A week after the last tremor, the storm had returned in earnest. Rain struck the roof and windows in silver threads, a relentless drum above the Archive. Lyra often stayed late, watching her candle flicker across the table scattered with shards and notes. This night, Julen had left hours ago, frustration and worry etched across his face.

  As it often did, the chair across from her remained empty. She hadn’t realised how restless she was until she’d come to this city. Now the restlessness refused to quiet. She could not wait any longer to discover where he disappeared to each night.

  She had overheard whispers of Umbralyns looming in the lower ruins up to things people could not speak of, rumours carried through the servants and guards. That, combined with the fragments’ uneasy song, sent her heart racing.

  Lyra knew it wasn't her place, but she could not help herself.

  She moved quietly through the Archive’s corridors, guided by the dim light of wall sconces. Each step echoed, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and candle wax. Her pulse quickened as she descended the narrow stairwell leading to the lower levels, a place she had only passed once, a corridor of shadows and half-ruined halls.

  The first chamber was dim, the air heavy with wine and smoke. Lyra’s stomach tightened; she realised instantly this was no place for a human on their own.

  Shadows clung to the corners, shifting with the flicker of torchlight, and every sound seemed magnified against the stone walls.

  Several Umbralyns gathered in low conversation, their chains glinting faintly, some free, some scarred. Laughter, rough and careless, echoed against the walls.

  Scantily clad human women lingered nearby, cautious and tense, aware of eyes that lingered too long, brushing against shoulders, murmuring promises in the dark. Some were already tangled with the Umbralyns in shadowed alcoves—sometimes more than one. She noted how some of them left the group separately, and pieced together what they were leaving to do.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Lyra’s pulse hammered; the rumours were real.

  Then she saw him. Caelith stood apart from the others, still, every inch the sentinel. His gaze swept the room, calculating, restrained. Even here, he radiated command, a calm anchor in the chaos.

  Lyra swallowed as she watched him, waiting to see if he would approach any of the human women. If he would drink, laugh, take part in the careless revelry around him.

  Yet he remained apart.

  She couldn’t quite place him here, and yet he did not look out of place either. These were his kind, after all.

  He was Umbralyn.

  Not the same as her.

  As she watched, she felt a heavy gaze on her. She turned to find one of the scarred Umbralyns had noticed her. The predatory glance that followed as he got up to move towards her made her spine stiffen. His approach was slow, deliberate, misreading her presence, mistaking her for one of the women brought for amusement.

  “You there,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly. “What’s a stray little townswoman doing all the way down here?”

  Lyra’s hands clenched at her sides, heart hammering. She pressed herself flatter against the wall, wishing the shadows could swallow her whole.

  The Umbralyn circled, eyes sharp and hungry, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across his face. “Alone?” His gaze traced her form, and every nerve in her body screamed caution.

  She froze, mind racing for a plan. A scrape of her boot echoed across the chamber, and he paused, teeth glinting in the firelight. For some reason, her voice, though she willed it, did not come. Her usually outspoken nature was stifled in the ruins.

  “You move like you know you shouldn’t,” he said, voice dripping amusement. “Perhaps you’re here as a gift… or maybe just foolish.”

  He looked at her up and down, as if about to feast on his prey.

  From the corner of her vision, Lyra noticed movement: a shadow cutting through the chaos. Gods, not another one.

  For now, the scarred Umbralyn leaned closer, letting a hand hover near her shoulder, a whispered breath brushing her cheek. “Not so quick to flee…” he murmured, his predatory smile widening just next to her neck. “You’ve got spirit, little one.”

  Lyra’s eyes widened. She barely restrained a shiver, stepping just enough to pull away, hoping her movement would not provoke him further. The torchlight danced across the room, highlighting the gleam in his eyes, the dark curve of a scar across his jaw, the way he seemed to fill the space with dangerous intent.

  A muffled noise made him freeze.

  Lyra’s stomach lurched, but instinct held her still. She wanted to cry, to shout for help. But she wasn’t sure if it would have the right effect down here.

  Her mind flashed to Caelith, then just as quickly dismissed the thought. He wouldn't be looking for her.

  But unbeknownst to her, in another shadowed corner of the chamber, a pair of eyes tracked both of them.