Three days had passed since the F-rank gate.Allen sat on the edge of the bed, Seraphina's hand resting in his. The bowl on the table was empty. He'd fed her slowly, piece by piece, same as every meal since he came home. The Sunlight heat already pressed through the glassless window. Sweat gathered at the back of his neck.Her fingers curled slightly around his palm. Not a grip. But present. Warm. Alive.He ran his thumb across her knuckles. Small bones. Soft skin. Three days ago she could only twitch. Now her fingers moved when he touched them, and sometimes she squeezed back. Not hard or strong enough. But it's real, and that's matter.'Three days. It doesn't feel that long. The hours blur together when every one of them is with her.'He opened the Wife Investment Panel. The blue screen expanded in front of him.[Dominion Points: 617][Investment Log: Recorded][Return Multiplier: 200x - 12,000x][Tyrant Mode: Inact

The tunnel did not end. It deepened, and the air changed with every step. Allen kept his left hand against the wall. The stone was no longer wet but cold, dry in a way that felt wrong, as if the moisture had been sucked out of the dungeon long before they entered. His fingers found ridges, cracks, places where the rock had shifted and never settled. The floor was uneven, slabs of stone tilted at small angles, and the boots of the two hunters scraped behind him in irregular rhythm. The light was almost gone. The moss had thinned, then vanished. Only scattered patches of green glow remained, clinging to the ceiling like sick stars. Allen's Night Vision turned the dark into gray shapes, but even that had limits. The tunnel bent twice, then opened into a passage wide enough for them to walk side by side. The smell came first. It was wet fur, thick and animal. Under it, blood. Old blood, dried and sour. And something else. A dry mineral scent, like stone dust after a wall collapses. Al

Allen woke with the first gray light bleeding through the broken window. For a long moment he didn't move. Seraphina's hand was still curled around his fingers, and her breathing came slow and even. The blanket had slipped below her shoulder. He pulled it back over her with his free hand, careful not to wake her, then lay still and listened. The slum was waking outside. Footsteps in mud. A cart rattling past. A woman calling out the price of bread. Ordinary sounds. But under them, something off. A wrongness Allen couldn't name. He slipped out of bed and crossed to the window. The lane was empty except for a thin dog nosing at a pile of refuse. No silhouettes on the rooftops. No shadows where there shouldn't be. But the feeling stayed, a faint itch between his shoulder blades. 'Maybe I'm still jumpy from the dungeon. Or maybe someone's already watching.' He washed his face in cold water and dressed. The Silverhowl lay on the table next to the Alpha Dire Wolf Core, right where he'd

The first thing Allen did after the door closed was listen. He stood with his back against the rough wood. Outside, the slum was quiet in the way that only came after violence. No shouts. No running feet. No one banging on a neighbor's door to ask what had happened. The night had swallowed the sounds of Jack and Luke and the older man, and it had given nothing back. Allen let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His chest ached. His shoulders were still tight, his fingers still curled as if they expected the sword to be there. But the sword was in his hand, still wet, still heavy. He crossed the dark room to the bed. The candle had gone out when Jack fell. Only the faint glow of the slum outside came through the small window. Seraphina lay exactly where he'd left her. Awake. Her violet eyes were open, steady, watching him move through the dark. The blanket had slipped partway down her chest. Allen pulled it back over her shoulder, his knuckles brushing the warm skin