I crouched in front of the lowlife—eye to eye with the rot that dared to call himself a man.
The fire behind me crackled softly, but it was the obsidian dagger twirling in my hand that made his breath hitch. A whisper of wind stirred my hair as I leaned closer, shadows dancing across his blood-smeared face.
"I really, really want you dead," I said, voice low and cold. "For what you did to those girls. For what you do. So I'd suggest—no, I advise—that you tell us the truth and start cooperating…"
I smiled, just slightly, and tilted my head toward the dagger still buried in the wall beside his face.
"…or my hand might just slip. And this time, I won't miss."
His breath caught in his throat. For a heartbeat, I saw fear—but then the smug bastard shoved it down, forcing a crooked smile through the pain radiating from his ruined knees.
"Those girls were nothing but cargo," he sneered. "Product you damaged when you killed my men. I couldn't let the livestock live after they saw my face."
My body trembled—not from fear, not even from rage, but from the effort it took not to burn him where he sat.
Then he smirked wider.
"But I'll tell you this little gem for free—" he leaned forward, eyes gleaming with malice "—it felt real good breaking them in. If you know what I mean. They loved it."
He winked.
That was the last thing he did without screaming.
My dagger plunged into his shoulder with a crack of bone and a sound that tore the air apart. He bucked against the wall, but I grabbed his tunic and yanked the blade free with a wet schlk, his blood hot against my hand as it dripped down the obsidian edge.
I brought the tip beneath his chin and lifted.
His entire body shook now, eyes wide, lips parting in shallow, ragged gasps. Panic finally crept in, bleeding through his false bravado.
"Not so smug now, are we?" I said, laughing—or something close to it. The sound that left my throat didn't feel human.
I pressed the dagger just enough to draw a thin line of red along his neck. "Now talk, you disgusting, vile bastard, or I swear to the gods you'll die screaming—and slow."
His jaw clenched. He made a choking noise, half pain, half fear.
Good.
Let him feel even a fraction of what those girls felt.
Because mercy? I left that behind on the blood-soaked snow.
The smell of iron thickened the air. My blade still hovered beneath Sorin's chin, one drop sliding down the edge and splattering onto the floorboards between us.
He cracked.
"Okay! Okay!" he gasped, the bravado finally shattering. "I'll talk, just—please—don't kill me!"
Pathetic. He deserved worse.
I pulled my dagger back slowly and stood. My voice came out flat, cold. "When you're done with him," I told Raiden, "let me know."
Raiden nodded, but as I passed him, he leaned in—close enough that only I could hear.
His voice was velvet-smooth, warm as smoke.
"I know it's probably the wrong time to say this," he murmured, "but watching you just now?" His lips tilted in that infuriating smirk. "That might've been the hottest thing I've ever seen."
Before I could react, his fingers brushed mine—light as a whisper—then he turned and crouched before Sorin again, all business.
That bastard.
My heart thumped once—hard—and I hated how flustered I felt. I was supposed to be furious, not flattered.
Raiden's tone cut through the fog, calm again. "Alright, Sorin. Let's try this once more. Where is the Water Relic?"
Sorin was pale, eyes darting between the blood on my blade and the fire in my stare. But this time, he didn't hesitate.
"There's an ancient temple," he stammered. "High up—on one of the floating mountains. In the Air Kingdom."
Silence. Even the fire seemed to still.
"The Air Kingdom?" I echoed, disbelief edging my voice. "Why would the Water Relic be hidden there?"
Sorin winced but nodded. "It's true. The temple's old—older than the Kingdoms themselves. It's… sacred. Hidden from all but the tribe leaders."
My mind reeled. A Water Relic in an Air Kingdom sky-temple?
Raiden's eyes met mine—stunned, searching.
None of it made sense.
Something deeper was at play here. And for the first time, I felt the pit in my stomach widen.
If the Water Relic wasn't where it was supposed to be… then what else had been hidden from us?
And who the hell put it there?
We stepped away from Sorin, forming a tight circle near the fire, as if we needed distance from him just to think.
