Two hours slipped by as the group traversed a landscape of jagged, slick stone. They moved at a measured pace—neither hurried nor slow. One careless step would mean a broken limb. Or worse.

  “We’re close,” Ledley announced without turning. “You may rest soon.”

  No one answered. Breathing and footing took priority.

  A few minutes later, the rocks thinned and then vanished entirely.

  They stepped into a wide expanse of purple grass that stretched to the horizon. It rippled in slow waves beneath the wind, whispering against itself like distant surf. The air felt strangely alive.

  Adam mimicked the Priests’ fatigue while studying their surroundings. A lone two-story brick house stood nearly a mile ahead.

  What’s that doing out here? He mused.

  “That is our destination,” Ledley said, pointing toward it.

  “Your Grace,” Jamari began cautiously, “what exactly is this place?”

  “A shared safehouse,” Ledley replied. “Allies use it. We rest, gather information on the border, and move at dawn.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “Fighting inside is forbidden. Break that rule, and you will die. Understood?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Move. Sunrise waits for no one.”

  They advanced in tighter formation.

  Adam inhaled.

  Salt.

  Why does it smell like the sea?

  The wind strengthened as they drew nearer, carrying a briny tang. Closer inspection revealed streaks of viscous blue-black liquid clinging to the blades of purple grass.

  “Do not concern yourselves with the scent,” Ledley said. “It repels animal scouts. The nectar serves a similar purpose for human meddlers.” He paused. “The tokens in your possession shield you from its effects. Lose them and you will not enjoy what follows.”

  Several hands drifted instinctively to coat pockets.

  They reached the porch.

  The structure had no windows, only a single rusted steel door.

  Ledley stepped forward and withdrew a brown crucifix from his coat. Pressing it to the scratched metal, he murmured words too low to discern.

  Clanking answered from within.

  Gears shifted.

  A narrow slot—shaped precisely like the crucifix—etched itself into the door’s surface. Ledley inserted the symbol.

  Green light flared.

  The crucifix fractured—splitting cleanly into eight tokens.

  The steel door swung inward with a grinding clang.

  A dim corridor sloped downward into shadow.

  “These tokens grant entry and exit,” Ledley said, collecting one. “Do not lose them.”

  Without another glance, he descended.

  Frences and the twins followed. Then Cilio and Astor.

  Adam and X entered last, shoulder to shoulder.

  Halfway down, the steel door slammed shut behind them.

  The briny air vanished—replaced by warmth, music, and the aroma of cooked meat. Laughter echoed from below. Shadows danced along the passage walls.

  “Are they hosting a feast?” Adam murmured.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet,” X replied. “This place is tame compared to some safehouses.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  She slowed slightly.

  “Be careful in there. Alliances mean little in places like this. People disappear.” Her tone lowered. “If possible, keep your distance from me.”

  Adam glanced sideways. “Afraid I can’t handle myself?”

  “It’s the opposite,” she said flatly. “I’m afraid of what you might do.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  She produced a thin veil and draped it across her face.

  “Please don’t cause trouble.”

  “I’m no troublemaker,” Adam replied, smiling faintly.

  “I’ll see you inside.” She punched his shoulder lightly before quickening her pace toward Ledley.

  Adam watched her go.

  I won’t cause trouble… unless it comes find me.

  His gaze shifted.

  Jamari was staring.

  The young man quickly looked away.

  Let’s hope he doesn’t do anything foolish.

  Adam stepped into the hall.

  The space stretched more than thirty feet across in both directions. White-coated walls bore deep gashes and scorch marks—proof of past “agreements.” Boot prints scarred the cement floor.

  The scent of fresh bread and roasted meat mingled with heavy alcohol. Clusters of furniture filled the room. Laughter rose from groups of men and women, some armored, others plainly not.

  A few curious eyes turned toward the newcomers—then immediately dropped when they recognized Ledley and X.

  “Welcome, esteemed guests!” A boy with oily cheeks and a faded hat bowed deeply. “My name is Ezi. How long will you be staying?”

  “Not long,” Ledley replied. He handed over a black coin. “Prepare eight rooms if needed. The guild will cover payment. I require a private table. See to my subordinates.”

  Ezi’s grin widened. “Of course.”

  He gestured to two masked women dressed in silks far too thin for travel.

  “Escort our honored guests.”

  They led Ledley and X toward a concealed section of the western wall.

  Ezi turned back to the others.

  “Gentlemen? Food? Drink? We offer the finest delicacies from Dratol.”

  Frences spoke for Cilio and Astor. “A table for three. Your best beer. Steak.”

  “At once.”

  Another attendant led them away.

  “Will you three dine together?” Ezi asked.

  “No,” Jamari answered quickly. “Just my brother and me. Scented water, gush ale, and two plates of your specialty.”

  They were escorted to the opposite end of the hall.

  “And you, sir—?”

  “Water,” Adam said simply. “I’ll sit alone.”

  He moved toward an empty table before Ezi could press further.

  This mission may take longer than I anticipated.

  He folded his hands loosely before him.

  If saving Ledley’s life is enough, Archbishop will be within reach. But is that truly why the Vicar sent me?

