Rain blurred the world into a gray haze as I ran through the streets, boots splashing in puddles that swallowed the cobblestones. Hours had passed since I talked with the Regent. The city felt hollow. Dark. Empty.

  Almost.

  I turned a corner and froze for a second. A squad of soldiers kicked in the door of a small house, rifles raised, shouting orders as terrified families were dragged into the street. I caught a glimpse of children crying through the rain-streaked window as men in storm-gray uniforms tore through cupboards, ripped blankets from beds, searched every corner like demons hunting shadows.

  I slipped back into an alley and kept moving, my chest tight.

  Finally, the cathedral loomed ahead.

  Saint Patrick’s. Its spires clawed at the storm clouds, rain cutting down their black silhouettes like streaks of falling glass. Human statues in the visage of armored paladins lined the peaks, their stone eyes hidden beneath their helmets blind to the world drowning beneath them.

  I climbed the steps two at a time and hammered my fist against the great oak door. The echo of it disappeared into the storm.

  A moment later, the door cracked open. A priest’s face appeared in the gap, hood drawn low, shadows hiding his eyes.

  “We are not accepting visitors,” he said softly.

  “I’m here for Mary,” I replied, rain dripping down my mask. “Tell her Damian has an urgent message.”

  The priest hesitated. “She is not expecting you.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said firmly. “Tell her.”

  He studied me for a long breath. Then, with a small nod, he opened the door wider. “Very well. Come.”

  The two paladins on either side of the entrance watched me step inside, their armor polished even in the gloom, halberds glinting in the candlelight. Their eyes followed me like statues waiting to move.

  I stood still, water pooling at my feet. The cathedral was colder inside than out, the scent of incense clinging faint beneath the musk of wet stone.

  Minutes dragged. My fingers twitched. Finally, I glanced at one of the guards. “So, you guys get paid well?”

  Silence. Not even a blink.

  I sighed. “Tough crowd.”

  At last, the priest returned, carrying a folded towel. He handed it to me, his expression unreadable. “Her Highness has accepted your presence. Follow me. And please…” He lowered his voice. “…be respectful. She has been in a sour mood as of late.”

  I shrugged. “Just teenager things, probably.”

  The priest stopped, turning sharply. “Be more respectful of her Highness.”

  I cleared my throat. “Right. Sorry.”

  I wiped myself down with the towel as I followed him deeper into the cathedral’s halls. Water still dripped from my coat, but the towel at least kept me from looking like I’d just crawled out of the river.

  Each corridor was lit with flickering candle sconces, their flames bending in the cold drafts that whispered through broken panes high above. The silence pressed harder with every step.

  Finally, we stopped before a tall, arched door guarded by another pair of paladins. The priest bowed, knocked twice, and spoke clearly.

  “Sir Damian has arrived.”

  From beyond the door, Mary’s voice floated, soft but firm. “Let him in.”

  The priest opened the door, bowing as I stepped inside. The door shut behind me with a heavy thud.

  Mary sat at her desk near the window, a large tome spread open before her. The candlelight brushed against her face, against the pale curve of her cheek as she held her necklace tight in both hands, lips whispering prayers I couldn’t hear. The wind stirred through the open window, making the flame bend and dance, its glow catching her hair like threads of gold.

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  For a moment, I simply watched.

  When she finished, she let the necklace of a white mask hang gently against her chest and turned toward me, her eyes calm but sharp. “You’re soaked.”

  I sighed faintly. “I wish I had an umbrella.”

  Her head tilted. “Umbrella?”

  I waved it off. “Never mind, we have more important things to worry about.”

  Mary looked at me, her eyes thinned. “What do you mean?”

  I drew a breath. “It’s time.”

  Her brows lifted slightly. “Time…? You mean-”

  “Yes.” My voice was low. “It's time we investigate what the Bishop said in that letter. We have around ten hours left before the Regent orders an evacuation of the city, so it can't wait any longer.”

