————————

  15 minutes before Maggy and Hugo arrived in the Gold District.

  ————————

  The cramped room smelled of damp stone, old wine crates, and whatever herbal concoction Dr. Maria was using to bruise Garrelt’s face into something resembling a man who had lost a fight with an ox. The disguise was disturbingly convincing: a swollen cheek, purple shadows blooming along the jaw, dried blood painted in careful streaks at the temple.

  A single spirit lamp sat in the corner, its pale glow bending around low arches and half-collapsed crates. The merchant who owned the place was long gone, conveniently sent on an urgent trip by Yon’s people hours earlier. Smart of the man, all things considered.

  Jonah had paced so many circles across the narrow floor that the boards had been worn clean where dust once lay. His boots traced a looping path from stairwell to wall and back again, each loop quicker than the last.

  Garrelt sat on a stool near the center of the room, hands folded, back straight.

  “Jonah,” he said without looking up, his voice calm, “relax. You’re going to wear a hole in the floor. Sit down somewhere.”

  Then he turned his head slightly toward Dr. Maria. “So, Doc. How do I look?”

  “Like you got kicked in the face by a mule,” she said dryly, dabbing another smear of purple beneath his eye.

  “Perfect,” Garrelt replied, flashing a grin.

  Jonah spun on his heel. “Relax? We’re about to break into one of Icefinger’s bases, and you want me to relax?” He threw his hands wide. “We walk right in and what — announce ourselves? Why shouldn’t I be nervous?”

  “They already know someone’s coming,” Maria said, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Which means surprise is off the table. What we do now is control the narrative.”

  She tipped Garrelt’s chin toward the light, inspecting her work one last time before snorting softly. “It won’t fool someone like Kira. But if everything goes according to plan, that won’t matter.”

  Jonah’s stomach dropped. He looked ready to argue again, but the faint click-click-click echoing from the freshly dug tunnel in the cellar wall froze them in place.

  From the shadows crawled a dog-sized silver ant, its segmented carapace gleaming dully under the lamplight. It moved with an unsettling precision that made it clear this was neither a mindless beast nor a soulless puppet, but something else entirely.

  Even knowing what it was, Jonah couldn’t shake the unease that came with seeing one up close. The antborgs, as Alpha called them, felt wrong in ways he couldn’t quite name.

  Among all the strange wonders he had witnessed since meeting the strange AI from beyond the Firmament, they still struck him as wholly alien.

  The ant’s mandibles clicked twice, and Alpha’s voice emerged.

  “Showtime. Maggy and Hugo are approaching the estate. Orion is already on the move. ETA six minutes. Begin phase two.”

  Garrelt rolled his shoulders.

  Jonah’s heart tried to climb into his throat.

  Dr. Maria rose to her feet and nodded once. “Well then, boys, shall we?”

  She crossed to the far wall, where an unconscious man slumped against a support post. Even bound and gagged, the aura leaking from him pressed like a physical weight against Jonah’s shoulders. A Shackle Breaker — one of Orion’s captains. His breath rasped faintly through split, bruised lips, while the binding glyphs etched across his chest shimmered, dampening the flow of spirit energy through his body.

  Maria crouched beside him and extended her right hand. The skin along her wrist parted with a mechanical click, unfolding into a narrow silver device. Needles, lens, and micro-valve caught the lamplight in a cold gleam. The device rotated on its center point until a long needle extended out past her wrist. She drove it cleanly into his neck and drew a single bead of blood.

  The needle folded back with a soft hiss, carrying the drop with it. Pale glyphs raced across the small display embedded in her arm. Maria’s mouth curved slightly as she tapped a brief sequence directly into her own flesh. Light flared beneath her skin, crawling up her forearm before vanishing at the base of her throat.

  A tone chimed. The device pulsed once.

  Then her body began to change.

  Her features softened, melted, and reformed, as if sculpted from living clay. Bones shifted with muted, wet cracks. Skin rippled, tightening and reshaping. Her hair darkened, its length retreating toward her collar. Her shoulders broadened, her frame rearranging itself piece by piece. In the space of a few heartbeats, the woman was gone — and in her place crouched the unconscious captain’s mirror image.