Muir raked a hand through his hair. "I want to believe him," he said, voice low. "If it's true, we can finally track the next piece. The sooner we find the relics, the sooner we end this."
Revik snorted, arms crossed. "You want to believe a slaver? He'd say anything with a blade to his throat."
Raiden's jaw flexed. "Maybe. But a floating temple in the Air Kingdom? That's not the kind of detail you invent on the fly. It's too specific." He glanced at me. "What do you think?"
But I wasn't looking at any of them.
My eyes had drifted to the cot—where the little girl lay curled beneath the fur blanket, her small chest rising and falling in shallow, exhausted breaths. Her hand still clutched the edge of the fabric like it was the only safe thing in the world.
""We're going," I said quietly. "Truth or not. We need to take her home."
"How do you even know she's from the Air Kingdom?" Revik asked, voice low but sharp.
I looked down at the child again—the dark sweep of hair, the olive of her skin, the crooked line where soot had mixed with dried blood on her cheek. "She has the tribal markings," I said. "The way her skin tones shift under dirt, the thick black hair. I knew a few girls back in the slums who looked just like her—said they were from the Air Kingdom."
Revik squinted. "I can't see any tattoos on her," he protested.
"When you're used to looking at people with a thick layer of grime," I answered, "you get pretty good at telling what's dirt and what's ink."
"Fair enough," he conceded, the humor in his voice brittle but present.
"Let's take her home."
No one argued.
Then Sorin's raspy voice clawed through the air. "I'm telling you the truth!" he gasped, every word soaked in pain. "I'd bet my life on it!"
My gaze snapped to him—and I smiled.
"Good," I said. "That's all I needed to hear."
His eyes went wide. "Wait—wait, no—please—!"
I didn't stop. Each step I took echoed against the wood. He flinched as I crouched in front of him again, my obsidian dagger twirling lazily between my fingers.
"I want a name," I said, voice like frost. "Who's your handler? Who do you answer to?"
His breath hitched. "L-Lord Kareth," he stammered. "One of the lesser nobles of the Water Court. But this—this goes higher. I swear. I don't know who. Orders come sealed. Always."
I studied him—the panic, the sweat, the trembling hands. There was no lie in that fear. That part, I believed.
"That's the thing with people like you," I said softly, tilting my head. "You're always just following orders. Always too much of a coward to look the devil in the eyes."
He opened his mouth to speak.
I didn't give him the chance.
The dagger flashed.
A clean line across his thigh.
Blood erupted in thick, pulsing waves, spreading fast across the floorboards.
He screamed—ragged, animal, desperate.
I stood and watched. Not out of cruelty, but because he needed to feel it. To understand helplessness. To understand what it meant to die without power.
"Your life ended," I said, "the moment I saw what you did to those girls."
He begged. Cried. Promised anything. I didn't listen.
I turned my back, walking away as his life spilled out behind me.
"Enjoy watching yourself die," I muttered. "Asshole."
No one stopped me.
Because they knew—some people don't deserve mercy.
The first light of morning spilled through the frosted windows, soft and gold like a promise I wasn't ready to believe in. Snow still blanketed the world outside, but inside the cabin, the air was warm with smoke and quiet breath.
Revik and Raiden were already moving—silent, efficient. They dragged what was left of Sorin's body out of sight. I hadn't needed to ask twice.
"Get rid of him," I'd said. "She's been through enough."
And they did.
I turned toward the little girl. She was still curled beneath the blanket, so small it nearly swallowed her. She hadn't stirred since the night before. That kind of stillness didn't belong to children.
My chest ached.
I moved to the hearth where Muir was tending the flames. "Hey," I said quietly. "Do you think you could find some real clothes for her? Something that doesn't look like it came out of a dungeon?"
He looked up, and for once, his usual sarcasm wasn't there.
"Yeah," he said softly. "I'll find something. Might be a little big, but it'll be warm."
I nodded, eyes drifting back to the child.
She was breathing evenly now. Peaceful. Safe—for the first time in a long while.
And for the first time in longer, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have to live with nightmares.
Or at the very least know only kindness from now on.