Thorne kept his expression cool as he watched the group of men enter the alley, their weapons drawn and bloodthirsty grins on their faces.

Rhea quickly recovered from her shock, her eyes narrowing as she took in the situation. "Why didn't you say anything sooner?" she hissed.

Thorne didn't respond immediately. He merely observed the approaching men with a cool detachment, assessing their threat level. "They're nothing special," he finally said, his voice tinged with the slightest hint of boredom. "Just some thugs who think they can take advantage of a few out-of-towners."

The leader of the group, a burly man with a scar running down the side of his face, stepped forward, his eyes locking onto Thorne. "You've been making quite the impression around town, noble boy. Thought we'd see if you're as tough as they say."

Thorne raised an eyebrow, his expression one of mild curiosity rather than fear. "And who, exactly, is 'they'?" His tone was light, almost bored, but there was a sharpness beneath it, an edge that made the leader pause. Thorne's probing was subtle, his words designed to elicit information without giving away his own suspicions.

The man sneered, gesturing with his sword. "Does it matter? Hand over your coin and maybe we'll let you walk away from this."

Thorne glanced at Jareth, who was watching the men with a predatory gleam in his eyes. Then he turned back to the thug and smiled. "I think you'll find that's not going to happen."

The man's sneer faltered as he noticed the calm confidence in Thorne's demeanor. There was something unnerving about the way Thorne held himself, as though he were the one in control despite being outnumbered. The leader hesitated, glancing at his men as if seeking reassurance.

"Let me guess," Thorne said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Someone with a grudge? Or perhaps just a curious observer? Either way, I'm afraid your little outing was a waste of time."

The leader's expression darkened, but Thorne could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He pressed on, his words soft but piercing. "What did they promise you? Money? Power? A chance to prove yourself? You're wasting your time. We're far beyond anything you can handle."

"Enough talk," the leader snapped, clearly rattled. He gestured to his men, signaling them to attack. But Thorne had already gathered all the information he needed.

Rhea, who had been quietly seething with pent-up frustration, stepped forward, her hand gripping the hilt of her greatsword. "Let's just get this over with," she muttered, her voice carrying a deadly edge.

Thorne stepped back, giving Rhea and Jareth space to move. "Try not to make too much of a mess," he said dryly.

The leader snarled, his bravado returning as he raised his sword. "Get them!"

"Don't kill the leader," Thorne murmured to Jareth and Rhea as the men advanced. "We might need him to talk later."

With a nod, Jareth moved first, his body a blur of motion as he closed the distance between himself and the nearest thug. His short swords flashed, moving with deadly precision. Jareth's movements were fluid, almost dance-like, as he slipped past the thug's defenses and struck. The man barely had time to react before he crumpled to the ground, clutching a deep wound in his side.

Rhea was equally efficient, her greatsword sweeping in wide arcs that forced her opponents to backpedal. Despite her size, she moved with surprising speed, her blade cutting through the air with a whistle. One thug, bold enough to charge her head-on, found himself slammed into the alley wall, the force of Rhea's strike nearly splitting him in two. She spun on her heel, her sword already aimed at the next target, her face a mask of concentration.

Thorne, meanwhile, hung back, his eyes narrowing as he observed the battle. He was gauging the enemies' levels, assessing their strengths and weaknesses. As he expected, most of the thugs were around level 10 to 15, their attributes lacking the refinement that came with higher levels. They were outclassed, and it showed. Even as the fight intensified, it was clear that Jareth and Rhea had the upper hand, their movements practiced and efficient, honed by the brutal training of the guild.

Thorne watched with a calculating eye, noting the leader's increasingly desperate attempts to rally his men. The leader wasn't bad—his stance was solid, and he managed to parry several of Jareth's strikes. But it was only a matter of time before he faltered. Thorne had seen this scenario play out countless times in training. The leader's confidence would wane, his resolve crumble, and that was when he would break.

Jareth was relentless, his short swords moving in a flurry of strikes that left the leader struggling to keep up. A well-placed feint forced the leader to overcommit, and in that moment, Jareth struck, disarming him with a flick of his wrist. The leader staggered back, his sword clattering to the ground as he clutched his bleeding hand.

