“Can I come in?” Lacey’s voice was cautious but firm.

  “Yeah, get in here,” he replied, his tone laced with weariness.

  Lacey entered, her usual spark dimmed, replaced by an intensity that mirrored his own. She crossed her arms, her dagger now tucked away. “You know we can’t keep doing this, Damian. It’s getting dangerous, and I don’t just mean the Rissi.”

  Damian sighed, running a hand through his orange hair. “I know. Tonight was... it was rough. The operation—”

  She cut him off. “Not just that. This is getting to you. What you did in there, with Kith? A few months ago, you would’ve cooled off, given it a day, and then gone to talk to him yourself. Kith might be slimy, but he’s got connections. There could be blowback from you just snatching him off the street—or having me snatch him off the street.”

  She paused, searching his face. “I know it’s been horrible, Damian, but I’m worried. I’m worried about you.”

  “I understand,” he said, his voice tight. “This isn’t my usual play, but none of this is usual. I can’t just sit back and let them run rampant. They’re taking lives—innocent lives. We have to hit back harder.”

  “And what happens if you go too far?” she pressed, her eyes narrowing. “What if someone in our circle gets hurt because of it? I’m not talking about tonight; we all knew the risks and were willing to take them. I’m talking long-term. You’re going to make more enemies than we need.”

  “Then I’ll deal with it,” he snapped, frustration spilling over. “I can’t stand by while that scum—”

  Lacey stepped closer, her voice low and steady. “I get it. Believe me, I do. But we need to think strategically. What if this is just the beginning? What if they’re waiting for us to make a move? Donovan won’t sit back and let this go. He’ll come for us.”

  Damian leaned against his desk, staring out at the flickering city lights. “Then we prepare. We gather our resources, fortify our position. We can’t let them intimidate us. Not after what they’ve done.”

  “Then let’s gather intel ourselves,” Lacey suggested, her tone softening. “I’d rather take it slow than rush in blindly again. Maybe we can talk to the others, see what they think.”

  He turned to face her, considering. “You really think they’ll listen? After what just happened?”

  “They’ll listen if you give them a chance. You’re our leader, Damian. But even leaders need to step back sometimes.”

  He rubbed his temples, the weight of her words sinking in. She was right, but admitting it felt like weakness. “Fine. We’ll regroup in the morning, but I want eyes on Kith. I don’t trust him. I want to know his next move.”

  Lacey nodded, a flicker of relief crossing her face. “I’m already on it, Boss. And you should rest. You’ve been through a lot today.”

  As she turned to leave, Damian called out, “Lacey?”

  She paused, looking back at him.

  “Thanks for having my back.”

  She offered a small smile, a flicker of warmth in the tension-filled room. “Always.”

  Once alone, Damian settled into his chair, the worn leather creaking beneath him. He pulled a small, worn notebook from his desk, flipping through the pages filled with hastily scrawled notes and ideas. He had a plan forming, a way to turn the tables on the Rissi. But he needed more than just fury; he needed strategy, cunning.

  He glanced out the window again, the moonlight casting silver over the city. “This isn’t over, Donovan,” he murmured to himself, determination hardening in his chest. “Not by a long shot.”

  Kith had mentioned Seth. If he had provided the intel, maybe he held the key to uncovering the truth. Damian reached for his pencil, scratching down a note.

  He needed to pay the wind sprite a visit.

  He would heed Laceys words on this. They could make a plan and tackle this together. They would do this right, for everyone.

  With that decision made, he felt a flicker of purpose reignite. There was still work to be done, and he wouldn’t rest until the Rissi were dismantled piece by piece.

  Glancing at the clock, he frowned. As good as all this motivation is, it’s going to have to wait till morning, not that it’s long away now. A nap- and a good wash. He grimaced, rubbing some dried blood spattered on his arm.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Damian leaned back in his chair, the dim light casting long shadows over the cluttered desk. Frustration and worry churned within him like a brewing storm. Footsteps echoed from the stairs, and he steeled himself, knowing exactly who was coming.

  An imposing figure appeared in the doorway, framed by the still-open door. Damian took a moment to study him, noting the stiffness in his posture and the serious set of his mouth.

  Jay was one of Damian’s oldest allies, their friendship forged back when they were both just struggling to survive on the streets, outcasts for their demonic heritage. Damian had thought he knew all about discrimination—until he saw how people reacted to Jay. With his striking yellow eyes and green skin, Jay’s unique mix of demon and earth or forest sprite set him even further apart. His demonic features clashed with his sprite heritage, an unusual combination that only added to his otherworldly aura and made most people keep their distance.

