THE PRINCE SHE POISONED: I returned as her brother-in-law

Ghost in the Annex

The heavy thump of iron-soled boots didn't leave room for thought.

Cale moved before the echo died. With a swift flick of his wrist, he shoved the silk pouch of copper coins into the narrow gap between the floorboards beneath his desk.

Above him, the shadows stirred. Lyra didn't make a sound; she simply ceased to exist, her dark cloak vanishing into the black crevice where the damp ceiling beams met the wall.

Cale drew a sharp breath and bit down hard on the inside of his left cheek. Pain flared, sharp and bright. Warm, copper-tasting blood instantly pooled on his tongue.

He didn't ease himself down. He threw his weight sideways off the rickety chair, dragging the corner of the wooden desk with him as he fell.

CRASH.

The desk slammed against the stone floor, shattering a chipped clay mug into jagged pieces. Cale hit the cold wood hard, his crippled left hip taking the full force of the impact. A real, breathless groan tore from his throat as the agony flooded his nerves.

BOOM!

The iron-reinforced oak door buckled violently inward under a heavy boot, tearing the top hinge straight out of the rotting stone frame.

Torchlight flooded the room, harsh and orange, casting long, frantic shadows across the damp walls. Four imperial guards shoved their way inside, swords drawn, their polished silver breastplates gleaming in the dark. At their head stood Captain Vance—a broad-shouldered brute with a jagged scar across his jaw, wearing the blue-and-gold crest of the Crown Prince’s vanguard.

"Search every corner!" Vance barked, his heavy voice reverberating through the small room. "Check the rafters! Check the stone!"

Cale lay huddled in the spilled water and dirt, his thin body trembling violently. He curled into a pathetic ball, clutching his left thigh as if trying to hold his shattered bones together. Blood trickled past his lips, dripping onto the pale, damp wood beneath his face.

He didn't look at Vance. He kept his eyes wide, watery, and unfocused, staring at the captain's muddy leather boots with absolute, terrified helplessness.

"P-please..." Cale squeaked, his voice raw, ragged, and wet with blood. He choked out a ragged cough, spitting a red smear across the floorboards. "Don't... don't hurt me... I didn't... I haven't done anything..."

Vance didn't answer. He stepped over the fallen desk, his heavy boots crushing a piece of broken clay to powder. He kicked the thin straw mattress off the wooden bed frame with a sharp crack, sending cloud of dust into the chilly air.

Two guards slashed through the tattered wool curtains hiding the small wash-basin area, their steel blades whistling through empty air. Another guard thrust his torch up toward the high ceiling, squinting into the rafters.

Lyra wasn't there. She had flattened herself into the dark stone gutter above the window frame, completely out of the light's reach.

"Nothing, Captain!" one guard called out, kicking over a wooden stool. "Just cobwebs and rat droppings."

"Check the floor!" Vance snapped, his iron-gloved hand resting on his sword hilt. "Lady Evelyn said the shadow broker uses abandoned wings to pass messages!"

"Captain, look at him," the guard replied, gesturing toward the floor with his sword tip. "The boy can barely breathe. If a shadow broker walked into this room, the Third Prince would die of fright before he could write a note."

Vance walked over, stopping inches from Cale’s head. The heat of the torch cast a sickly glow over Cale’s pale, blood-stained skin. Vance reached down, grabbing Cale by the collar of his threadbare tunic, and yanked him half off the floor.

Cale gasped, his eyes rolling back slightly as he let his neck go completely limp. "M-my Lord... please..."

Vance searched Cale’s face—looking for a twitch, a firm muscle, a flash of defiance. He found only the loose, shivering frame of a boy whose body was rotting from the inside out. The smell of copper, wet straw, and faint decay rose off Cale’s skin.

"Useless trash," Vance muttered under his breath, his lip curling in disgust.

He shoved Cale backward. Cale’s head struck the floor with a dull thud, and he let out a tiny, whimpering moan before slumping still, pretending to lose consciousness.

"He's clean," Vance grunted, turning toward the broken doorway. "The girl was wrong. No one is hiding in this tomb. Let's check the eastern stables before the Crown Prince loses his temper."

The guards filed out, their heavy footsteps receding down the long, hollow corridor until the heavy outer iron gates slammed shut in the distance.

Silence returned to the South Annex.

For ten full seconds, the only sound was the steady drip... drip... drip of rainwater leaking through the stone ceiling.

Then, Cale opened his eyes.

The watery terror was gone. The helpless shivering stopped instantly. Cale sat up smoothly, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. His gaze was cold, sharp, and entirely devoid of pain.

A rustle of leather echoed overhead, and Lyra dropped lightly from the darkness, landing on her toes beside the overturned desk. She looked at the smashed door, then down at Cale, her dark eyes glittering with a mix of shock and fierce approval.

"You lie better than a dockside thief," she rasped, pulling her dagger from the wood where she had held herself suspended. "For a second, I thought you were actually dying."

"I am dying," Cale said coldly, pushing himself off the floor and using his cane to stand. His left leg throbbed, but his posture was straight, his chin lifted. "This body won't hold out another month if the channels remain shattered. Evelyn’s search proves she's paranoid, but it also gives us our shield."

Lyra tilted her head. "A shield?"

"She thinks the Blind Broker is an insider hiding in the shadows of the palace," Cale said, a dangerous smile touching his lips. "She will waste her guards, her time, and Cassian's money turning the court upside down searching for a ghost. While she looks inside these walls... we take the outside."

He reached beneath the floorboard, pulled out the silk pouch of coins, and tossed it to Lyra. She caught it cleanly in mid-air.

"Go to the Sinking District," Cale ordered, his raspy voice dropping into a low command that left no room for debate. "Buy the Nightshade Circle before midnight. Pay their debts, buy their master alchemist, and lock the doors. Tell them the Blind Broker requires a batch of Sun-Dragon Marrow brewed in absolute secrecy."

Lyra gripped the pouch tight. "And if they ask who the draught is for?"

"Tell them if they ask questions, the Broker will buy their lives next," Cale whispered. "Bring the first draught to the old chapel behind the Annex tomorrow at midnight. I need my channels open before Evelyn closes her net."

Lyra nodded, a lethal glint in her eyes as she stepped onto the window sill. "Consider the guild bought, Broker."

She vanished into the dark, freezing rain outside.

Cale turned back toward the broken doorway. His dark eyes locked onto the cold corridor beyond. He could still feel the faint, lingering phantom heat of the poison in his throat from his past life—and the cold weight of Evelyn’s pity coins in his memory.

He raised his right hand, staring at his pale, thin fingers as a tiny, invisible thread of dark shadow mana flickered across his knuckles for a split second before vanishing.

"Search all you want, Evelyn," Cale murmured into the quiet dark. "By the time you realize who I am... you won't have an empire left to save."