Rhea dispatched the last of the thugs with a powerful overhead swing, her greatsword cleaving through the man's chest with ease. She turned to the leader, her eyes blazing with a fierce intensity, but she held back, following Thorne's orders.

Thorne watched the fight with a detached interest, his mind already planning their next move. These thugs were nothing but a minor distraction, a footnote in the larger narrative of his mission. As Rhea and Jareth dispatched their opponents with ruthless efficiency, Thorne allowed himself a moment to savor the thrill of control, the knowledge that he was the one pulling the strings, orchestrating events to suit his needs.

When only the leader was left, the alley was silent except for the sound of labored breathing and the occasional groan from the fallen. Rhea wiped her blade on the clothes of one of the men, her expression dark. "Waste of time," she muttered.

The leader, now weaponless and bleeding, looked around at his fallen men, his expression a mix of fear and disbelief. He fell to his knees, clutching his injured hand, his eyes darting between Jareth, Rhea, and Thorne.

Thorne approached slowly, his expression unreadable as he towered over the defeated man. "I'll ask you one more time," Thorne said, his voice cold and devoid of the earlier mockery. "Who sent you?"

The leader hesitated, his pride warring with his survival instincts. But Thorne didn't need to wait for an answer; he already knew. A dark smile tugged at the corners of Thorne's lips as he placed a firm hand on the leader's shoulder, his grip unyielding.

"Tell Percy," Thorne said, his voice barely above a whisper, but laced with a deadly edge, "the next time he wants to talk, he can do it himself."

The leader's eyes widened in shock, realizing too late that Thorne wasn't speaking to him. Instead, Thorne's gaze was fixed on the only other living thug—a young man, barely more than a boy, who was clutching his abdomen, his hands slick with blood. The boy's face was a mask of abject terror, his eyes locked onto Thorne's, unable to look away.

The leader opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to plead for his life, but Thorne didn't give him the chance. With a quick, practiced twist, he snapped the leader's neck, the sound of bone breaking sharp in the stillness of the alley. The man's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, the light fading from his eyes.

Thorne didn't flinch as the experience flowed into his core from the kill, a warm sensation that spread through him, briefly igniting his senses. He felt a small surge of satisfaction, the familiar rush of power that came from taking a life and reaping its rewards.

He turned to the remaining thug, his expression now a mix of cold calculation and cruel amusement. The boy's breath came in ragged gasps, and he flinched as Thorne took a step toward him. "Run back to your master," Thorne said, his voice deceptively gentle. "Tell him what happened here today. Tell him that next time, he should come himself—or there won't be anyone left to deliver a message."

The boy's head bobbed in a frantic nod, his eyes wide with fear. Thorne watched him struggle to his feet, one hand still clutching his bleeding abdomen, before he stumbled away, his footsteps echoing through the alley as he fled.

Thorne turned back to Jareth and Rhea, who were both watching him with unreadable expressions. A satisfied smile played on Thorne's lips as he surveyed the scene. "Well," he said lightly, "I think that went rather well, don't you?"

Jareth sheathed his short swords, his gaze lingering on the dead leader for a moment before he looked back at Thorne. "Efficient," he remarked, though there was a note of caution in his voice. "But was it necessary?"

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Thorne's smile widened, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Absolutely. We needed to send a message, and I think Percy will receive it loud and clear."

Rhea remained silent, her greatsword still gripped tightly in her hand, though she seemed to relax slightly now that the fight was over. She glanced at the bodies, then at Thorne, as if weighing something in her mind. Whatever it was, she kept it to herself, her expression hardening as she finally wiped her blade clean on one of the fallen thugs.

"Let's get out of here before more of them show up," Thorne said, his tone casual as he turned on his heel and began to walk out of the alley. Jareth and Rhea followed, though the tension between them was palpable.

As they left the scene, Thorne's mind was already moving ahead, strategizing his next steps. The encounter had confirmed his suspicions—Percy Vayne was involved, and now Thorne had sent a clear warning. But this was just the beginning. He would have to stay sharp, to anticipate Percy's next move and counter it before it could threaten his plans.

As they emerged from the alley and back onto the bustling streets of Valewind, Thorne's smile remained fixed in place, though his thoughts were anything but calm. He had a lot to prepare for, and time was running short.

