answers.

  I inched toward the door, staying low, every step calculated. I could hear breathing now, ragged and quick—someone was close. Too close.

  I pressed my back against the wall and slowly turned the handle. The door creaked open just enough for me to peer through. My eyes locked onto the figure standing there in the darkened hallway, his back to me.

  The instant my gaze caught his, the man froze.

  I didn’t waste time. My body was already moving, the dagger aimed and ready to slice through him if he so much as breathed the wrong way.

  "Don't make a sound." My voice was cold, cutting through the silence like a blade.

  The man's eyes widened, but he didn't reach for a weapon. I could see the fear in his face—fear and desperation.

  "Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I—I'm not here to hurt you. I... I just need your help."

  I didn’t lower the blade. Not yet. "Help? You've got five seconds before I carve your guts out. Start talking."

  "I'm—I'm looking for someone," he stammered. "Someone who... who can help with your problem."

  "What problem?" I asked, the words coming out more as a snarl than a question.

  He hesitated, then spoke, his voice cracking under the pressure. "Draeven Locke. I know you've been looking for him too. I can help you find him."

  The name hit me like a jolt of electricity. My grip on the dagger loosened slightly, but I wasn’t convinced.

  "Who the fuck are you?" I demanded.

  "I'm just a messenger. I'm trying to find Locke too. He's the only one who can fix this." The man took a tentative step back. "Please, I know where he is. I'll take you to him. Just... don't kill me."

  I didn’t trust him. But in a city like this, trust was a currency you didn’t have the luxury of spending. Still, there was something about his desperation that made me hesitate.

  "Lead the way," I said, sheathing my dagger. "But the moment you try something stupid, I'll put a blade through your fucking throat."

  The man nodded quickly, relief washing over his face as he turned to walk down the hallway. I followed at a distance, my senses on high alert. In this city, you couldn’t afford to let your guard down—not for a second.

  The man led me through winding corridors, passing rooms that smelled of stale ale and burnt meat. The deeper we went, the quieter the building became, until the only sound was the faint shuffle of our footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

  Finally, we reached a small, nondescript door at the end of the hall. The man paused in front of it, his hand shaking as he turned the knob.

  "This is it," he said, his voice low. "But you're not gonna like what you find behind it."

  I shot him a glare, pushing past him and flinging the door open. Inside was a room just as nondescript as the hallway we'd come down. It was empty, save for a table in the center, covered with maps and scribbled notes. And there, sitting at the table, was a man. A man who made every hair on the back of my neck stand up. Draeven Locke.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Zarek

  The fuckers came at us fast—too fast. They were like ghosts, sliding out of the darkness, all knives and silent rage. But we weren’t idiots. We weren’t prey.

  Korrin was already in motion, his sword flashing as he slashed at the first bastard who came too close. The man let out a strangled yelp as Korrin’s blade carved through his side. But before he could finish him off, another figure surged forward.

  I didn’t need to think. I didn’t need to analyze shit. It was instinct, pure and simple. My boot lashed out, catching one of them in the stomach, sending him crashing to the cobblestones with a satisfying thud. As he staggered back, gasping for air, I lunged, driving my blade into his gut.

  The alley was alive with the sound of battle now—grunts, the clash of steel, and the sharp inhale of breath as we fought for our lives. These assholes weren’t expecting us to be this fucking lethal.

  I glanced over to Korrin, who was carving through another attacker with practiced precision. The others were handling their own, though the number of them was starting to wear on us. Seven. Maybe more.

  I ducked a swing from one of the bastards and shoved him hard into the wall, my fist connecting with his jaw. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious. But I didn’t stop there.

  Another man lunged at me, his blade aimed for my throat. I sidestepped, and before he could recover, I slammed my elbow into his back, sending him crashing face-first into the stone.

  "Fucking amateurs," I muttered, wiping the sweat from my brow.

  The last one—bigger, older, scarred—had been circling me, waiting for an opening. I was done waiting. I lunged at him, but instead of retreating, he shifted his weight and caught me by the arm. For a second, we were locked in a struggle, both of us pushing, trying to gain the upper hand. But I wasn’t going down that easy.

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  I twisted out of his hold, smashing my knee into his gut. The old bastard staggered back, winded. But he wasn’t done yet.

  "Not bad," he grunted, his breath labored, before he made a desperate slash at me.

  I blocked the blow with my dagger, spinning it in my hand before plunging it deep into his side. The man’s eyes widened, shock and pain mixing in his expression.

  He sank to his knees, and I watched the life drain from him.

  The alley grew quiet again—except for the sound of ragged breaths.

  I glanced around. Korrin was wiping his sword clean, the others doing the same. The fight was over.

  "Who the fuck were they?" Korrin asked, his voice rough as he caught his breath.

  I didn’t have an answer. Didn’t really care to have one either. They’d made their choice the moment they drew their blades.

  I stood over the man I’d just taken down, watching the blood pool around his body. "Doesn’t matter." I sheathed my dagger and turned, starting to walk back toward the alley’s mouth. "But whoever’s pulling their strings is going to regret this. Let’s move before anyone else gets any fucking ideas."

  We kept moving through the twisting streets of Nethraven, though my instincts told me we weren’t done yet. Something wasn’t right—hadn’t been from the moment we set foot in this damned city. Every corner we turned, every shadow we passed, felt like a trap waiting to spring.

  My mind flickered back to our informant. We were supposed to meet him here, but he hadn’t shown up. No surprise, really. In a city like this, trust was as fleeting as a summer breeze. It didn’t matter how many coins you handed someone—no one kept their word when the price was right.

  And then, just as I thought about it, I heard a noise. A scraping sound, like someone’s boots dragging across stone.

