The news of the breakout hit the city like a heavy storm. By dawn, the markets buzzed with half-truths and fear. People spoke in whispers — about soldiers gone missing, prison fires, and a group that moved in shadows.Kael stood at the edge of the plaza, watching the posters go up. Each bore the same mark — traitors to the crown.Daren’s face was among them. So was Seris’s. And Kael’s, painted in black ink, with the words Ardent Conspirator written underneath.Seris pulled her hood tighter. “They didn’t waste time.”“They never do,” Kael said quietly.Behind them, bells rang from the central tower. The Empire was calling for calm — which always meant the opposite.That night, the group met again at the tower ruins. The mood was tense. Everyone knew what the posters meant — their network had been exposed, at least in part.Daren slammed his fist on the stone table. “We risked everything for that boy, and now half the city thinks we’re killers.”Kael didn’t look up. “They were always go

Kael woke before dawn with his heart pounding, breath sharp, the dream still stuck to him like smoke. He pushed up from the thin mattress, hands shaking before he even noticed. The room was dark, Seris still half-asleep on her cot. She mumbled without opening her eyes, “Another one?” He nodded. “What did you see?” she asked. “The gallows,” he said. “Again?” “Not me this time. Daren.” Saying it felt like swallowing a stone.He left the room before she could answer. Outside, the streets were wet and quiet, the sky grey and heavy. Kael walked toward the east square, the old scaffold standing there like a warning. The rope hanging from it looked newer than yesterday. Too clean. Too ready. His dream hit him again — Daren on his knees, rope tight around his throat, soldiers laughing like it was entertainment. Kael clenched his teeth. He didn’t know if the dream was a warning or just his fear trying to talk. Both annoyed him.When he returned, Daren was sharpening his blade. Their eyes met.

The rain had slowed, but it didn’t stop. It fell in thin lines over the alley, tapping softly on the broken gutters. The town felt half-asleep, like it didn’t care about anything happening inside it. I pulled my jacket closer, even though it was already soaked through, and stepped around a puddle that looked deeper than it should.I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not tonight. Not after everything that had happened in the Court earlier. But the anger in my chest had burned too hot, and the air inside the Guild had felt too tight. I needed space. Only when the cold rain hit my skin did the heat inside me finally start to settle.I thought I was alone until I heard the sound—soft, quick, almost scared.A sniff.Then another.I froze. My senses shifted. I listened.There, under the old staircase that led to the locked storeroom, something moved. Not a rat. Not a drunk guard. Something smaller. Softer.A child.I walked closer, slow and careful, because fear has a way of making anyone bolt. E

The shelter smelled like soap and old blankets. That smell always hit first—clean but tired, like a place trying its best with too little. Rain tapped softly on the roof, steady and calm, but inside my chest everything felt tight.I came because Mrs. Lorna asked.“Just talk to them,” she’d said.“You’re good with kids.”I didn’t feel good with anyone these days, but I agreed. Maybe I wanted a reminder that the world wasn’t only sharp edges.Children ran around the hall, small feet slapping the floor, laughter bouncing off the walls. Some played tag, some fought over toys, some just sat alone, watching.And then I saw him.A boy sitting by the window, knees pulled to his chest, chin resting on them. His clothes were clean but too big for him. His hair was messy in a way that wasn’t from playing, more like no one had brushed it in the morning. His eyes… that’s what stopped me.Wide, quiet, tired eyes.Eyes that had seen too much.He looked maybe eight or nine, but there was something ol

The city never really slept. Even at night, even in rain, there were footsteps, whispers, glances that lingered too long. Kael moved through the shadowed streets, hood low, keeping pace with Daren and Seris. Every step was measured, every sound a warning.“We need a plan,” Seris said, voice low. “The Inquisition won’t wait. They’ll hit first if we hesitate.”Kael didn’t answer right away. His eyes scanned the rooftops, the alleyways, every flicker of movement. “Waiting isn’t planning,” he said finally. “We move. But we move smart.”Daren handed him a folded note. “Word from the underground network. Some of the whispers are spreading. But the Empire is tightening. Curfews, checkpoints, patrols. They’re watching everything.”Kael unfolded the note, reading quickly. Names of couriers, scribes, even a few of the city watch he thought were loyal. All vanished. All silenced.“They’re scared,” Kael murmured. “Scared of truth. That’s weakness. We’ll use it.”Seris frowned. “Scared of us?”“Ye