  Sprites and demons rarely mingled, their conflicting magics creating a natural animosity. The fact that Jay even existed was a rarity, and it hadn’t done him any favors before he’d grown powerful enough to defend himself. But Damian had crossed paths with him early on, when they were both scrawny, desperate kids scraping by however they could. Thick as thieves—literally—they had become inseparable, running small jobs for scraps just to get through the day. Now, they were running much bigger jobs with far higher stakes.

  Looking at Jay now, Damian could still see the scrappy street kid he had known back then: the crooked, once-broken nose, and the scars etched across his knuckles. Most people wouldn’t look past the hardened exterior, but Damian knew Jay was a deeply emotional creature, despite the steely facade he wore.

  Jay leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms gingerly over his chest—a casual stance that did nothing to mask the tension thickening the air between them.

  “Mind if I crash this little party, Boss?” he asked, his voice gruff but comforting in its familiarity.

  “Would it matter if I said yes?” Damian shot back dryly. Jay huffed in response—a sound that, on a different day, might almost have passed for a chuckle.

  He relaxed his stance, favoring his injured wrist as he uncrossed his arms. He stepped into the room, his gait rough and uneven. His usually sharp brown eyes held a darker expression—uncertainty, perhaps.

  “Take a seat,” Damian said, gesturing to the chair opposite. He watched as Jay lowered himself gingerly, a grimace flashing across his face.

  “Well, that went well,” Jay began, sarcasm lacing his words. “I’ve seen worse, but not by much. You really scared the hell out of Kith.”

  “I had to make a point,” Damian said, leaning forward with elbows resting on the desk. “But right now, we need to focus on what happened out there. I’m more worried about our team.”

  Jay’s demeanor shifted from humor to something serious, the casualness fading. “Yeah, about that. I think we’ve got a rat in our midst.”

  Damian’s heart sank at the accusation. “What makes you say that?”

  “Everything felt too coordinated,” Jay replied, lowering his voice. “The intel, the ambush—the Rissi were waiting for us in a way that doesn’t add up. Someone had to have known.”

  The thought gnawed at Damian. “You think someone on our team sold us out? I can’t accept that.”

  “Look, I don’t want to believe it either,” Jay said earnestly. “But think about Seth. Kith’s source? I’m passingly familiar and that kid is too smart to mess around with the Rissi. If he fed Kith false information, it was deliberate. It means someone from our side might have tipped them off.”

  Damian shook his head, stubbornness rising. “No. Not my team. We’re family. Lacey? Rem? They wouldn’t betray us. They know what’s at stake.”

  Jay’s eyes hardened, his voice steady yet firm. “I get it, Damian. You trust them. But that trust won’t shield us if someone’s leaking information. We can’t afford to be naive.”

  “Naive?” Damian shot back, anger flaring beneath the surface. “You think I’m being naive for wanting to believe in my team? After everything we’ve been through?”

  “Believing doesn’t keep you safe,” Jay countered, leaning closer, intensity flickering in his gaze. “If we don’t consider the possibility, we’re playing right into their hands. You need to look at the facts, not just the people.”

  Damian clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of Jay’s words. “And what facts do you have? Lacey’s been acting concerned? Rem took a hit? That doesn’t make them guilty.”

  “That’s not it,” Jay pressed, frustration evident. “I’ve seen it in all of them—unease, tension. Something isn’t right. We need to investigate.”

  “Investigate?” Damian echoed, disbelief flooding his voice. “You want to interrogate my team? Tear apart what we’ve built?”

  Jay sighed, frustration morphing into empathy. “I don’t want to, but we have to protect ourselves. If someone is betraying us, it puts all of us at risk. I can’t stand by and watch that happen.”

  Damian met Jay’s gaze, the respect they held for each other palpable in the charged silence. “You’re asking me to doubt my family. That’s not something I take lightly.”

  “I know,” Jay said, softening slightly. “But I’d rather be wrong and cautious than blind to a threat. We have to keep our guard up, no matter how hard it is.”

  Damian rubbed his temple, feeling the pressure mount. “I’ll talk to them. But I refuse to make accusations without proof. I trust my instincts, and I trust them.”

  “Fair enough,” Jay replied, begrudging respect in his tone. “But if anything changes, you know where to find me.”

  “Right,” Damian said, the tension in the room still thick. “Let’s regroup. We’ll keep an eye on everyone without stirring up panic. I don’t want to fracture the team more than we already have.”

  Jay nodded, pushing himself up from the chair, wincing as he moved. “Just stay sharp. If I catch wind of anything, I’ll let you know.”

  Damian watched him go, his jaw clenched tight. Once alone, he leaned back in his chair, the shadows of doubt curling around him like smoke.

  He ran a hand through his hair—tried to—but his fingers tangled in the dried viscera caked on the strands. With a frustrated sigh, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ignoring the burning pain from his side.

  He had to act decisively to protect his family—his team. The last thing he wanted was to mistrust those he considered his own, but doubt gnawed at him.