Gareth's study smelled faintly of wax and burnt ink, the toppled lamp bleeding oil across his desk. Outside, the wind carried the muffled hum of Valenport's upper markets—peaceful to anyone who didn't know how many knives waited in its alleys.
But in here, peace was a foreign concept.
Gareth Vynn sat hunched over, his hands trembling as he pressed them to the desk to keep from shaking. His eyes darted to the shattered window, as if the assassin might crawl back through at any moment.
"They'll kill me," he whispered.
"They might," I said, stepping closer. "But only if you keep holding back."
Ryn leaned casually against the doorframe, twirling a knife between her fingers. Mira stood behind Gareth, silent but close enough to make him feel trapped. Loran waited in the corner, arms crossed, a shadow that might or might not decide to move.
"You've worked for the Council for years," I continued. "You run messages between factions. Which faction sent Verrick after me?"
Gareth swallowed hard. "I… I don't know who gave the order. The request came through the Black Seal."
Mira's eyes narrowed. "That's High Council level."
"The Black Seal?" I asked.
He nodded, the movement jerky. "It's not a person—it's a channel. Orders stamped with the Seal bypass faction approval. No one questions them. They just happen."
That explained Verrick's sudden appearance. And the assassin tonight.
"Who uses it?"
Gareth hesitated. My patience didn't. I slammed my palm against the desk, making the scrolls jump.
"Gareth."
His voice cracked. "There's only one handler for Black Seal contracts—goes by Marrow. No one knows his face. But… but I've heard rumors. He works out of the Trawl."
Ryn stopped twirling her knife. "The Trawl? That's Council-controlled territory. You don't just stroll in there unless you're looking to lose parts of yourself."
I ignored her. "Where in the Trawl?"
Gareth wet his lips. "Old tannery. East pier. Two floors, front guarded by dock gangs. But that's just the shell—his real office is below. You'd need a key to get in."
"Then I'll take one," I said.
Mira's gaze flicked toward me. "You're not going alone."
I almost argued, then saw the way she was looking at me—sharp, calculating. She wasn't worried about my safety. She was worried about wasting the opportunity.
"We'll go in light," I said finally. "No big fights unless we can't avoid it. I want Marrow breathing long enough to tell me who signed the Black Seal order."
Gareth exhaled like a man who'd just signed his own death warrant. "If you go there… don't underestimate him. Marrow's not a fighter, but he has people. And his people don't hesitate."
I leaned in close enough for him to see every edge in my expression. "Neither do I."
The Trawl was everything the upper markets pretended didn't exist—narrow streets slick with fish guts, air thick with salt and smoke, buildings leaning so close together the sky was a rumor.
We moved like shadows through the alleys, sticking to the routes Ryn mapped from memory. Dock workers hunched in doorways, pretending not to notice us. Even the drunks here knew better than to speak to strangers.
The tannery was easy to find. You could smell it before you saw it—acrid chemicals that burned the nose. Its upper windows were shuttered, the walls streaked with years of rot.
Two guards lounged at the front door, crossbows slung casually.
"Think they're just for show?" Loran murmured.
"No," I said, watching the way their eyes never stopped moving. "They're trained."
We didn't go through the front. Ryn led us along the side wall, slipping through a gap in the rotting fence. The back door was locked, but a few seconds with her picks and it wasn't.
Inside, the air was worse—thick with the stench of wet hides and rusted vats. We moved in silence, boots sinking slightly into damp boards.
The stairs to the basement were guarded. Not by dock thugs, but by two men in fitted leather armor, their hands never far from the hilts of their short blades.
"Those aren't gang muscle," Mira whispered.
"Council-trained," I said.
We didn't waste time. I stepped into their line of sight, letting my presence fill the narrow hall. One moved to draw, but my Soul Resonance flared before he could finish the motion.
The first blow shattered his guard, sending his weapon spinning. I pivoted, elbow driving into the second man's chest, the force lifting him off his feet. Both went down hard.
"Quick," I said, kneeling to search them. A ring of brass keys jingled in my hand.
Ryn smirked. "And that's our invitation."
The basement wasn't large, but it was reinforced—thick beams, walls lined with storage crates. At the far end sat a desk piled high with parchment and sealed tubes. Behind it, a man in a dark coat leaned back in his chair, hands steepled.
"Kael," he said, like we were old friends. His voice was smooth, almost warm. "I was wondering when you'd come knocking."
"You're Marrow," I said.
He inclined his head. "The one and only."
"You sent Verrick."
"Not exactly," he replied. "I passed along an order. That's my job. The who and the why? That's above my pay grade."
"Then you'll tell me whose order it was."
Marrow smiled faintly. "I could. But then I'd be dead before sunrise. And you're not scary enough to make me prefer that."
My hand closed around the edge of his desk, wood splintering under my grip. "Try me."
For a moment, his gaze flicked to my hand, then back to my eyes. He saw something there—enough to make him shift in his chair.
"Fine," he said softly. "Black Seal orders come from one of three Councilors. Verrick's contract? That one came from Councilor Dareth."
Mira's breath caught. "Dareth's Aric's man."
The pieces clicked into place. Verrick hadn't just been a test. He'd been a message—from Aric himself.
I stepped back, the air around me still thrumming with restrained energy. "Then tell your master something for me, Marrow. Tell him I'm not done."