The air outside Kael's quarters bit colder — or perhaps it only felt that way because Zelene's heart hadn't slowed since she left him.
The torches along the corridor flickered low, their flames bowing to every breath of wind that crept through the cracks of the ancient stone. She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, every step echoing like a secret she wasn't supposed to carry.
Kael's voice still lingered, steady and low — the kind of calm that wasn't peace but exhaustion in disguise.
"Stay out of sight until I find out what the Prince is planning."
She had wanted to argue. She almost had. But the weight in his tone — that quiet, worn-down steel — had stilled her tongue.
There were battles even she couldn't win against him.
Now, guided by Darius through the narrow artery of Dravenhart's underhalls, Zelene tried to quiet the storm that pressed against her ribs.
Weeks had passed since her family's murder, yet every night still replayed like a curse — the sharp scent of smoke, the thunder of boots, the final, broken cry that she could never unhear. And through it all, she had prayed she wasn't too late.
Seeing Kael again should have been a mercy.
Instead, it felt like a warning from the gods.
"Here," Darius murmured, breaking her reverie. His voice carried the gravel of long service, not cruelty, but duty. He pushed open a narrow wooden door.
The room beyond was small — barely more than a forgotten guardroom.
The walls sweated with age, a single lamp flickered on a table that looked ready to splinter beneath its own weight. Dust caught the light like slow-falling ash.
"You'll be safe here, my lady," Darius said, bowing his head slightly — the kind of gesture meant for someone who once held a title. "His Grace asked that you wait. And… that you draw no attention."
Zelene inclined her head, her voice soft but steady. "I'll try not to start a revolution, Ser Darius."
A ghost of a smile threatened his expression — but only for a heartbeat. "Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he muttered before leaving, the lock turning gently behind him.
Silence settled in his wake, heavy as velvet.
Zelene let it breathe for a moment. Then—
"Didn't think you'd come here too."
Her pulse stuttered. She turned.
Ray leaned against the far wall, half in shadow, his damp hair catching the glow of the lamp. His arms were crossed, his smirk familiar enough to make the ache in her chest feel a little less sharp.
"Ray." Relief softened her voice despite herself. "You followed me."
He shrugged. "Couldn't exactly let you walk into the lion's den alone."
His gaze flicked toward the door. "Besides, you're terrible at sneaking. I think half the guards were following your trail like hounds."
She frowned, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her with the faintest curve. "He's still the same," she said quietly. "Sharp. Calculating. But gods, how does he do that? How did he know you were with us?"
Ray's brow furrowed, the smirk fading. "The Duke's not the kind of man you hide from. He sees more than he lets on."
Zelene exhaled, staring at the wavering lamp flame. "Right."
Before Ray could answer, a commotion stirred beyond the door — a thump, a muffled complaint, and then—
"Hey! I said gentle escort! Ow — not the ear, I need that!"
Zelene's eyes widened. "Is that—?"
The door burst open, and Finn stumbled in, all elbows, indignation, and misplaced confidence. His tunic was askew, his satchel half-spilled, and his expression a perfect portrait of someone deeply wronged by circumstance.
"Oh," he said, pausing mid-step. "Good. It's you. Because for a second, I thought this was some sort of—"
He sniffed. "Why does this place smell like wet boots and bad decisions?"
Zelene blinked. "Finn?! How— how did you even get inside the manor?"
Finn straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. "You mean after your delightful guards decided I looked like a walking crime? Well—" He cleared his throat dramatically. "I tried selling them candied herbs. One sneezed, another panicked, and somehow I ended up face to face with Duke 'I-Have-No-Time-For-Nonsense' Dravenhart."
Ray pinched the bridge of his nose. "You… what?"
"I improvised!" Finn said, raising a finger as though delivering a thesis. "You try sneaking past their gates when you smell like travel rations and anxiety! Anyway, the Duke looks at me — terrifyingly calm, mind you — and says, 'Let him through. I know who he's with.'" He widened his eyes. "Which, frankly, is not the kind of thing you want to hear from a man holding a sword."
Zelene stared at him, half exasperated, half amazed. "Kael knew?"
"Apparently. Told that Darius fellow to toss me into your charming little dungeon here."
She sank back on the cot, shaking her head with a small laugh she didn't mean to let out. "He's sharp," she murmured again. "Unbelievable."
"Told you," Ray said, smirking.
Finn looked between them. "So what now? We sitting here waiting for divine intervention, or is there an actual plan?"
Zelene turned toward the narrow window, where the fog curled like smoke against the night sky. The city lights of Dravenhart shimmered faintly through it — distant, ghostly.
Her voice came soft, but resolute. "We wait. Kael's right about one thing — something's moving in the dark. And this time, I intend to see it before it strikes."
The room fell quiet again — not peaceful, but charged, like the breath before a storm breaks.
Outside, the bells of Dravenhart tolled the midnight hour, their echoes weaving through stone and shadow, as if warning the city that sleep would not last long.