The attic apartment was cold when Elias woke, but the chill was external. Internally, a warm, foreign presence was already alert in his mind.
Lyra was awake, sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor, studying the glowing sigil on her wrist. The memory of the previous night's desperate kiss was not a sudden burst of heat, but a settled awareness—the quiet realization of shared fate. Elias felt a wave of intellectual focus from her, already cataloging the information they needed: Aether-dampening textiles. Emergency ration stores. A secure communication channel.
"We can't stay here," Elias stated, his voice a low rumble. He pulled on his gear, checking the mechanisms of his crossbow. "Kaelen knows The Ghost uses old, abandoned structures. He'll sweep the perimeter within the hour."
"And the Sky-Guard from the Spire will be looking for me," Lyra added, getting to her feet. "The combination of the two forces could lock down Ironwood. We need to move fast and blend completely."
Elias looked at her: the filthy velvet, the smudged soot that looked more like a deliberate disguise than the wear of a Grounder, and the refined cadence in her speech. "You look the part, but you don't act it. You know schematics, not streets. You stay silent and follow my lead. We're going to the Black Market of the Sunken Docks."
The Black Market was a labyrinthine tangle of barges and warehouses along the polluted river, where Grounders traded stolen Aether-crystals, contraband, and information. It was Kaelen's backyard, making it the most dangerous place, but also the only place to get what they needed quickly.
The streets of Ironwood were a crushing, chaotic mass of people—Grounders heading to the mines or factories, cloaked figures conducting dubious business, and children scavenging for scrap metal. Elias moved with the practiced ease of a predator in his own domain, his senses heightened by the added awareness of Lyra's proximity. He felt her flinch at the sight of malnourished children and the constant, overwhelming noise of the machinery.
I know this is difficult, Elias projected, trying a gentler approach via the bond.
The deprivation is palpable, Lyra responded, her mental voice laced with sorrow. It makes the wealth of the Spire feel like a sickness.
At the Sunken Docks, Elias located a trusted, though unscrupulous, contact named Rikka—a small, tough woman who dealt in customized gear and suppressed weapons. He pulled Lyra into a cramped, smoky stall filled with illicit goods.
"Rikka," Elias greeted, his voice low. "I need Aether-dampening cloaks, quick-release travel packs, and enough rations for a week in the deep mines."
Rikka squinted at Lyra, who stood silently beside Elias, trying to mimic his stoic stance. Rikka's eyes lingered on the visible patch of un-smeared, pale skin near Lyra's collarbone. "This isn't your usual inventory, Ghost. Who's the new shadow? She smells of perfume."
Elias placed a heavy pouch of Solstus-minted gold coins onto the counter. "Trade secret. She's mute, and she's worth more to me alive than your silence is."
Rikka pocketed the gold without counting. "Wise choice, Ghost. But you should know. Word is out. The Low City is looking for its prodigal son. Kaelen is not happy you breached the Spire and came back empty-handed. He thinks you've been compromised by the High City—or worse, turned."
Rikka quickly handed over two rough, wool cloaks woven with Aether-Damping Thread—a specialized material that muffled magical signatures—and two packs of dense, energy-rich travel biscuits.
As they turned to leave, a wave of cold, calculated aggression slammed into Elias's consciousness, so potent it momentarily froze him.
Hunter. Lyra's sharp, silent warning came milliseconds before the physical threat materialized.
Two men, wearing the distinctive dark-grey uniforms of Kaelen's inner circle, stepped from behind a stack of crates. They carried stun-rods charged with low-level Aether energy, intended to subdue, not kill. They needed Elias alive for interrogation.
"The Ghost is compromised," the lead assassin stated, his voice a rasp. "Hand over the asset, Vane. Kaelen wants a conversation about loyalty."
Elias pushed Lyra behind him. "The conversation is over."
He pulled out a short, curved fighting knife. It wasn't silent, but in the chaos of the market, it would have to do.
The first assassin lunged with the stun-rod. Elias sidestepped the charge, the knife a blur as it sliced across the assassin's arm. But the second assassin was already circling toward Lyra.
Lyra was terrified, the fear pulsing through the link, but she remembered her success with the "bomb" at the Red Hand. As the second man neared her, raising his rod, she reached into her pack and pulled out a fistful of Aether-Damping Thread.
Frequency! Elias shot the mental command, already locked in combat.
Lyra didn't hesitate. She received the mental blueprint of the frequency required to interfere with the assassin's low-level stun-rod charge. She quickly wrapped the thread around her wrist and squeezed, mentally focusing the stored energy within the damping weave.
The moment the assassin swung the rod, the Aether energy within the rod short-circuited violently. The rod didn't explode, but the feedback current slammed through the assassin's hand, causing him to scream and drop the weapon.
Elias, distracted by the sudden surge of Lyra's mental focus, took a glancing blow to the ribs from the first assassin's rod. The pain was immediate, sharp, and electrical. He stumbled back, and instantly, Lyra gasped and clutched her own ribs, the shock of the electrical impact slamming through the bond.
"The pain is shared!" Elias roared, clutching his side. "We can't afford a hit!"
The realization was a game-changer: the Binding made them mutually fragile. Their shared vulnerability was the ultimate motivator for protection. Elias, driven by the knowledge that Lyra was feeling his pain, moved with renewed, deadly speed. He disarmed the first assassin, pressing his knife to the man's throat.
"Tell Kaelen," Elias hissed, "The Ghost is neither turned nor compromised. He is simply indisposed. And if he sends another two-bit thug after me, I will bring the Spire down on his head."
He delivered a stunning blow to the assassin's temple, knocking him out cold. He then grabbed Lyra's arm, ignoring the mutual ache in their ribs. "We're leaving. Now."