  Jonah froze mid-step. Garrelt blinked once, slowly.

  Maria — now wearing another man’s face — straightened and rolled her shoulders, testing the fit like a new coat. The voice that emerged was no longer hers, but a rough, unfamiliar baritone.

  “Have I ever mentioned how much I love your toys, Alpha?” she said, glancing toward the antborg. “That gene sequencer of yours saves me hours of tedious guesswork. Flesh-sculpting’s an art, but any artist knows how to appreciate fine tools.”

  The antborg’s mandibles clicked, somehow sounding like amusement. “I’m glad you’re finding it useful. Calibrating it for spiritual interference was a nightmare. Spirit energy does… strange things to genetics. Try not to break it.”

  “No promises.” She smiled with the captain’s sharp grin.

  Crossing to Garrelt, she took a coil of rope from a nearby crate and began looping it around his wrists. Her fingers moved quickly, confident and precise, tying a knot that looked solid under a careful eye but could be slipped free with a sharp twist and the right pull. She made Garrelt practice the release once. Then again. A third time, slower, until she was satisfied.

  Alpha’s antborg pivoted toward the tunnel.

  “Right,” Alpha said. “Everyone remembers their roles?”

  Maria nodded once. “After ‘capturing’ our intruder,” she said, tipping her chin toward Garrelt, “I hand him off to the patrol and rally the rest to sweep the estate. If I cross paths with the second captain, I make sure he’s… inconvenienced before he reports to Kira.”

  Garrelt gave a tight grin. “Once I’m handed over, I play the kicked dog. Struggle just enough to sell it, not enough to make them call reinforcements. When we reach the holding cells, Jonah and I drop the guards, grab Audrea, and head straight for the tunnel.”

  Jonah drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I stay cloaked and follow close. Cover for Garrelt, deal with any unlucky eyes, and make sure the route back stays clean.”

  “Good,” Alpha said. “I’ll be monitoring both teams and providing interference through the estate’s arrays. Most of them are already compromised, but I can’t manipulate them openly without tipping our hand. So try not to make me.”

  Jonah hesitated, then asked, “Sir… how can you be sure they’ll take Garrelt anywhere near Sister Audrea? I doubt she’s in the normal cells.”

  Alpha’s mandibles clicked twice, the sound dry and faintly amused. “Don’t worry about that. I’m already working on it.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The antborg turned and skittered back into the tunnel, its metallic legs clicking against the stone.

  Maria shared a brief look with Garrelt and Jonah. Then, without another word, the three of them followed it into the dark.

  ——————————————————

  Thomas pushed open the heavy oak doors of the archive and blinked against the sudden brightness of the hall. For two days he had hidden in that cramped, airless room, combing ledgers and manifests under the pretense of reorganizing them. Now he slipped out at last, the stack of copied notes pressed against his ribs beneath his coat. Each scrap of paper felt heavier than it should, every line a possible way out. If he could just get clear of the estate—

  A low tremor shivered through the floor. Then another.

  The chime of the estate’s defense bells rolled through the halls, joined by the rhythmic pulse of ward light crawling along the ceiling. Crimson and gold sigils burned across the walls in perfect sequence as the silence was broken by a sudden tension.

  “…no. No, no, not now,” he muttered, the words tumbling out in a panic.

  Boots thundered past. Two guards in leather armor nearly bowled him over as they sprinted toward the central hall. Another squad rounded the corner a heartbeat later, formation tight, eyes sharp but not panicked quite yet.

  Thomas grabbed one by the sleeve as they passed. “What’s happening?”

  The guard yanked free without slowing. “Temple’s coming,” he barked, still moving, and then he was gone.

  The words hit like a blow to his gut.

  “The Temple?” Thomas repeated, his voice cracking. His stomach dropped, leaving him rooted in place until the echo of running feet faded down the corridor. Then instinct took over, and he turned and ran the other way, pulse hammering in his ears.

  “Why now?” he screamed inside his own head, even as another thought forced its way through the panic.

  Audrea.

  His breath hitched. All the color drained from his face in an instant.

  How had they found her so quickly?

