The tunnel narrowed as they moved deeper into the ravine's spine, the firelight shrinking behind them until it was swallowed entirely by stone. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, each drop echoing like a ticking clock.
Ashen walked first.
Lira stayed close.
Elyra followed behind them, her steps silent despite the uneven ground.
No one spoke for a long time.
It was Elyra who finally broke the quiet.
"You don't trust me," she said calmly.
Ashen didn't turn. "You followed us. You knew where we'd be. That's reason enough."
Elyra exhaled through her nose, then a humorless laugh erupted from her throat. "Fair."
They emerged into a wider cavern where pale moss clung to the walls like frostbitten veins. Ashen halted, raising a hand. He studied the space, then nodded once.
"Rest here," he said to Lira.
She hesitated, eyes flicking to Elyra.
Elyra crouched and met her gaze, lowering herself so she didn't loom. "I won't hurt you," she said quietly. "Not now. Not ever."
Something in her voice was too honest to be rehearsed. Lira nodded. She curled up near the wall, exhaustion pulling her down like gravity.
Ashen remained standing.
"You said the Baron woke something," he said. "You said it wants her."
"Yes."
"And you knew about the ritual before tonight."
Elyra leaned back against the stone, arms folding loosely. "Because I've seen its echoes before."
Ashen's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
Elyra closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the calm assassin's mask was gone. What looked out instead was something older. Sharper. Tired.
"I wasn't always Elyra," she began. "Not in the way you know me."
---
She was ten when her mother sold her.
That was the memory that always came first not the House, not the blood, not the blades. Just the sound of coins jingling as her mother turned away, pretending the exchange wasn't happening.
The Velvet Court smelled of perfume and rot. Elyra learned early that cruelty wore clean hands and smiled politely. Nobles whispered behind fans while children disappeared through servant doors.
The Broker never smiled.
He inspected her like merchandise, lifted her chin, checked her teeth, her posture. "This one will last," he said.
Her mother wept after he left.
Elyra never saw her again.
"They told me I was lucky," Elyra said quietly. "That the House of Masks was better than starvation. Better than the streets."
Ashen remained silent.
"They trained us young," she continued. "So we wouldn't remember what we were before."
The House of Masks was stone and shadow, hidden beneath a city that pretended it didn't exist. Children wore plain gray clothes. Names were stripped away. Emotion was punished.
Survival was praised.
Elyra learned fast. Faster than anyone expected. She learned how to stand still until her legs went numb. How to throw a blade without thinking. How to watch someone beg and not react.
"They gave me a mask when I earned my first kill," she said. "Silver. Smooth. Expressionless."
Her fingers twitched unconsciously, as if remembering its weight.
"I was fourteen."
Ashen's jaw tightened.
"They said emptiness was strength," Elyra went on. "That the less I felt, the more perfect I'd become."
She looked at him then. "You know they're wrong."
He didn't deny it.
"My contracts grew… personal," she said. "The House liked that I didn't hesitate. That I followed orders without asking why."
Until the day the order came with a familiar name.
"My mother."
The word seemed to echo in the cavern.
"She was older. Broken. Ashamed." Elyra's voice stayed steady, but her hands curled into fists. "She recognized me immediately. Even under the mask."
Elyra swallowed.
"She told me to finish it quickly."
Lira stirred slightly in her sleep.
"I couldn't," Elyra said. "I lowered the blade. I let her live."
Ashen exhaled slowly.
"That was the day I became a liability."
The House of Masks placed a bloodmark on her name. The same training she'd mastered was turned against her. Friends became hunters. Teachers became executioners.
She ran.
"I learned something important then," Elyra said. "The House doesn't create loyalty. It creates fear. And fear only lasts as long as the leash."
Ashen turned fully toward her now. "The Baron's ritual."
"Yes," Elyra said. "Different methods. Same philosophy."
She pushed off the wall and stood. "He wanted to do to Lira what the House did to me. What he did to Ironhand. Strip her down to something usable. Something obedient."
Lira whimpered in her sleep.
Elyra lowered her voice. "I heard whispers of the Book years ago. Of children bought and broken. When I learned the Baron was trying to bind a child's soul to an unwilling guardian…"
She met Ashen's eyes.
"I knew whose soul he meant to take."
Silence stretched between them.
"So you followed us," Ashen said slowly. "Not to kill her."
"No," Elyra said. "To stop anyone who tried."
"Even Ironhand?"
Elyra hesitated. "Especially Ironhand."
Ashen considered that. "He saved her."
"I know," Elyra said. "But he's still bound to the Spark. Twisted by it. And the ritual isn't dead."
She stepped closer. "The Book doesn't need the Baron anymore. It only needs fear, blood… and a catalyst."
Ashen's voice was quiet. "Me."
Elyra nodded.
"You walked away from the House," she said. "You chose silence instead of obedience. That's why it wants you."
Ashen glanced at Lira, small and fragile against the stone.
"I won't let them take her," he said.
Elyra's lips curved faintly, not a smile, but something close. "Good. Then we're aligned."
Ashen studied her for a long moment. "You could've turned her in. Sold her. Walked away."
Elyra's gaze hardened. "I've already walked away from one child once. I won't do it again."
A distant rumble rolled through the cavern—stone shifting, water surging.
Ironhand was still moving.
Ashen turned toward the sound. "Then we keep going."
Elyra drew a blade not in threat, but in readiness. "Together?"
Ashen nodded once.
"For now."
Behind them, Lira slept on, unaware that three broken weapons had just chosen her over the world that forged them.
And that choice would burn everything that came after.