Morning

The rain had passed. Sunlight poured over the rooftops of Empyria like molten gold, catching on steam that rose from the cobblestones. It was the kind of bright, deceptive morning that made danger feel far away—until it was right behind you.

In the hidden warren beneath the slums, the crew stirred.

Kael hadn’t slept. He sat hunched on a broken crate, arms wrapped around himself, staring into the damp stone wall like it might answer something for him. Shadows clung under his eyes.

He spoke without looking at anyone.
“This wasn’t just some noble’s trinket.” His voice was low, frayed.
“The Serpent Conclave doesn’t leave notes. They don’t knock. They don’t ask. They slit throats. They vanish people.”

Thira, already buckling on her leather boots, turned to Elysia with a pointed glare.
“You need to get rid of it.”
“I’ll handle it,” Elysia muttered.

“No. Toss it in the gutter. Slip it under that fat merchant’s door. I don’t care. Just don’t keep it.” There was real heat in her voice now.

Elysia flashed a smile. Careless. Deflecting.
“You saw their symbol. That dagger’s worth more than coin. It’s power.”

She said nothing of the way she’d hidden it already, wrapped in cloth and tucked deep into her boot. The weight of it made her heel feel heavier. She liked it.

Thira narrowed her eyes.
“This isn’t a game, El.”

But Elysia had already turned, whistling as she went to change. The tension in the room hung behind her like smoke.

Daylight

By mid-morning, the city had resumed its chaos. Merchants hollered from striped tents. Smoke from street-side grills mingled with perfume and horse dung. Empyria’s veins were pumping, and the crew dissolved into them like dye in water.

Bramm lumbered toward the Drossward in a rough-spun apron, hammer slung over one shoulder, playing at being a smith's apprentice.

Kael slipped into the back alleys near the Rusted Nail tavern, where the gutters ran with sour ale and secrets. He knew the barkeep. He knew the codes. He listened, silent, for whispers in the beer foam.

Thira pulled her hood low and donned the yellow satchel of a courier. She wove through the High Quarters delivering faked letters, eyes sharp, muscles taut like a bowstring. That’s when it happened.

A bump in the crowd.

A child. Just a blur of movement, dirty fingers and a quick apology before vanishing into the press of bodies.

Thira’s hand flew to her waist.

Gone.

Coin purse. Gone.

She gritted her teeth, pushed after the boy—too late. Already lost to the chaos. She swore under her breath and vanished into the rooftops, staying high for the rest of the day.

When she returned to ground level hours later, her purse was back.

Sitting at the mouth of an alley. Not stolen. Returned.

She snatched it up—and froze.

Inside was no coin.

Just a single serpent scale.

Small. Silver. Real.

Her blood turned to ice.

Dusk

They gathered at the clock tower as the sun sank low. The shadows of Empyria grew long and hungry.

Kael was pacing again. Bramm leaned against the wall, chewing a sprig of bitterroot, eyes squinting into the dusk.

“Something feels wrong,” Kael muttered.
“Like the city’s holding its breath.”

Bramm grunted in agreement.
“Aye. Me head’s off. Not right. Haven’t been since this morning. Like something’s watchin’.”

Kael glanced toward Thira, who hadn’t said a word since arriving. Her posture was too still, her arms clutched tightly around herself.
“Thira?” he asked gently. “What happened?”

She hesitated—then snapped, voice cracking as the tension inside her broke.
“I need to confront her.”
She looked at Kael, then Bramm.
“We have to. She’s still got the damn dagger—I know it. She didn’t toss it. She thinks this is a game and it’s not. It’s not!”

Kael nodded once, solemn.

Elysia was the last to arrive, bright shawl around her shoulders, boots clicking on the stone. She looked pleased with herself.

“Well?” she said, spinning slowly with open arms. “We’re still alive. Anyone find us a job?”

Thira stepped forward, face pale, eyes wide. She threw the purse at Elysia’s feet.

“I was followed.” Her voice trembled. “I lost it. The purse. A kid took it. Thought I’d been careless. But it came back. With this.”

She held up the scale between two fingers.

“They’re playing with us, Elysia. They know who we are. They know where we go.”

Elysia stared at the scale.

Then—she grinned.

“Gods above… they’re that good?”
She let out a breathless laugh.
“That’s clean work. No message. Just a scale? That’s style. That’s fear. That’s…”
She took a step forward, eyes wide with excitement.
“You realize what this means, right? We’re on their radar. You can’t buy that kind of reputation.”

Thira looked like she’d been slapped.

“Are you listening to yourself?” she whispered.

Elysia kept talking, almost to herself now, voice lit with thrill.
“This proves it. That dagger—whatever it is—it matters. And if it matters to them, it’s priceless.”
She turned to the others. “We could sell it for ten times our biggest haul. We could—”

“I don’t want to die because of you.”

Her voice cracked at the end.

Elysia’s smile faded.

There was a pause. A long one.

The sun dipped lower behind the tower, casting them all in shadow. Elysia looked at Thira, really looked—for the first time in too long.

She’d brushed off the glances. The smiles. The moments. She’d told herself it was nothing.

But now Thira stood there, voice trembling, nearly in tears.

And Elysia hated the thought of losing her.

She looked away, jaw tight.

She hadn’t told them.

She didn’t want to let it go.

But for the first time, her excitement soured.

She couldn’t lose Thira.

Nightfall

They didn’t say much after that.

The walk back was slow, the streets thinned of traffic as lanterns lit the alleys and the fog crept in from the river. Horses clopped distantly. A bell tolled the hour — soft and somber.

Elysia walked ahead, red shawl dimmed to rust under the twilight. The dagger weighed heavy in her boot now, like it knew what was coming.

Kael walked beside Thira, silent but close. Bramm muttered to himself, head swiveling now and then as if someone was at his back.

They turned down a quieter street near the Smoke Market, weaving through shuttered stalls.

Then—

Elysia’s ears twitched. A high whistle cut the air.

Thunk.
A dart embedded itself in the wooden post beside her head.

Poisoned. No doubt. The faint shimmer on the tip gave it away.

She dropped to a crouch on instinct, heart slamming against her ribs.
“MOVE!”

Kael turned, hands already glowing with faint shimmer — a spell at the ready.
“They’ve found us!”

Another dart flew. Bramm slapped it out of the air with his forearm bracer.
“Can’t lead ‘em home!”

The crew scattered without a second thought, vanishing into alleys, scaling walls, slipping through bolted fences like water through cracks.

The city swallowed them.

For the rest of the night, the crew didn’t stop moving.

Each had their bolt-hole — small, forgettable places scattered across the districts. None of them slept well. Every creak, every shadow, every scrape of a boot made their hearts pound.

Elysia curled in the attic of an abandoned shrine, breathing shallow. Her fingers curled tight around the dagger. She should’ve thrown it in the river. Should’ve listened.

But she didn’t.

Because she still wasn’t sure she wanted to.