Chapter 6

Midnight in the lower tunnels was different.

Quieter, yes — but not safe.

The air was damp enough to taste, carrying faint echoes from distant chambers: a clink of glass, the shuffle of feet, the muted drip of water. Somewhere, a door creaked open and shut. The guild never truly slept.

Killian moved like a shadow himself, hugging the walls, avoiding the pools of torchlight. His shoulder ached with every step, but his mind was fixed on the note.

They lied about your parents.

It wasn’t the words that shook him — it was the thumbprint. Amber.

The north well wasn’t a well at all, but a vertical shaft drilled deep into the bedrock, water glistening far below. An old rope winch and rusted pulley stood beside it, unused for years.

The cloaked figure waited near the edge, hood drawn low.

“You came,” the voice said — low, almost cautious.

“Not much choice,” Killian replied.

The figure stepped closer, and moonlight filtering through the grate above caught their face. The hood shadowed most of it, but the eyes… those unmistakable amber eyes.

Killian’s breath caught.

“You should be dead,” he said.

The figure tilted their head. “And yet here I am.”

Before Killian could speak again, footsteps echoed from a side tunnel. The figure’s head snapped toward the sound.

“No time,” they said, voice tightening. “Harlow’s not what she says she is. And your parents — they weren’t just killed. They were hunted. For what runs in your blood.”

“I know that much,” Killian said, his voice low but sharp. “The question is why you care.”

The figure reached into their cloak and pressed something into his hand — a small silver pendant, etched with the Vael crest.

“Because I’m not the only one left,” they whispered. “But if you stay here, you won’t be either.”

A shadow moved in the tunnel behind them — then another.

Wardens. Three of them, moving silently, their mirrored masks reflecting the pale moonlight.

Killian’s magic surged unbidden, shadows snaking along the stone floor.

The cloaked figure stepped back. “Not here. They’re not here for you.”

“That makes it worse,” Killian said.

The first Warden lunged, swinging a hooked chain meant for the figure. Killian intercepted with a lash of shadow, wrapping it around the attacker’s throat and yanking hard. The second Warden’s bolt grazed his arm, burning like acid where it struck.

The figure moved with inhuman speed, slipping past the third Warden and vanishing into a side tunnel.

Killian swore under his breath. He had two choices — finish the fight or follow.

He didn’t get the choice.

From the opposite tunnel, Carter Benton appeared, daggers flashing, cutting down the last Warden with a quick, brutal efficiency.

“Nice night for a stroll,” Carter said, stepping over the body. His eyes scanned the shadows. “Who were you talking to?”

“No one,” Killian lied.

Carter smirked. “You’re a terrible liar.”

By the time they reached Killian’s quarters, two of Harlow’s enforcers were waiting outside.

“She wants you,” one said.

Killian followed, pulse still pounding. In the main chamber, Harlow sat behind the barrel table, the recovered Vael blood shipment stacked neatly beside her.

She gestured to one of the vials. “Do you know what happens if the wrong person gets their hands on this?”

“I can guess,” Killian said.

Her gaze sharpened. “Then maybe you’ll explain why Wardens were prowling near the north well tonight — and why they left without their prey.”

He held her stare, forcing his voice steady. “You tell me.”

Harlow leaned forward. “I think you know more than you’re saying, Vael. And I think you’ll keep it to yourself… if you want to keep breathing.”

A faint sound echoed from the tunnels beyond — the same chain-rattle he’d heard near the well. But this time, it came from deep inside the guild’s territory.

Someone — or something — had gotten in.