  Adam closed his eyes.

  Around him, drunken cheers rose and fell, but none pierced the quiet forming behind his expression.

  Jamari had not looked away from Adam once.

  He tore a thin strip of meat from his plate, chewing without tasting it.

  “Brother,” Ruben murmured, lowering his cup, “do you have something against him? You’ve been staring all night.”

  “Mind your business,” Jamari said flatly. “It doesn’t concern you.”

  “It’s about the female Bishop, isn’t it? You shouldn’t—”

  “I said it’s none of your business.”

  His fist struck the table.

  Glasses tipped. One shattered against the stone floor.

  Music faltered for half a breath. Nearby patrons turned.

  Then the laughter resumed, louder than before.

  Two masked attendants rushed forward, kneeling to clear the broken glass. The brothers continued eating in brittle silence.

  A shadow fell across their table.

  “Gentlemen,” a voice drawled, “it seems you might require assistance.”

  Two bald men stood over them, fur coats hanging open to reveal scarred, hairy chests.

  “Fuck off,” Jamari muttered. “We’re not interested.”

  The larger of the two chuckled and placed a sheathed dagger on the table with deliberate care.

  “Don’t be like that, Jamari. You’ve forgotten me already?”

  Jamari looked up.

  Recognition flickered.

  “…Terrel.”

  “Took you long enough.” Terrel grinned and clapped a heavy hand onto Jamari’s shoulder. “Still breathing, I see.”

  He dragged over a chair and sat without invitation.

  “So this is the twin? You never mentioned him. Can’t blame you. He’s better-looking.”

  Jamari snorted despite himself. “Ruben, this is Terrel. We used to work together.”

  He leaned closer.

  “Some know him as the Gut Hacker.”

  Ruben’s posture stiffened.

  The name carried weight in Dratol’s underworld—once a butcher, now an assassin who treated bodies the same way.

  Terrel waved dismissively. “Titles are for the dead. We’re all friends here.” His eyes gleamed. “Though you might want to keep distance from your brother. He’s unstable.”

  Terrel and Ruben laughed.

  Jamari did not.

  Terrel poured himself a glass of gush ale and swallowed it in one gulp. Foam clung to his beard.

  He leaned forward.

  “So,” he said softly, “who’s the man you’ve been undressing with your eyes?”

  Jamari’s smile vanished.

  “Just a nuisance.”

  Terrel followed his gaze to Adam.

  “No,” he murmured. “That’s not how you look at a nuisance.”

  Jamari’s fingers tightened around his cup.

  “We’re on a mission. I’ll deal with him later.”

  “Let me handle it.”

  Jamari stilled.

  “You remember Cemil?” Terrel continued. “You dragged me out when my guts were in my hands. I owe you.”

  He tapped the dagger lightly against the table.

  “Consider this repayment.”

  Jamari hesitated only a moment.

  “How confident are you?”

  “He’s a Priest, right?”

  Jamari nodded.

  Terrel grinned wider. “Then I’m certain.”

  He thumped his chest once. “Abilities don’t matter. In the end, everyone’s insides feel the same.”

  Jamari allowed himself a thin smile.

  “Aren’t you worried about the repercussions?”

  Terrel shrugged.

  “I’m leaving the east. It has become too dull for my liking.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve secured a path north. The Council of Hollows is recruiting. There’s a bounty in Dratol—someone making noise. The Eight Gates want him erased.”

  Jamari and Ruben exchanged a glance.

  If the Eight Gates wanted someone dead, the target was far from ordinary.

  Jamari raised his cup. “To your success.”

  Terrel laughed and refilled it. “I’ll make it clean. Nothing will trace back to you. I just need—”

  “He’s leaving,” Ruben cut in.

  All three turned.

  Adam walked toward the stairs, a cup of water in hand.

  Terrel’s smile sharpened. “Well. Fortune favors the bold.”

  He stood, draining his ale.

  “Enjoy your meal, Jamari. Try not to miss me.”

  He motioned to his companion and followed Adam out.

  Ruben swallowed. “Brother… are you sure—”

  “Enough.”

  Jamari’s voice left no room for debate.

  “Whatever happens next has nothing to do with us.”

  Ruben lowered his gaze.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  At that same moment, as Adam and the two assassins ascended the corridor, five figures rose from a corner table near the entrance.

  They wore long kurtas. Animal skulls concealed their faces.

  They approached the reception desk in unhurried steps.

  Ezi straightened nervously.

  “Gentlemen, how may I assist you?”

  “Oyioooo,” one of them crooned. “The meal was delightful. Oyioooo.”

  Ezi forced a smile.

  “I’ll pass your compliments to the chefs. Is there anything else?”

  “No,” said the one wearing an armadillo skull. “It’s time to hunt.”

  He turned slightly. “Lankesh.”

  The tallest among them stepped forward.

  Before Ezi could inhale, a hand clamped around his skull.

  A wet crack split the air. The body dropped. Silence flooded the hall.

  Blood crept across the stone floor.

  The masked attendants stood frozen, unable to process what they were seeing.

  “Oyioooo…” the armadillo mask sang. “It’s time to hunt Scavs.”