  He made his way to the central hall, barely registering how it blazed with ward light. Attendants and clerks hurried between long rows of desks, clutching talismans and seal scrolls.

  Thomas slowed, then forced himself to exhale.

  “Deep breaths, Thomas. Just play it cool. Don’t draw attention to yourself,” he told himself as he got to work assisting the others. Working for Orion might have felt like a desk job at times, but at least he could blend into the background when needed.

  At the far end of the hall, beneath the golden chandelier, Orion herself stood. Her low Elemental Dominance pressure flickered with the force of her annoyance. One lash of it struck a sluggish attendant like a slap. They yelped and redoubled their efforts at once.

  “This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” Orion said at last, her voice carrying easily across the hall. It was not directed at anyone in particular. “The boy should be acting on his own. Everything we have on him says he’s emotional. Impulsive. Predictable.”

  Her fingers flexed once behind her back. “I left threads for him to follow. Trails he should have tripped over days ago. He was supposed to act, and when he did, we’d pull on the line. Draw him in. And when his mysterious benefactor stepped in…” she growled in frustration, “We’d have both of them.”

  She stopped pacing, her gaze fixing on the wall as if she could see her unraveling plan written there. “Instead, he’s done nothing. Not even so much as roughed up a thug since we took the woman. And now the Temple decides to march in?” Her tone hardened. “The Temple doesn’t move like this. They don’t act on rumors and tips. Not this quickly. They might have the motive, but they didn’t have direction.” Her gaze flickered to Kira, who was standing off to the side, half covered in shadows. “How did they even find us?”

  The assassin’s eyes glinted, unreadable. “I’m not surprised. Every plan has its holes. Even yours.”

  Orion’s eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

  Kira smirked, lifting one shoulder. “Maybe we have a spy.”

  Orion gave a sharp laugh. “Impossible. Every servant and scribe here has been screened, some twice. The arrays embedded in these walls prevent anyone from leaving with anything useful. Written, spoken, or otherwise.” She turned slightly, her gaze sweeping the attendants like a measuring instrument. “Even if there were a spy, they’d be useless. No one remembers more than what I allow.”

  Kira’s mouth curved upward. It wasn’t a smile this time.

  “Everyone believes their defences are perfect. Until my blade slits their throats.”

  For a heartbeat, their gazes locked — Kira’s quiet challenge meeting Orion’s icy assurance — and the entire room seemed to hold its breath. Then Orion broke the stare, pivoting on her heel to issue orders.

  “Double the outer patrols. Move the sublevel guards to choke points two and three. Anyone not vital to operations seals their stations until further notice.”

  Thomas bowed quickly as her gaze swept his way.

  “You,” she said. “Take the southern hall. Confirm that the staff have sealed the maintenance routes. I want no one entering or leaving without my approval.”

  He bowed even lower. “Yes, mistress.”

  Kira’s eyes followed him as he backed away. Thomas forced himself to turn naturally, to walk at an even pace, and not to look back.

  With every step, the noise of the command chamber dulled. Orders blurred into murmurs, murmurs sank into a low, indistinct hum, until all that remained was the faint pulse of the estate’s wards and the soft echo of his boots against stone. He passed the first set of guards at the stairwell. None spared him more than a glance, but each one carried their tension like a drawn bowstring.

  Thomas swallowed and kept moving.

  That was when he noticed how quiet this section was.

  Too quiet.

  The alarms still echoed faintly from deeper within the estate, the distant, muffled sound of controlled panic bleeding through layers of stone. But here, between thick pillars and shuttered lamps, there was only him. No guards. No attendants.

  No eyes.

  He straightened, the realization spreading slowly through his chest.

  He was alone.

  For two days, he’d been scouring the archives for anything that could buy him a way out — something he could trade, sell, or use to vanish before Orion realized how far his loyalties had eroded. The things he’d found weren’t perfect, but they were enough. Enough to run.

  And now? Now the estate was in chaos. Orion’s full attention was turned outward. Kira would be at her side. Patrols were being pulled from the interior to reinforce the gates.

  His gaze flicked down the hall toward the faint blue pulse of the next relay.

