POV: Adam SwiftThe banquet hall glowed with golden candlelight and the heavy scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and intrigue. I sat at the high table as protocol demanded, picking at my plate while conversations swirled around me like restless winds. The silver commander’s medallion rested against my chest, a constant reminder of my new station—and the enemies it had already earned me.Garrick had not attended. His absence spoke louder than any toast.I excused myself as soon as courtesy allowed, citing the need to review troop rosters before morning drills. The King nodded approvingly, though I caught the wary glances from several generals. Ethan had disappeared earlier, melting into the shadows as he often did. Useful habits.The night air outside was cool and sharp, carrying the distant sound of crickets and the faint clang of steel from the training yards. My boots echoed along the stone path leading toward the barracks. Sleep would have to wait. I needed to walk the grounds, m

POV: Adam SwiftDawn had barely broken when I received the message. A discreet note slipped under my barracks door by an anonymous runner: *Ethan attacked. Twenty assassins. One symbol.* The details were sparse, but the urgency was clear. I dressed quickly, strapped on my weapons, and moved into the capital’s underbelly before most of the city had stirred.Ethan had survived. That didn’t surprise me. What did was the symbol he had described in the coded reply I received an hour later. A circle bisected by three jagged lines, an eye at the center. I had seen variations of it before—in forgotten battlefields and shadowed contracts. It belonged to the Veil Syndicate, an underground mercenary organization that sold death to the highest bidder across three kingdoms. Ruthless. Professional. And notoriously difficult to track.They had come for Ethan. Now I would hunt them.I spent the morning gathering whispers. A tavern keeper with a gambling debt owed me a favor. A blacksmith who repaired

POV: Adam SwiftThe glow of the burning mill painted the night sky in violent oranges and reds long before I reached the riverbank. Smoke curled thickly through the trees, carrying the acrid stench of charred wood and death. I had been following a separate lead on the Veil Syndicate when word reached me through one of my newly acquired informants: a massive battle at the old mill. Ethan’s name had been whispered in connection with it.I pushed harder through the undergrowth, ignoring the lingering pain from my own raid earlier that day. By the time I emerged into the clearing, the mill was a roaring inferno. The roof had already collapsed in places, sending sparks spiraling into the darkness. The city watch would be here soon, but for now, the area was mine.Ethan was gone. I could tell from the single set of bloody footprints leading away into the treeline—uneven, staggering, but deliberate. He had survived. Again.I approached the shattered main doors carefully, sword half-drawn. Th

POV: Ethan HayesMy wounds from the mill still burned, but three days of forced rest had been enough. The trail of blood and gold led me deep into the forested hills north of the capital—territory controlled by Jackson Carter’s expanding influence. Rumors spoke of a hidden base where civilians were being rounded up for unknown purposes. Kidnapped families. Disappeared merchants. I couldn’t ignore it.I moved through the dense trees like a ghost, cloaked in dark green and grey. The entrance was cleverly concealed behind a rocky outcrop, disguised as an old mine shaft. Two guards patrolled lazily. I took them down silently—one with a knife to the throat, the other with a chokehold until he went limp.Inside, the tunnel opened into a sprawling underground complex. Lanterns hung from rough-hewn walls. The air smelled of gunpowder, sweat, and fear. This was no simple outpost. It was a Devil’s Army staging ground.I crept deeper, mapping the layout in my mind. Voices echoed ahead. Dozens of

POV: Adam SwiftThe factory rose out of the pre-dawn mist like something already dead, its smokestacks black against a greying sky. Adam had circled the perimeter twice before committing to the eastern loading dock, counting sentries until the number stopped being useful information and became simply this: too many.He'd expected a consolidation point. What he found looked more like a garrison.Trucks were parked in neat rows in the yard, and men moved between them with the loose, restless energy of soldiers waiting for orders they didn't fully understand. Adam counted crates being loaded—weapons, mostly, and more of those manifests with names instead of goods. Whatever panic had scattered Carter's operation across smaller nodes, someone had decided the answer was to pull everything back together here, behind higher walls and more guns.He slipped through a gap in the fence where the chain-link had rusted through, and made for the loading dock in the dark between two floodlights.Insi