Mark moved through the back alleys of Gaspinn, keeping to the shadows.

  He had entered the city without registering at the gates. That alone was enough to have him arrested. With the House already in a precarious position, being caught here would be disastrous.

  He didn’t want to be here.

  It was too risky.

  But the lead was too solid to ignore.

  Morigan — the man who stole the House’s secret scrolls — had been spotted in Gaspinn. If the information was true and Mark managed to capture him, everything could change. The House could recover. Things could go back to the way they were.

  He tightened his resolve, inhaled slowly, and made his way toward the central district.

  Four hours later, Mark finally saw him.

  Morigan.

  He wasn’t alone. Several men dressed in black accompanied him as they entered the Archives Hall.

  Mark’s fists clenched.

  I knew it. Those government dogs were involved.

  He forced himself to calm down.

  They must have felt threatened by us for years. The moment we grew complacent, they struck.

  It was fortunate he hadn’t entered through the main gates. If his presence had been recorded, they might have been more cautious.

  Mark waited.

  And waited.

  Eventually, impatience gnawed at him. When he noticed a side window on the ground floor left slightly open by hall assistants, he made his move.

  He checked the surroundings carefully.

  No one.

  He slipped inside.

  Silently, he began making his way toward the upper floors. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he could face Morigan and those men alone — not without completing his training, especially after the manuals had been stolen. For now, he only needed information. Where were the scrolls being kept?

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  He reached an office on the middle floor.

  Compared to the others he had passed, this one was strangely plain.

  That alone made him pause.

  After listening for movement and hearing none, he stepped inside.

  He searched carefully — cabinets, drawers, documents — conducting a thorough but shallow scan of the room. Nothing obvious.

  Then something caught his attention.

  Dust.

  A thin layer coated most of the floor — probably because most unimportant personnel had gone home for the day. But near the bookshelf, the dust was noticeably lighter.

  Mark crouched.

  There were faint scratch grooves along the floor.

  His eyes lit up.

  Without hesitation, he gripped the edges of the bookshelf and began to pull.

  The bookshelf refused to move.

  Mark pulled again, muscles straining. It didn’t shift an inch.

  He stepped back, breathing hard.

  There has to be a latch…

  Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

  Voices.

  Close.

  Mark’s blood ran cold.

  He dropped instantly and slid beneath the heavy wooden desk, flattening himself against the cool stone floor just as the door creaked open.

  Two men entered.

  One sighed heavily. “Long day.”

  “That’s what happens when half the kingdom thinks there’s going to be another attack,” the other replied.

  “Rumors,” the first scoffed. “Just because of those warehouse fires.”

  “They weren’t ordinary fires.”

  “No. But calling them ‘terror attacks’ is stretching it.”

  Chairs scraped.

  Mark held his breath.

  “They’re saying the organization behind it is the same one involved in the Solari incident.”

  “Lower your voice.”

  A pause.

  “You think it’s the phantoms?”

  “The phantoms?” The man almost laughed. “They wouldn’t attack government property. They have no reason to. Not unless they want open war.”

  Silence.

  “Still,” the second continued, “Morigan said something big was on its way”

  Mark’s focus sharpened.

  “Morigan?” the first man said.

  “He’s easier to talk to than the others. The rest just repeat whatever the bosses from the capital send down. But Morigan actually listens. Says the timing of everything is strange.”

  Bootsteps crossed the room.

  Papers shuffled.

  Then—

  “Did you move this shelf?”

  “No.”

  A pause.

  “It wasn’t this far out earlier.”

  Mark’s pulse began to pound.

  “Strange…”

  The room’s owner crouched slightly.

  “There’s less dust here.”

  Bootsteps approached the desk.

  Mark pressed himself tighter to the floor.

  The man bent down—

  Their eyes met.

  Shock flashed across the official’s face.

  “Gu—”

  He never finished.

  Mark’s hands shot forward.

  From bracers strapped around his forearms, two compact cylindrical devices snapped into place with a sharp metallic click.

  The official barely had time to register the glow forming at their cores.

  Then—

  A thunderous eruption.

  High, concentrated flames burst outward in a violent spiral, blasting through the office in a column of roaring heat. The explosion rattled the entire Archives Hall, sending shockwaves through the floors above.

  Glass shattered.

  Books ignited.

  The ceiling trembled.

  The two officials were thrown backward as the firestorm tore through the room.

  Smoke swallowed everything.

  Mark stepped out from beneath the overturned desk, the cylinders on his hands still blazing with contained infernos, the air around him warping from heat.