The morning passed like a held breath.

Gabriel and Adan spent it preparing in silence. They bought rope from a market vendor who didn't ask questions. Found gloves. Purchased charcoal to darken their faces when the time came.

Around noon they ate bread and dried meat in their room at a cheap inn called the Iron Bell. The food tasted like ash, but Gabriel forced it down anyway, knowing his body would need the fuel for what was coming.

He couldn't stop thinking about Castor.

Twenty sparring sessions, maybe more. Castor's style had always been aggressive, favouring power over precision. Strong overhead strikes meant to overwhelm opponents through raw force. That approach worked in training where rules and padding kept people safe.

In real combat it created openings.

That's what I'll use.

At mid-day they moved into position.

The alley behind the Silver Basin reeked of sewage and rotting food, narrow enough that two men could barely walk abreast. Perfect cover for what they needed to do. They crouched behind stacked crates, watching the back entrance where a single guard leaned against the wall with the bored expression of someone pulling an easy assignment.

"When Castor arrives, that guard goes inside," Adan whispered. "Standard protocol. Everyone on high alert when the commander's present. He'll be gone ten minutes, maybe fifteen if they do a full sweep of the building."

"That's our window." Gabriel's hand rested on his sword hilt, fingers loose and ready.

After a while sounds drifted from the front of the building. Voices. Horses. The unmistakable clink of armour moving in formation.

The guard at the back entrance straightened immediately, touched his sword hilt once, then disappeared inside without looking back.

"Now," Gabriel said.

They crossed the alley in seconds, boots barely making sound on the packed dirt. Gabriel tested the door. Unlocked, as expected. Guards worried about external threats, not someone stupid enough to infiltrate a building full of armed soldiers.

The storage room beyond was dim and cluttered. Linens stacked on shelves, cleaning supplies, a stairwell leading up. Voices drifted from the main floor above them, casual conversation as guards settled into their positions for the next two hours.

Gabriel and Adan climbed the stairs with careful silence, testing each step before committing weight. The second floor hallway was empty except for steam drifting from under closed doors. Bath houses had consistent layouts. Private rooms on upper floors for wealthy clients. Castor would be on the third floor in one of the premium spaces.

They climbed higher.

The third floor hallway contained four doors, all closed. Gabriel pressed his ear to each one in sequence, cataloguing sounds.

First door: nothing.

Second door: water running, single person humming off-key.

Third door: multiple voices, the distinctive cadence of guards making small talk while they waited.

Fourth door: more water running, one person moving, the sound of someone washing.

That's him.

Gabriel gestured to Adan, pointing at the third door where the guards waited. Adan positioned himself where he could intercept if they emerged, his hand resting on his sword in a relaxed grip that could become lethal in a heartbeat.

Gabriel moved to the fourth door.

The lock was simple, meant for privacy not security. His knife slipped into the gap between door and frame easily enough. He worked the mechanism with ease, feeling tumblers shift and click.

The lock opened.

Gabriel pushed the door inward slowly, keeping his movements controlled. Steam billowed out immediately, thick enough to obscure vision. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

The room was large. Stone walls slick with condensation, a sunken bath in the centre with water steaming. Towels hung on hooks beside a bench where clothes had been folded with military precision. A sword belt rested on top, within easy reach for someone who never truly relaxed.

Castor stood in the bath with water to his waist, head tilted back as he worked soap through his hair. His back was to the door, scarred from old wounds, muscles moving under skin in ways that spoke of constant training.

Gabriel drew his sword.

The sound was quiet but in the steamy silence of the bathroom it might as well have been a shout. Castor's head snapped forward, hands dropping from his hair as he spun to face the door.

His eyes widened when he saw Gabriel standing there with a drawn blade.

Recognition flashed across his face immediately, followed by understanding, then calculation. He moved, launching himself toward the bench where his sword waited.

Gabriel crossed the distance faster.

His blade came down in a precise diagonal aimed at Castor's neck. Castor twisted mid-lunge, the sword catching his shoulder instead of his throat. Blood sprayed across white stone in a dark arc.

Castor's roar filled the room, echoing off tiles. His fist came up fast, catching Gabriel on the jaw with enough force to snap his head sideways.

The impact sent Gabriel stumbling. Stars burst in his vision. He blinked them away and found Castor already moving again despite the wound leaking blood down his chest.

He's stronger than he was at the academy.

Castor grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his wounded shoulder in one smooth motion, never taking his eyes off Gabriel. His stance was balanced despite the blood loss, weight distributed properly, ready to move in any direction.

"The golden boy" Castor said. His voice was steady, controlled, showing no sign of the pain he must be feeling. "His Holiness will be displeased you're alive"

Gabriel didn't respond. He shifted his grip on his sword, adjusted his stance slightly, and prepared for Castor's next move.

"Not the talkative type anymore?" Castor circled left, away from his sword, eyes tracking Gabriel's every micro-movement. "You used to never shut up during training. Always asking questions, always wanting to understand the why behind every technique. Always trying to impress."

Gabriel's jaw ached from the punch, but he kept his expression neutral.

Castor's smile was cold. "And look at you now," he gestured vaguely at Gabriel's red eyes. "An abomination."

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