*

Thorne lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains doing little to calm his restless mind.

His thoughts churned, relentlessly analyzing every detail, every variable that had cropped up in the past few days. There were too many moving parts, too many potential threats and problems for tomorrow night.

The mission was already complicated enough, the tasks they had been given by the guild. Assassination, theft, infiltration—all necessary, all dangerous. But now he had to factor in the unexpected elements, the wild cards like Rhea and Corwin, whose motives were still unclear. As well as Percy and his new grudge.

And then there was his own mission, the one that mattered most to him. He had to learn as much as he could about Aetherhold Academy and, more importantly, how to reach Bea.

The thought of his sister being held in a place like that twisted something deep inside him. He needed to find a way to her, but every path seemed blocked by obstacles he couldn't yet navigate.

His mind moved from one concern to another, each thought building on the last until a dull headache began to form behind his eyes. It was all too much—the missions, the deception, the uncertainty of who he could trust. He could feel the pressure mounting, and it was only going to get worse as the ball approached.

Just as he was about to force himself into a state of calm, there was a knock at the door. Thorne frowned, the headache throbbing a little harder as he wondered who would be calling on him at this hour. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his temples briefly before moving to answer the door.

When he opened it, he found the innkeeper standing there, his face flushed and his eyes wide with a mixture of anxiety and awe. "My lord, there's a lady downstairs asking for you."

Thorne's frown deepened. "A lady? At this hour? Did she give a name?"

The innkeeper nodded, his voice barely above a whisper as he said, "She's Lady Seraphina Valmont."

The name gave Thorne pause. Seraphina Valmont was no stranger to him—she was one of the most prominent socialites in Valewind, known for her beauty, charm, and her ability to draw everyone's attention wherever she went.

Thorne had crossed paths with her several times in the past few days, mostly at the same gatherings where Percy Vayne was present. Though they had exchanged only a few words, it was clear that she was rarely seen far from Percy's side.

Seraphina projected the image of a carefree, party-loving noblewoman, someone who seemed more interested in social gatherings than political maneuvering. Thorne knew she was also Percy Vayne's lover, which made this visit all the more troubling.

Thorne hid his unease behind a neutral expression. "Tell her I'll be down shortly."

The innkeeper bowed and hurried away, leaving Thorne standing in the doorway. He quickly rummaged through his wardrobe, searching for something suitable to wear. He needed to present himself as the cultured noble he was pretending to be, but he also had to be careful not to appear too eager or desperate. Finally, he settled on an elegant but casual outfit, the fabric luxurious and finely tailored.

Before leaving the room, Thorne took a moment to adjust the aether flow in his pendant, allowing just enough of his true features to come through. His reflection in the mirror showed a face that was subtly more refined, almost regal. Satisfied with his appearance, he stepped out into the corridor, his footsteps silent as he moved toward the stairs.

As he moved through the corridor, Thorne noted the silence from the other recruits' rooms. Rhea and Jareth were likely asleep, and Corwin was… well, who knew where Corwin was. Thorne pushed the thought aside and focused on the task at hand. He needed to be sharp for this encounter.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes immediately found Seraphina. She was standing near the entrance, her posture regal, her gaze sweeping the room with a mixture of mild curiosity and faint distaste. Her lips, painted a deep, rich red, were curved in a small, almost amused smile as she took in the surroundings.

A luxurious carriage waited just outside the door, flanked by a small army of servants, all standing at attention.

Seraphina herself was a vision of opulence. She wore a long, flowing gown that shimmered with precious stones, each movement causing the fabric to catch the light in a dazzling display.

Her dark hair was elegantly styled, adorned with jewels that sparkled against the rich tones of her gown. The patrons of the inn, most of whom were simple travelers or locals, could only stare in awe at her beauty and the wealth she so effortlessly displayed.

Thorne approached her with a calm, composed expression, though his mind was already analyzing the situation. "Lady Seraphina," he greeted her with a polite bow. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit at this late hour?"

Seraphina's smile widened slightly, and she tilted her head as she regarded him. "I simply couldn't resist, my lord. After all, it's not every day I hear of a noble choosing to stay in such… humble accommodations." Her tone was light, almost teasing, as if she were sharing a private joke.

