The sun had dropped behind the western hills by the time I reached the harbor road, painting the sky the color of old bruises. My lungs felt raw, scraped clean by smoke and panic. Every muscle screamed for rest, but rest was a luxury the dead could afford, not me.

The docks were quieter than they should have been. No longshoremen shouting, no creak of cranes, no slap of ropes against masts. Only the low, uneasy murmur of water against pilings and the occasional distant scream carried on the wind from deeper in the city. Most of the smaller fishing boats had already fled; what remained were a handful of trading hulks and Mona's sleek cutter, *Silver Wake*, riding at the outermost berth like she was ready to bolt the moment the lines were cast off.

I spotted them before they saw me.

Sarah stood at the gangplank, one hand on the hilt of her longsword, scanning the approach road with the same focused intensity she used when threading a needle through torn flesh. Sophia knelt nearby, palms pressed to the weathered planks, lips moving in a silent ward that shimmered faintly along the ship's hull—thin silver threads of light weaving themselves into the wood. Mona leaned against the rail above them, arms folded, expression unreadable. The three of them looked small against the vast, darkening water.

Sarah saw me first. Her shoulders dropped half an inch in relief, then snapped back up as she registered the state I was in: blood-streaked sleeve, ichor drying black on my gloves, the shallow gash above my eye still weeping.

"You're bleeding," she said, already moving toward me.

"Not mine. Mostly." I waved her off and climbed the gangplank two steps at a time. "We don't have long."

Sophia rose smoothly, brushing sawdust from her knees. "The wards will hold against anything short of sustained bombardment. But they're not built for what's coming."

Mona pushed away from the rail. "Talk fast, runner. I didn't pull up anchor just to watch you bleed out on my deck."

I pulled the black envelope from inside my jacket. The crimson seal had cracked slightly during the run; a thin line of red wax ran down one corner like drying blood.

"Veyra," I said. "Empress's new pet. She's running phase one. Lebara's already burning in patterns—methodical, not mindless. They're building something in the streets. Spirals. Altars, maybe. And she says phase two hits at dusk." I glanced at the sky. Less than an hour. "She also made it very clear the Empress wants me breathing when the capital falls. Leverage. She named all three of you."

Sarah's jaw tightened so hard I heard the small click of her teeth. Sophia's expression didn't change, but the silver threads along the hull pulsed once, brighter, then dimmed again like a held breath.

Mona laughed once—short, humorless. "Charming. So we're bait now."

"Not if we move." I held up the envelope. "This is the next piece. I haven't opened it yet. I wanted you to see whatever's inside at the same time I do."

Sophia stepped closer. "Then open it. No more games."

I broke the seal with my thumb. The wax crumbled like dry blood. Inside was a single sheet of heavy parchment, folded once. No greeting, no signature—just the Empress's sharp, elegant hand.

> You are reading this because you are still alive, which means you are still useful.

> Lebara was never the target. It was the distraction.

> The capital's eastern aqueduct has been compromised. At moonrise the lower cisterns will flood with black water. The things that rise from it answer to me now.

> Your friends will reach the palace gates before you do. They always do.

> Come alone or do not come at all.

> Either way, the throne room will be ready.

Below the last line was a small, perfect sketch: three silhouettes standing on a battlement, backs to the viewer. One held a longsword. One held a staff. One held nothing but open hands. A thin red line had been drawn across each throat.

The parchment trembled in my grip. I hadn't realized my hand was shaking until Sophia gently took it from me and read the words aloud in a flat, careful voice. When she finished, silence swallowed the deck.

Sarah was the first to speak. "She's lying."

"About which part?" Mona asked.

"All of it. Or enough of it." Sarah's eyes never left my face. "She wants us separated. Wants you running blind to the capital while we chase ghosts in Lebara. Classic divide-and-feed."

Sophia folded the letter once, precisely, and handed it back. "The aqueduct story could be true. It could be bait. Either way, moonrise is soon. We can't defend the city and reach the capital in time."

I looked at each of them—Sarah's steady fury, Sophia's quiet calculation, Mona's guarded pragmatism—and felt something cold and certain settle in my chest.

"Then we split the difference," I said.

Mona raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"You three take *Silver Wake* west along the coast. Fastest route to the capital's outer harbor. Stay offshore until you see my signal—three green flares from the western cliffs. If you don't see them by midnight, assume I've failed and do whatever you have to do to survive."

Sarah opened her mouth to argue.

I cut her off. "I'm going overland. Straight through the hills. I know paths the monsters won't. If the aqueduct story is real, I can reach the lower cisterns before moonrise and collapse the inflow tunnels. Buy the city time. If it's a lie, I'll still be inside the walls before the real strike hits."

Sophia studied me for a long moment. "And if Veyra is waiting for you?"

"Then I kill her," I said simply. "Or she kills me. Either way, the clock stops running on her terms."

Mona snorted. "Bold. Stupid. But I like the odds better than sitting here waiting for the tide to bring monsters aboard."

Sarah stepped close—close enough that I could smell woodsmoke and salt on her skin. She rested her forehead against mine for one heartbeat, two.

"Don't die," she whispered. "Not without us."

I kissed her—brief, fierce, tasting ash and iron—and pulled back.

"Same goes for you."

Sophia touched my wrist, a small spark of warmth passing from her palm to mine. "The wards will recognize your blood. If you need to call us, cut your hand and press it to any stone that still stands. We'll feel it."

Mona was already shouting orders to her two remaining crewmen. Sails dropped, lines were cast off with practiced speed.

I stepped back onto the gangplank.

"Green flares," I repeated. "Midnight. No later."

Sarah nodded once.

I turned and ran—west, into the darkening hills, the black envelope still clutched in one fist like a curse I refused to let go.

Behind me, *Silver Wake* slipped her moorings and gathered speed, white sails filling with the last of the dying light.

Ahead of me the capital waited, silent and doomed and calling my name.

I didn't look back.

There was nothing left to see.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.