  It would be easy. Stupidly easy to just keep walking. Follow the line of the relays until the last checkpoint, slip into the maintenance tunnels, and be gone before anyone thinks to look. He even knew which path to take; he’d marked it in his head a dozen times.

  A voice in the back of his mind whispered that running meant guilt. There were no second chances once Orion decided you weren’t useful anymore. But another voice — quieter, heavier — said he was already dead if he stayed.

  He rubbed a hand down his face, feeling the grit of sweat and old dust clinging to his skin.

  Once, he had been someone. An enforcer captain. Feared. Useful. People had looked at him and seen authority. Now he spent his days cataloging shipment manifests and double-checking rune stability like a glorified clerk. Orion’s pet scribe.

  All that power. All that work. To end up here.

  His jaw tightened. He had followed Icefinger because he believed it meant survival, maybe even advancement. But what had it really given him?

  He pressed his hand flat against the wall, feeling the steady vibration of the wards through his palm.

  He could leave. Right now.

  He’d make it out of the Gold District, reach the lower markets before sunrise, disappear into the caravans bound for the southern passes. No more commands. No more watching over his shoulder for Kira’s eyes in the dark. Just a clean break.

  He took one step toward the next hall.

  Then another.

  His breath quickened. The plan unfurled in his mind, raw and reckless, but real enough that he knew he couldn’t pass up the chance. He could almost taste the night air beyond the estate walls.

  He made it halfway down the corridor before the whisper came.

  “Thomas.”

  He froze.

  Then he spun around.

  The hall was empty.

  The wards along the walls glowed their steady blue, casting clean lines of light across the stone. Nothing moved but his own shadow. His pulse thundered in his ears. He took a half-step back, eyes sweeping the corners, the ceiling, the floor.

  “Thomas.”

  The voice came again, closer this time.

  He turned in a full circle, throat tight. “Who’s there?”

  There was no answer — only the faint hum of the estate itself.

  He stumbled back, his hand dropping to the knife at his belt.

  “They already suspect you.”

  The words slid through the air like a breath of wind.

  Thomas flinched.

  A tremor ran through his fingers. “That’s—no. That’s impossible.” His voice cracked despite himself. “Orion… trusts me.”

  “She trusts no one,” the voice replied. “You’ve seen it yourself. The way she looks at you when she thinks you aren’t watching.”

  He shook his head, backing away one careful step at a time. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “When has that ever mattered?” The voice was everywhere now — around him, above him, seeping through the stone itself.

  “She knows you have a past with the Temple. She saw how you hesitated. Held back,” it continued, steady and assured. “She has other concerns right now. Bigger fires to put out. But once the Temple withdraws — once she has time to think — she’ll start connecting the small inconsistencies. Who was on the assault team? Who survived. Who’s been spending far too much time in the archives.”

  Thomas pressed his back against the wall, his throat dry. “No. I—no, that wasn’t—she won’t—”

  “She will,” the voice said simply. “And when she does, she’ll remember you.”

  The color drained from his face. The certainty in those words struck harder than any shouted threat.

  “She already suspects,” the voice went on, softer now, almost kind. “Kira, too. You saw how she looked at you.”

  Thomas’s stomach dropped. He pressed his palms to his temples, trying to crush the rising panic. “I didn’t tell anyone,” he said. “I didn’t betray them. I didn’t—”

  A low chuckle slipped through the air. “It doesn’t matter what you did, Thomas. What matters is what she’ll believe.”

  His legs gave out, and he dropped to the floor. The stone tiles were cold against his knees. His breathing turned quick and shallow, his vision blurring at the edges.

  “No… no, no, no…” He slammed a fist into the stone, the sound sharp and hollow. Sweat slicked his face.

  When the voice spoke again, its tone had gone cold enough to raise gooseflesh along his arms. “Unless you do something about it first.”

  Thomas froze. Slowly, he lifted his head, eyes wide and unfocused.

  The air ahead rippled, bending like heat haze. Something shimmered into view — metal, segmented wings clicking softly as they caught the light. A tiny wasp hovered before him, its carapace dull silver, a single red eye meeting his gaze.

  The voice came from it now, crisp and calm.

  “Thomas,” it said. “How would you like to make a deal?”