Principal District state was as large as any city, and it was split into three wards.

  There was Ashlock Bridge, where the twins spent most of their time, the Port Canal, which was more of a transport ward, and the administrative ward where the twins found themselves.

  “Tell me again why we are climbing up the building when we stole servant clothes,” Darrow asked, looking below him and seeing Damian following his every move.

  As the rogue, he had been forced to lead the way, something he regretted because he thought they should have just entered the building with the rest of the servants.

  “Because the servants go through the guards’ door unless you're telling me you snuck into the guards' quarters as well and put our names on the servants list.”

  “Don’t worry brother, a few more levels and I will be the best rogue this side of New Calvassan.”

  “Then think of this as a tryout,” he said and looked down, then gulped.

  Darrow released his hand but kept the other on the ledge. He looked back.

  “If we can't go through the guard check, then why are we going for the tallest window on the building?”

  “Because we need to get into his office, then we can find out where he is keeping Elora’s father,” Damian said, then looked down again.

  The drop, if Damian thought about it, was dizzying, and he gripped the cold stone ledge even tighter.

  Far below on the street, spirit carriages, hovercrafts, and gliders moved towards the marble hall that blazed with mana lamps.

  Music echoed from within as greeters dressed in fine silks welcomed the guests. There were harps, flutes, and the sound of polite laughter whenever the goliath half-giant bodyguards opened the doors.

  Someone rode a winged spectral elk wreathed in an aetheric harness. Others arrived in glass-floored hovercrafts while an attendant bowed as a carriage came to a stop.

  From inside the carriage, a merchant lord and his escort, a noblewoman, stepped out. The man wore a robe of shifting bronze threads, and the woman wore a gown that flowed like living water.

  “Are you sure we can't just go in through another window?” Darrow asked, looking for another handhold on the slippery surface of the building.

  “There are no other windows, Darrow,” Damian said.

  He watched Darrow reach out for another ledge, but the brick was wet with condensation, and he slipped. Damian's eyes widened. His heart leapt out of his chest, and terror filled him for an instant.

  He reacted, tempered down his nerves, and reached out. He caught Darrow by the wrist, causing him to dangle.

  Darrow slipped, then his eyes widened. He let out a girlish yell as he tried to steady himself but failed. He reached out, and a hand grabbed him.

  At the loud noise, a light came rushing to the side balcony.

  A guard holding a lamplight swept the balcony some ways away, and they both had to remain as still as they could.

  The leonin mercenary looked for any disturbances, but after a while, the guard with his knight’s helmet shrugged and moved on.

  “If I fall, I swear I am haunting you,” Darrow said, but things just got worse after that.

  “Good to see you're still alive,” Damian said, stretching and pulling his brother up until he got a grip.

  “Barely.”

  Damian chuckled.

  “This proof better be worth it,” Darrow said as he swung himself into the window.

  Damian came up behind him.

  “It is in case this whole thing fails.” He pulled himself through the window.

  Damian looked back out the window and watched as more bodyguards in padded gambesons and steel chest plates started spreading out across the area.

  —

  When they turned around, the room was faintly perfumed with an incense that mixed with the smell of ink and paper.

  Long velvet curtains hung heavy over the tall window they had just climbed through, and bookshelves lined the walls.

  This was the first thing Darrow noticed. No, not the books, but the expensive-looking items next to them on the shelves.

  “You know he's going to notice if you take that,” Damian warned as Darrow's hand froze midway to grab a polished golden skull.

  “Fine,” he said, and his hand moved for a much smaller item. He could probably use it to get into the real Rogue’s gallery guild.

  “Start searching,” Damian said and moved over to the blackwood desk that dominated the center of the room.

  Gold-leafed and lined papers of magically enforced contracts were stacked on one side, and a quill floated idly in its stand on the table.

  “Lavish,” Darrow said, looking for any triggers for secret compartments on the shelves, and Damian did the same for the table.

  They moved quickly and carefully, making sure not to disturb too much, just like when they snuck around Cassandra’s office. And they didn't repeat the mistakes that had led her to catch them — or at least they tried to avoid them.

  Drawers were pried open, and when one didn't, Darrow was quick to pull out an enchanted pick.

  “An enchanted lockpick for an enchanted lock.”

  “Yeah, Elora made it for me,” Darrow said, and the drawer whispered open. The compartment was filled with ledgers, maps, and sealed envelopes.