  I turned sharply, hand going to the hilt of my sword. The others followed suit, weapons at the ready.

  Out of the darkened alley ahead of us, a figure stepped forward. Thin, with a hunched posture. For a split second, I thought it might be another one of those pricks we’d just taken down. But the figure was alone, and his eyes flickered nervously over us.

  "Who the hell are you?" Korrin demanded, his sword still drawn, though he wasn’t moving forward.

  The man stammered, glancing around like he was looking for an escape. "I... I—I'm not looking for trouble, just... just a favor."

  "A favor?" I sneered. "You're in the wrong city for favors, friend. Speak fast, or we'll give you one of our own."

  "I'm looking for a man," the stranger said, voice cracking with fear. "Someone who can get things... done."

  The words hit me like a kick to the stomach.

  "You're looking for Locke, aren't you?" I asked, my tone low, dangerous.

  His eyes widened, confirming it.

  I motioned for Korrin to lower his blade, though I wasn’t sure if I should be lowering mine.

  "You're in luck, then," I said, a smirk crossing my face. "We were just about to find him ourselves."

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Dravena

  The fucking bastard's grin should've been my warning, but I didn’t have time to process the realization before I heard the unmistakable sound of movement behind me.

  More of them.

  The first one lunged, a blade flashing through the dim alley air. I twisted, jerking my prisoner to the side as a shield, the blade sinking deep into his ribs instead of my flesh. His desperate, gurgling scream filled the air as he went limp in my grip. But it didn’t stop the others.

  I dropped him, letting his dead weight hit the ground, and spun to face the next attacker. There were four more now—five, maybe six, I couldn’t keep count as they crowded in. They moved like shadows, coordinated and silent, their weapons glinting with sick promise. These were no amateurs. They were hunting me, and they had every intention of finishing what they’d started.

  I didn’t give them the chance.

  The first one reached me, a curved dagger aimed straight for my gut. I sidestepped, ducking under his arm, and drove my knee into his ribs. He buckled, gasping, but I didn’t let up. I grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face into the stone wall. His nose cracked, and blood sprayed the ground, but I didn’t stick around to enjoy the moment.

  I was already moving.

  I flipped my wrist, pulling the dagger free from my belt in one swift motion, and slashed upward. The steel caught the next bastard across the cheek, a shallow but painful wound. He snarled and stumbled back, but his hesitation was brief—too brief.

  I barely had time to react before another one lunged from my right. I twisted, but not fast enough. Fire tore through my shoulder as his blade sliced through fabric and skin. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but I gritted my teeth and turned it into fuel.

  I let the momentum carry me forward, using my uninjured arm to drive my dagger into his side. He choked out a pained gasp, but I yanked the blade free before he could recover and sent him crumpling to the ground.

  The alley reeked of blood now—mine, theirs, it didn’t fucking matter.

  Another one down. Three left.

  The tallest of them—scarred, older, and with the kind of calm that screamed experience—circled me, his curved sword gleaming in the dim light. He wasn’t like the others. He was waiting, calculating.

  "You fight well," he said, his voice smooth, practiced. "Shame you're outnumbered."

  I spat blood onto the cobblestones. "I've had worse odds."

  He smirked. "Have you now?"

  He feinted left. I knew better than to fall for it. The real attack came from the man to my side, his knife aimed for my ribs. I twisted just in time, but his blade caught my cloak, tearing through fabric.

  I retaliated with a brutal kick to his knee. Bone crunched. He howled as he collapsed, his leg bent at a sickening angle.

  "One less," I muttered.

  The leader clicked his tongue, unimpressed. "You could've walked away from this, you know. But you're too damn stubborn for that, aren't you?"

  I grinned, blood staining my teeth. "You have no fucking idea."

  Then he moved.

  Fast.

  I barely caught the downward swing of his sword, deflecting it with my dagger. Sparks flew as steel met steel. He pressed down, forcing me back.

  My wounded shoulder screamed in protest, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me.

  With a grunt, I twisted out of the deadlock, ducking low and slashing at his leg. He jumped back, just enough to avoid a killing blow, but my dagger still carved through the leather of his boot. He hissed in pain, but he didn’t stumble.

  His patience was wearing thin.

  Good.

  The final man—quieter than the rest, lingering at the edge of the fight—finally made his move. I barely caught the flicker of movement before he was on me, a thin, wickedly sharp stiletto aimed for my throat.

  I didn’t think.

  I let my already-weak shoulder take the brunt of his weight as he collided into me. Pain erupted, hot and searing, but it was worth it. Because now I had him exactly where I wanted him.

  With a sharp twist, I rammed my dagger into his gut. Deep.

  He let out a strangled sound, his breath shuddering against my cheek. I shoved him off, watching as he crumpled onto the blood-slicked cobblestones.

  The leader exhaled sharply, glancing at his fallen men.

  "You're making this very inconvenient," he muttered.

  "Good," I shot back.

  He studied me for a moment, then sighed, lowering his blade just slightly. "This isn't over."

  I scoffed. "It never is."

  Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed a small glass vial onto the ground. The moment it shattered, thick smoke billowed out, choking the air.

  I coughed, eyes burning as I stumbled back. By the time the smoke cleared, he was gone.

  Coward.

  I pressed a hand to my bleeding shoulder, breathing hard. The alley was quiet now, nothing but the stench of death and the distant murmur of city life beyond the walls.

  I didn’t have time to waste.

  I needed to move.

  I needed to find Locke.

  Because if these bastards wanted to stop me, then I was damn sure I was on the right path.

  And I wasn’t about to let them—or anyone else—stand in my way.