  She froze. Her lips parted, then pressed shut. Her eyes swept over me, dripping wet despite the towel. “I heard of the attacks… but I did not think…” Her gaze drifted to the storm outside the window. “I did not think it was this dire.”

  “That Bishop gave us thirty-six hours,” I said. “Until something. Disaster, most likely. Your uncle is trying to deal with that time frame. He will order the evacuation of the city close to midnight.”

  Her hand trembled faintly on the desk. “The people… the people of this city will never survive the chaos.”

  “That’s why we need to leave now,” I pressed. “Even if it’s a trap. It’s clear the Bishop won’t harm us. He wants us to discover something. We need to take our chances.”

  Mary shook her head, voice quiet but resolute. “I am confined here, especially now, with the heightened security.”

  “I'd go alone if I could. But if what the Bishop wrote is true, it will take both our Eyes. We have to leave, unless we wish to see this city forsaken.” I replied, my voice sharp.

  She didn’t answer right away. She turned her gaze toward the storm outside, her eyes distant. Finally, she whispered, “Once my uncle and the Church discover this… Damian, you will die.”

  I forced a grim smile. “Then we better find something worth my life.”

  Mary’s gaze lingered on me, worry flashing across her face. For a moment, it startled me - genuine concern, something I didn’t expect. But she shook her head quickly, masking it beneath her usual composure.

  “Very well. The only egress lies through the window. It’s at least ten meters.”

  I raised a brow. “How many sheets do you have?”

  “Just the one on my bed.”

  I groaned under my breath, scanning the room. Pillows. Curtains. Anything with fabric. “Not ideal.”

  Gathering everything I could, I tore the linens free and knotted them together into a makeshift rope - bedsheets, pillowcases, even the curtains. Five meters at best. The knots were uneven, but it would have to hold.

  “It’ll get us halfway,” I muttered. “I’ll go first. Drop the last bit, hope I don’t snap my ankle. Then I’ll catch you.”

  I scanned her white dress, luminous even in the candlelight. “Do you have anything waterproof? A cloak, a shawl-?”

  "That task typically falls to the servants." she said, shaking her head.

  I tugged off my coat, heavy and still damp, and draped it over her shoulders. “This will have to do. Sorry about the water.”

  She clutched it close. “It’s fine.”

  I tied the rope tight around the bed-frame and tossed it out the window. Rain poured in instantly, spattering the stone floor. I moved to climb through, but her voice stopped me.

  “Damian.”

  I looked back. “What?”

  Her eyes narrowed, stern. “Don’t look up my dress.”

  For a second I just blinked at her, almost offended. “…Do I really look like someone who would-”

  Her expression didn’t change.

  I sighed, deadpan. “Yes, your Highness.”

  I swung out the window. The rope swayed under my weight, knots creaking. Reaching the end, I dropped the last five meters, rolling on the wet grass to keep from breaking something. Pain jolted through my ankle, but nothing snapped.

  I groaned as I pushed myself upright. “Fantastic. Now my white shirt’s going to cling tightly all night. But no time for fashion complaints.”

  Mary’s pale hands appeared on the rope above. She moved carefully, slower than me. I positioned myself below, arms raised, trying not to think about how idiotic this was and kept my gaze towards the ground.

  Her voice drifted down. “I’m going to drop.”

  I glanced at the grass, muttering, “Don't worry your majesty, my eyes are indeed averted.”

  Then she let go.

  I caught her just before she hit, staggering back with her weight but managing to keep us both upright. She pulled away quickly, tugging the hood over her head.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “Don’t mention it.” I adjusted the coat over her shoulders. “Keep the hood up. No one can know it’s you.”

  She nodded once.

  “We’ll need to jog for about ten minutes,” I added, glancing toward the dark streets ahead. “There’s an entrance to the drain tunnels.”

  Her eyes flicked toward me. “And you know where it is?”

  “Yeah,” I said, my tone clipped. “At one of the abandoned orphanages. One I explored when I first came to Morren. I’m an orphan, after all.”

  She twitched under the hood, but she said nothing.

  I turned into the rain, leading us into the storm.

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