  Darrow flipped through some of them and saw nothing that he thought could interest him or his associates in the rogue’s gallery.

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  Damian used [Skill Imprint] and copied Darrow's [Altered Awareness] skill, causing his senses to sharpen. He moved over the table with his hand, then pulled a locked and sealed cabinet that he found hidden in the table.

  This one took Darrow a long time to open, and when he managed to pry it open, the enchanted lockpick was completely fried, and the cabinet had magical scorch marks.

  “They are definitely going to notice that,” Damian thought aloud.

  “Didn’t say it was my best work,” Darrow muttered and looked inside.

  There were scroll tubes that were marked with different noble seals, and unlike before, Darrow was very much interested in these.

  “These,” he whispered and licked his lips mischievously.

  “We take them all. Aunt Cass may know what to do with them if we are right,” Damian said, and they rolled up most of what they had found into a satchel.

  Outside, there was faint laughter that filtered up from the ballroom. The bards struck up a faster tune, and loud applause followed.

  “He’s rich, corrupt, and boring,” Darrow muttered as he looked through some of the documents.

  “Keep looking for anything about shipments or warehouses,” Damian said, never looking up from the documents spread out on the table.

  Darrow’s [Altered Awareness] skill hummed. He turned in the direction of the sound, but there was simply a shelf.

  “What is it?” Damian looked up at him. His duration of borrowing Darrow’s skill had run out.

  “Can’t tell.” He said, because there was nothing but statues and books on the shelves, all motionless even to Damian.

  He ignored it, turned away from the shelf, and the sensation faded.

  —

  Suddenly, footsteps echoed from outside the room, and the brothers froze. They turned to the door, and Darrow reached under his cloak.

  The two voices, whoever they were, drifted in and out, but they never entered the office. They moved to the next room over.

  “Lord Greldo, your hospitality always never fails,” a smooth-sounding man said. The voice was deep and undoubtedly feline but rougher.

  “Of course, think nothing of it, lord Rrann,” Lord Greldo voiced.

  Damian and Darrow stepped closer, more intrigued because they seemed to somewhat recognize the lionin’s voice as well.

  “My father would be pleased,” the lionin said.

  The twins exchanged a look. This was the lionin lordling they had gone into the dungeon with, and Greldo the noble lord who had gotten them pardoned by the Guildmistress.

  They crouched beside the wall near the vent, and as they did, the voices became sharper.

  “Ashlock Ward will be yours as soon as the transition is complete,” Greldo said.

  “That ward is a ruin. It’s not what I expected.”

  “No guards. No one has interest in the place, and it can be discreet,” he said and assured the lion man.

  “And the other votes?”

  “They will be secured, I can assure you of that.”

  “You would need a lot of strength to secure even half of Principal City.”

  “I have a project I am working on. When I am ready, I will be confident to help you secure even the Tree City of the half-elves.”

  “You are that confident?”

  “Recently we have made progress with the blood.”

  “Dungeon blood.” Rraan repeated.

  Even he knew that dealing with artifacts of an organic nature was more dangerous, yet he didn't condemn the man. If anything went wrong, it was better for the human to take on the consequences than for him.

  “Yes, it cost me a lot, but that is the price for power,” Lord Greldo said.

  “Very well. I will inform my father of this growing partnership,” Raan said.

  Papers rustled. Darrow could clearly hear, and he guessed contracts shifted hands.

  “And what of those adventurers I met at the guild?”

  “Still worried about two hooligans?” lord Greldo said, and the twins leaned in closer. If it had anything to do with them, they wanted to know about it.

  “I don’t know what it’s like for your kind, but I will not suffer disrespect. My father will not hear of this.”

  They heard him cough, then splatter.

  Lord Greldo cleared his throat.

  “The assassin I sent after them should return soon enough.”

  “Yes, they will serve as a good example for any who tries to cross me again.”

  “Were you not satisfied with the magical staff from the dungeon?”

  “Another one-use magical item. Something my father will put away in the vaults of Golden Wheat District.”

  “Then what’s the matter?”

  “They caused the dungeon to act the way it did.”

  “Do you prefer I present them to you?”

  “I prefer them dead, Lord Greldo. Dead.” Damian's eyes widened from where he stood.

  “Then consider it done.”

  “Then our partnership stands,” Raan grunted, and their glasses clinked.

  “To Ashlock Ward,” Greldo toasted, and Rraan repeated.

