Funnelhead skidded into the kitchens, heart hammering, cloak brushing against the tables. His flour-dusted hands shook as he called out in a hushed, urgent tone.
"Listen! Everyone—listen here now!"
Several servants froze, turning toward him. A couple of them instinctively stepped back from the line of pots and chopping boards, knives hovering midair.
"What's the matter, Funnelhead?" one muttered, worry threading her voice.
Funnelhead swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table. "I… I heard somethin'—somethin' terrible. Marrow… he told Lord Nux where Emberwake is!"
A gasp went through the room. Some servants whispered nervously, others muttered to themselves.
"What? Nux knows? He'll—he'll destroy us all!"
"Steady now," a gray-haired baker said, trying to calm everyone. "Keep yer heads. Panickin' won't help."
A younger servant, hands trembling over a tray of bread, muttered, "This is Liora's fault. She… she wanted to poison him in th' first place."
Funnelhead spun on them, voice sharp, shaking with anger. "Liora? Liora had a plan, aye, but she never meant harm to anyone here! Don't ye dare blame her for this!"
"Calm yerself, Funnelhead," another said, voice low but urgent. "We need to think, not shout. Nux—he'll hear!"
Funnelhead slammed his fist lightly against a worktable. "I don't care if he hears! She's our friend, do ye understand? Our friend! And I'll not stand while ye throw blame like knives in the dark!"
The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy. But the tension didn't fade—it thickened. Eyes darted toward the door, hands nervously fidgeted with utensils.
And then—
The shadows in the doorway shifted.
A figure emerged.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Movements deliberate. Silent. Like a predator.
Marrow.
The air froze. Steam curled upward from the pots, but the warmth seemed to vanish where he stood.
And behind him… pale, sickly, and terrifying in the half-light… Nux. His lips were dry, his eyes sharp, and despite the sickness, there was a cruel intent in his gaze.
The servants went utterly still.
Even the whispering ceased. Knives dropped with a metallic clatter to the stone floor. Pots rattled quietly. Some of the younger kitchen hands clutched their aprons, wide-eyed.
Nux's gaze swept the room slowly, deliberately, like a storm moving over a field.
"Do not move," Marrow's voice rumbled, low and even, carrying a calm menace that made hearts pound.
Funnelhead's knees went weak. He swallowed, forcing himself to stand straighter, though his limbs trembled.
One of the bolder servants dared a whisper. "Lord Nux…"
He didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He simply looked. And the room felt smaller under that gaze.
The shadows Marrow cast behind him seemed to lengthen unnaturally, curling along the floor and walls. Every eye followed the two of them. The servants felt as though the kitchen itself was holding its breath.
Funnelhead gritted his teeth, stepping forward slightly, voice a harsh whisper of defiance. "We… we were only preparin', m'lord. Only preparin'—"
Nux's lips curved into a slow, malicious smile. His hand twitched slightly, as if savoring the fear curling through the room.
Silence pressed in on them from all sides. No one dared speak. The only sound was the soft shhk… shhk… of the whetstone in the corner, now suddenly loud in the oppressive quiet.
Marrow shifted slightly, closing the doorway behind him, and the kitchen became a cage.
Funnelhead's heart slammed against his ribs. Every instinct screamed to run, yet he could not move. Nux's eyes held him like iron chains.
A single, shallow breath from one terrified servant echoed.
"Do… do we…?"
Nux's gaze swept again, catching the servant mid-word. He tilted his head, pale lips parting just slightly. The faintest, cruelest glint of satisfaction passed over his features.
And then he stepped forward.
Every footfall sounded impossibly loud, echoing in the stone.
The room shivered in anticipation, terror tightening around every chest.
Funnelhead's hand moved toward Liora instinctively, though he dared not speak.
Nux's presence, still sickly, still frail in body, was immense in intent.
And in that frozen moment, the servants understood—they were caught.
The kitchen, their domain, their sanctuary, had become a stage for something far darker.
Marrow lingered behind Nux, silent, watching, as the shadows swallowed the room.
And the air held only one certainty: the storm had arrived.