THE VANE ESTATE - MIDNIGHT

  The backyard of the Vane estate was a pocket of absolute silence. Midnight had swallowed the horizon, leaving only the jagged silhouette of the manor against a bruised sky.

  Kai stood alone. He gripped a shovel. The wood was old, weathered, and splintered; it bit into his palm with every shift of his weight.

  He’d found it behind a rusted wheelbarrow, buried under a shroud of rotting leaves.

  He stayed back. He didn't want to get closer.

  From the porch, the body was just a shape. A heap of red and black rags tossed carelessly onto the grass.

  If he squinted, he could pretend it was a discarded coat.

  The wind shifted.

  The smell hit him first. It was thick and cloying, a heavy sweetness that sat on the back of his tongue like a physical weight. Spoiled meat. Copper. Ruin.

  I have to do this, Kai thought. If I don't, the trail leads back to me. To all of us.

  He forced his feet to move. Each step felt heavy, his boots dragging through the grass as if the earth itself were trying to hold him back.

  He reached the edge of the shadow. The moonlight hit the corpse, illuminating the details his mind had tried to ignore.

  Retch.

  Kai spun away.

  He barely made it to the corner of the garden wall before he hit his knees. The vomit was violent and hot, his stomach turning itself inside out.

  He stayed there for a long moment, gasping, spitting bile into the dirt.

  He had never seen death. Not the raw, visceral reality of it. Not a skull reduced to a pulpy ruin.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his fingers shaking. He forced himself to stand. He had to finish this.

  He turned back toward the body.

  His heart stopped.

  A tall, broad silhouette stood in the center of the yard. It was perfectly still, watching him.

  Rowan, Kai’s mind screamed. The Censor. He’s up. He’s back.

  The figure stepped into a patch of moonlight.

  Balthazar.

  "Bazar!" Kai blurted. The name came out as a strangled yelp.

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  The man’s lips curled into a faint, dry smile. "It's Balthazar."

  Kai pressed a hand to his chest, trying to force his heart back into its proper rhythm. He shifted his stance, trying to block the view of the puddle of vomit behind him. "Why are you here? You said you were leaving."

  Balthazar’s eyes flicked to the corner of the yard, then back to Kai. "I saw it, Kai. Hiding it won't change the fact that your stomach is weaker than your resolve."

  Kai’s face burned. He straightened his shoulders, attempting to find some scrap of dignity. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

  "My work here isn't finished," Balthazar said. His tone was clinical. "I’ll handle the meat. You fix the masonry."

  Kai blinked. "Fix the—how? I don't exactly keep a supply of bricks and mortar in my pockets."

  Balthazar didn't explain. He simply tilted his head toward the side of the house.

  Kai followed. In the shadow of the manor, a neat pile of supplies waited. Timber planks. Nails. A bucket of mortar. Even paint mixed to match the estate's faded cream exterior.

  "How did you get these?" Kai whispered.

  "Finish it by dawn," Balthazar said, ignoring the question. He turned and walked back toward the body. His boots made no sound on the grass.

  Kai watched him. Balthazar picked up the shovel and drove it into the earth. The sound was rhythmic. Thunk. Scrape.

  This was the work of a professional. Hide the body. Patch the hole. Act as if the world hadn't ended.

  Kai picked up a hammer. The weight was grounding, a cold piece of iron that demanded his attention. He looked at the Censor—a man of the law—digging a grave for one of his own.

  This is madness, we're burying an ACA official in the backyard. This feels like I'm a serial killer.

  He turned to the wall and began to work. Behind him, the sound of metal biting earth continued until the sun began to bleed over the horizon.

  THE RUST DISTRICT - EARLY MORNING

  The training camp was a graveyard of ambition.

  What had once been a pristine facility was now an overgrown field of yellowing weeds.

  Weathered training dummies, gray with rot, stood like forgotten sentries on wooden crosses. A crumbling stone well marked the center of the grounds.

  Elara stood in the tall grass, her wooden practice sword gripped in both hands.

  Thwack.

  She struck the dummy’s chest. The impact vibrated up her arms.

  Thwack.

  She reset her stance, her boots digging into the soft soil. Sweat matted her red hair to her forehead. Her lungs burned, but she didn't stop.

  Better to burn now than bleed later, she thought.

  Thwack.

  "Elara," a deep rumble called out.

  She froze mid-swing, then lowered the sword. She turned to see Kaelen. The giant of a man stood at the edge of the field, looking scruffy and tired, the familiar scar on his eyebrow catching the morning light.

  She forced a smile through her exhaustion. "Kaelen. Heading to the docks?"

  Kaelen nodded. "Shift starts soon. Just wanted to check on you."

  "I’m fine," Elara said, wiping her brow. "I’ll be at the camp by noon. Just need to finish my magic drills."

  Kaelen’s expression softened. "That old well still giving you water?" He looked past her, toward the stone structure.

  Then his face went gray. His eyes went wide, reflecting a terror Elara had never seen in him.

  Elara spun. She was too slow.

  A hand, cold and massive, clamped around her throat.

  She was hoisted into the air. Her boots kicked at nothing.

  The grip was absolute—an iron collar of fingers that crushed her windpipe. She clawed at the wrist, but it felt like scratching at a marble statue.

  Kaelen’s voice was a panicked whisper. "Valerius..."

  Elara’s vision spotted. Through the haze, she saw her attacker.

  Valerius. High Inquisitor of House Mortis.

  He was a nightmare in matte-black armor. A heavy iron collar, the mark of a Royal Enforcer, sat thick around his neck. He wasn't angry. He looked amused.

  "How dare you touch one of my people," Valerius said. His voice was a soft, venomous purr.

  Elara tried to gasp, but no air came.

  Kaelen stepped forward, hands trembling. "H-how? How did you find us?"

  Valerius tilted his head, his smirk sharpening into a blade.

  "The others were quite helpful," Valerius said. "I simply asked for directions. Your camp is... very loud when it screams."

  Kaelen’s face twisted in horror.

  Valerius’s grip tightened. Elara’s world began to go black.