  It wasn't long after that when they heard the doors opening, and another person entered the room.

  “My lord, a guest,” a servant's voice interrupted.

  A moment later, chairs scraped against the tiled floor, their footsteps retreated, and the door in the corridor was shut with a faint thud.

  “Did they just say prefer us dead?” Damian stepped back from the wall.

  “Jeez, Damian, let me think… hmm… I think they just did.” the rogue said.

  “I’m serious, Darrow.”

  “I know you're serious,” he said, but couldn’t help himself and rolled his eyes.

  He had to cope somehow.

  As they stepped back from the wall, there was a faint creak behind them. They froze for a second — but only for a second.

  Darrow’s [Shared Fear] flared. He turned, and his eyes widened. It was the bookshelf. He should have noticed, he thought, and watched the bookshelf shifting.

  Damian watched a section of the wall slide open, and a man in all black stepped forward from the darkness. His eyes were a pale grey, and they locked onto them.

  “Assassin,” Darrow breathed.

  The man raised his hand, and a dagger flashed out at him. On instinct, Darrow ducked. A blade sank into the desk with a thud, and he realized that was where his neck had been.

  Damian drew his short blade, and Darrow pulled his daggers out.

  “How did you get in here?” the assassin asked, his voice cold and eyes narrowed at them.

  “Window,” Darrow answered automatically, and the man's mouth twitched.

  “Wrong answer,” he said, then moved in a blur of motion.

  Damian was the first to react. He pushed himself forward, and [Lesser Strength] made him appear inhumanly fast.

  Damian punched out, but the man blocked. His eyes widened, and he ducked the second oncoming blow from Damian.

  A dagger went for his chest, but Damian blocked with his bracer. In the same motion, the man twisted, and he sent Damian’s short blade clattering to the ground.

  There was nothing worse than finding another rogue in the place where the person who held your contract did his business.

  First, it meant the rogue's gallery was cleaning shop, which meant getting rid of an assassin. Or it meant a rival was aiming for your head. Another assassin who wanted you dead, with or without the consent of the leadership of the Rogue's Gallery.

  Luckily for Arden, it was none of those. He had seen the brothers before he had been sent after them.

  This was bad. Bad because this was his master’s office, and it would say a lot about him if anyone found them here.

  Arden the assassin drove forward. Darrow flanked his way left, and Damian moved to face him head-on.

  Damian feinted a strike high, then moved to unbalance the attacker, but the assassin twisted aside effortlessly.

  Arden dodged to the side and appeared on the far end of the room. He swept his hand out, and two daggers flew at Damian.

  Damian raised his arm and blocked one with his bracer, but the second sank deep into his upper arm.

  “Damian!” Darrow shouted, appearing out of the darkness, and the assassin turned towards him.

  Darrow lunged quickly and low, and the assassin reacted just as quickly. Their daggers clashed and sent sparks flying in the dimly lit room.

  He twisted his second dagger and brought it around, but the man’s skill was unreal — too precise and efficient. The assassin slapped his hand to the side and moved to create space between them again.

  Darrow tried to match him in step. He shuffled forward as well, but a blow to the gut sent him reeling back and gritting his teeth.

  The assassin then tried to stab, and Darrow parried the blow, taking a nick on his sleeve.

  Damian charged from the side. He swung a fist out with brute force, but the assassin bent backwards, causing the hand to whistle past.

  He turned and kicked Damian, sending him stumbling back with his own momentum.

  The brothers looked at each other. Damian was bleeding from his arm, and Darrow was breathless from trying to keep up with the high-level rogue. They looked at each other, and they both nodded.

  They started circling. Darrow flanked again. But the man's eyes were fixed on Damian — on his wounds.

  “You should be down,” the man said.

  The wood creaked as Darrow used [Shadow Meld], and the assassin threw a dagger behind him.

  That kept him back, and the assassin moved towards Damian.

  Damian used the opening and charged towards him.

  Suddenly, on a collision course, the man sidestepped and struck upward. The dagger bit deep into Damian’s shoulder.

  He grunted, grabbing the assassin’s wrist, and with his pure strength, he wrenched the man’s arm.

  The assassin let the dagger fall and rolled out of the hold.

  “You're persistent,” the assassin murmured.

  “Annoyed.” Damian asked, but it came out as a flat joke.

  “No, just surprised you are still moving,” he said, then turned and intercepted Darrow before he could get to his back.