The road to Rivenloch was long, winding, and lined with gnarled trees that seemed to lean in as we passed, their branches like claws reaching for us. The setting sun had long since given way to a pale crescent moon, and the air had grown cold enough that I could see my breath clouding before me as I rode.
We'd been traveling for two days now, stopping only to water the horses and catch a few restless hours of sleep under the stars. The mission sat heavily in my mind the whole way: infiltrate the town, identify the informant, and bring him back to Ashvale alive. It sounded simple, but nothing about what we'd done since joining the guild had ever been simple.
Arya rode ahead of me, her cloak pulled tight around her shoulders. Even on horseback, her movements were graceful, deliberate. Every so often she'd glance back to check on us. Soren, predictably, lagged a little behind, humming some half-forgotten tavern tune to himself as he adjusted the hilt of one of his twin blades.
I tried to focus on the rhythm of the horse's hooves striking the dirt, but my mind kept drifting—to Hollowdeep, to the summoner's whispered threat, to Elara's cold promise.
And to Sigma.
The way his presence alone had frozen me to my core, even when he wasn't close enough to strike.
A shiver worked its way up my spine despite the layers of wool and leather I wore.
We crested the final hill just as the town came into view.
Rivenloch was nestled in a shallow valley, its crooked streets and uneven rooftops illuminated by a smattering of oil lanterns and hearth fires. A river cut through the northern edge of town, its surface shimmering in the moonlight.
From here, it looked peaceful.
But I knew better.
Arya slowed her horse to a walk, pulling up alongside me.
"Stay sharp," she said quietly. "If this man really is tied to Sigma's network, he won't be waiting with open arms."
I nodded, my hand tightening on the reins.
Soren finally caught up, yawning as he glanced down at the town below.
"Let's just hope he doesn't run," he said. "I hate chasing people through alleys. Too many walls, not enough air."
Arya shot him a look but didn't answer.
We rode the rest of the way in silence.
---
The streets of Rivenloch were narrow, the cobblestones slick with recent rain. Shadows clung to every doorway and alley, and the faint smell of fish and woodsmoke hung in the air.
We left the horses at a stable on the edge of town and continued on foot.
Arya took the lead, her hood up and her movements fluid as she guided us through the maze of streets. I stayed close behind her, watching for any sign that we were being followed. Soren trailed just far enough back to seem like he didn't care, though I knew better by now—he was always watching.
We finally stopped in front of a small, crooked inn called The Broken Oath. Its sign swung lazily in the breeze, creaking on rusty hinges.
"This is it," Arya murmured, her eyes scanning the street around us. "Our contact said he'd be here tonight. Room upstairs. Window facing the river."
I glanced up at the second floor. The faint glow of candlelight shone through a thin curtain.
Soren smirked.
"So," he said, "do we knock, or do we climb?"
Arya didn't answer right away. Instead, she studied the inn for another long moment before finally replying.
"We climb," she said. "Quietly. He might already know we're coming."
---
The back alley was deserted, save for a few rats scurrying between trash barrels. Arya was the first to scale the drainpipe, her boots barely making a sound against the wood and stone. I followed, my fingers gripping cold metal as I pulled myself upward, one slow step at a time.
When I reached the window, Arya was already crouched on the sill, peering through the crack in the curtain.
She looked back at me and nodded once.
I drew my blade.
Together, we slipped inside.
---
The room was small, sparsely furnished, and smelled faintly of damp straw and old smoke. A single candle flickered on the table, casting long shadows on the walls.
And sitting in the chair by the window was a man.
He was young—barely older than me—with dark hair, hollow cheeks, and eyes that darted toward us as we entered. His hands were resting on the table, palms up, as though to show he wasn't armed.
"I was wondering when you'd come," he said softly.
Arya's dagger flashed into her hand, and she stepped forward.
"Then you know why we're here," she replied.
The man's lips twitched in something like a smile.
"I know you're not here to kill me," he said. "Not yet, anyway. Otherwise you wouldn't have bothered with the window."
I stayed near the door, my eyes on him, my blade ready.
"You've been passing information to Sigma," Arya said flatly. "Why?"
For the first time, the man's confident mask cracked.
He looked down at his hands.
"Because he promised me something," he whispered. "Something your guild never could."
Arya's eyes narrowed.
"And what's that?" she demanded.
The man's gaze flicked up to her, and for a heartbeat I thought he might actually laugh.
"Freedom," he said simply.
Before Arya could respond, there was a sound—faint but distinct—from the alley outside.
Footsteps.
Lots of them.
Arya's head snapped toward the window.
Soren appeared in the doorway a second later, his blades already drawn.
"We've got company," he said grimly. "Guild uniforms… but they're not ours."
Arya cursed under her breath and turned back to the man.
"We're leaving," she said.
He hesitated.
"I can't," he murmured. "If I leave with you, they'll—"
"Then you'll die here," Arya snapped, cutting him off. "Your choice."
The man looked between us, his breath coming faster now as the footsteps grew louder outside.
Finally, he stood.
"I'll come," he said quietly.
---
We slipped out the window just as the door to the room slammed open behind us. Shouts followed almost immediately—harsh, guttural voices calling for reinforcements.
The three of us—and our reluctant informant—hit the ground running, weaving through the maze of alleys as our pursuers thundered after us.
The man stumbled more than once, but Arya kept him moving with sharp tugs on his arm.
We burst out onto the riverbank, the moonlight turning the water silver. Ahead, a small skiff bobbed gently against the dock.
"That one!" Arya shouted, already sprinting for it.
I followed, Soren close behind, blades flashing as he cut down one of the masked pursuers who had gotten too close.
We threw ourselves into the skiff, and I grabbed the oars, pushing us out into the current just as a volley of crossbow bolts struck the water where we'd been.
The river carried us swiftly away from the dock, away from the shouts, away from the town.
For now.
---
The man sat hunched in the bow of the skiff, his face pale and his hands trembling.
"Who were they?" I asked quietly.
He swallowed hard, staring at the dark water.
"Sigma's," he said at last. "Not his best… but his reach is long. Longer than you know."
I met Arya's eyes across the skiff.
She didn't speak.
But her expression said enough.
This wasn't just another mission anymore.
We were already in too deep.
And the river was only carrying us further into the darkness.