Thorne returned her smile, though his eyes remained watchful. "I've found that Valewind's more exclusive establishments can sometimes be a bit too stifling for my tastes. I prefer a place with… character."

Seraphina chuckled, the sound soft and melodic. "Character, indeed. Though I must say, it's a rather unconventional choice for someone with your… standing." She glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on the rustic decor and the simple patrons. "But then, I suppose that's what makes you so intriguing, Lord Thorne."

Thorne inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the compliment while keeping his own thoughts hidden. "I aim to keep things interesting, my lady. But surely you didn't come all the way here just to discuss my choice of lodgings."

Seraphina's eyes sparkled with amusement as she stepped closer, her gaze never leaving his. "You're right, of course. I couldn't wait until the ball to see you again. It's been far too long since we've had the chance to speak properly." Her voice was warm, with just a hint of flirtation that made Thorne's pulse quicken despite himself.

He gave her a charming smile in return, though his mind was already racing. "I'm flattered, my lady. But surely you could have waited until tomorrow. The ball would have provided us ample opportunity to converse."

Seraphina's smile turned sly as she leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a more intimate tone. "Ah, but tomorrow will be difficult, my lord. The ball will be filled with prying eyes and listening ears. It's not easy to find a moment alone unless we plan it carefully." She paused, her eyes gleaming with a suggestive glint. "With so many people watching our every move, it will be quite the challenge to slip away… unless we make arrangements."

Thorne felt a subtle pressure in his mind, as if something was trying to wrap around his thoughts and guide them in a certain direction. He quickly realized what it was—Seraphina was using her social skills on him, and they were powerful. The air around her seemed to hum with an almost hypnotic energy, making her presence even more alluring.

As she continued to speak, Thorne found himself struggling to maintain his focus. Her words were weaving through his mind, clouding his judgment and making it difficult to think clearly. It was as if a fog was settling over his thoughts, dulling his senses and pulling him toward her. He felt an almost physical urge to agree with her, to do whatever she asked, but he fought against it, forcing himself to concentrate.

"My lady," he began, his voice tight as he struggled to maintain control, "are you sure it's wise to meet in person at the ball? With so many eyes watching…"

Seraphina's laugh was soft and playful, and she leaned in even closer, her lips just inches from his ear. "Oh, I'll have a dance with you, my lord. No matter what."

Her breath was warm against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. Thorne stood frozen, his body responding to her presence even as his mind fought to break free. Her social skills were at such a high level that even with his training, he could barely resist. The power she held over him was undeniable, and for a moment, he felt a flicker of panic.

But as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Seraphina stepped back, her smile one of triumph as she regarded him with a knowing look. She turned gracefully, her gown sweeping around her as she moved toward the waiting carriage.

As Seraphina made her exit, her servants falling into line behind her, Thorne remained where he stood, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. It was only when the carriage door closed behind her and the sound of hooves began to fade that the fog started to lift.

Skill Level up: Mindguard!

Skill Level up: Mindguard!

When he could finally think clearly again, he swore silently to himself. Another complication—one he hadn't anticipated. Seraphina Valmont was not just a socialite; she was one of the most powerful women in Valewind, her family's influence extending throughout the kingdom. They controlled one of the largest iron mines, giving them significant power. In fact, her family was one of the targets mentioned in his briefing, a group he had to get close to.

But her visit couldn't have been a coincidence. Just hours after he had dispatched Percy's henchmen, she had appeared at his inn. It was such an obvious play, so blatant, that it left Thorne confused. Did they really think he would be bewitched by her skills, or were they counting on him seeing through their ploy? What game were they playing?

He clenched his fists, feeling the headache from earlier intensify. This was too much. Too many layers, too many traps to navigate. He needed to stay sharp, but the pressure was starting to get to him.

Thorne took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He wanted to go to bed, to shut out the world and get some rest, but he knew sleep would evade him. His mind was too restless, too filled with questions and doubts.

Instead, he decided to clear his head with a walk. Maybe the cool night air would help him think, help him sort through the tangled web of lies and schemes that had become his life. He grabbed his cloak and headed for the door, his thoughts still racing as he stepped out into the night.

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