The fortress of the Crimson Talon smoldered in the distance, its blackened spires clawing at the ash-gray sky. Ash urged his horse onward, the icy wind biting through his cloak as he fled north. Lyra and Garrick had not followed—whether dead, captured, or merely delayed, he couldn’t know. Guilt gnawed at him, sharp and relentless, but he pushed it down. Survival first. Regret later.

  He rode until the horse faltered, its breath ragged and coat lathered. In the shelter of a pine grove, he dismounted, his legs trembling. The ledger’s ashes still clung to his gloves, a bitter reminder of the secrets he’d burned. Secrets that could have been a weapon. Secrets that now haunted him.

  *Who were those nobles in the ledger? How deep does this go?*

  A rustle in the underbrush snapped him to attention. Ash drew his dagger, his pulse roaring in his ears. A figure emerged—hooded, slight, and holding up empty hands.

  “Peace, Lord Blackwell,” the stranger said, their voice muffled. “Or should I say… *Ash*?”

  Ash’s grip tightened on the dagger. “Who are you?”

  The stranger lowered their hood, revealing a young woman with fiery auburn hair and a scar slicing through her left eyebrow. “A friend. Or an ally, at least. My name is Veyra. I served the Duke’s late spymaster—until his *sudden* demise.” Her gaze flicked to the distant smoke. “I assume that’s your handiwork?”

  Ash didn’t lower the blade. “What do you want?”

  “To offer you a trade,” Veyra said, her tone cool. “The Crimson Talon’s ledgers held only half the story. The names you burned? They’re puppets. The true mastermind remains—and I know where to find them.”

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  ---

  **Scene Break**

  Seraphina de Voss stood in the Duke’s abandoned study, her fingers trailing over the bloodstain on his desk. The metallic tang still lingered in the air, a reminder of Ash’s defiance. Her uncle’s death had been swift, brutal, and utterly unexpected. Just like the man who’d caused it.

  The letter—*“The pawn has become a player”*—crackled in her pocket. She’d received it hours ago, delivered by a street urchin who vanished before her guards could seize him. The words gnawed at her. *Who is watching me? Who knows about Ash?*

  A knock shattered the silence. Her captain of the guard, Rylan, entered, his armor smeared with soot. “My lady, the mercenaries’ fortress in the Ironpeaks has been destroyed. Survivors speak of a man with a new face… and a woman with a bow.”

  Seraphina’s breath hitched. *Ash.* Alive. And still fighting.

  “Send riders to the northern border,” she ordered, her voice steady. “Quietly. I want him found—*alive*.”

  Rylan hesitated. “The Crown’s agents are already hunting him. If we’re caught aiding a fugitive—”

  “Then don’t get caught,” she snapped, her violet eyes flashing. “Or would you rather explain to the Crown why my uncle plotted treason under your watch?”

  Rylan paled and bowed. “At once, my lady.”

  When he left, Seraphina withdrew the letter, her thumb brushing the broken seal. A faint scent clung to the parchment—sage and iron. *The Alchemist.*

  ---

  **Scene Break**

  Veyra’s “trade” led Ash to a dilapidated chapel in the foothills, its stone walls choked by ivy. Inside, the air reeked of mildew and old blood. A single candle flickered on the altar, illuminating a figure in a crimson cloak.

  “You’re late,” the figure said, their voice distorted by a mask of polished silver.

  Ash’s dagger was in his hand before he could think. “Who are you?”

  The figure turned, their mask reflecting the candle’s flame like a twisted mirror. “The architect of your suffering. The Duke was a useful fool, but his greed made him predictable. You, however… you’re *interesting*.”

  Ash’s blood turned to ice. *This* was the mastermind. The true enemy.

  “Why target Seraphina?” he demanded.

  The figure laughed—a hollow, metallic sound. “The Black Rose was never the target. She was the bait. For you.”

  Before Ash could react, the chapel doors burst open. Lyra and Garrick stood silhouetted in the moonlight, bloodied but alive.

  “Miss us?” Lyra smirked, nocking an arrow.

  The silver-masked figure sighed. “How tedious.”

  ---

  **Next scene**

  As the arrow flew, the figure vanished in a swirl of smoke, leaving behind only the stench of sulfur. Ash stared at the empty space, his mind reeling.

  *They knew I’d come for Seraphina. They’ve been manipulating me from the start.*

  And in Valencrest, Seraphina unfolded a second letter, delivered in the dead of night. This one bore no seal, only a single line:

  *“The thorns you cling to will draw blood. Even yours.”*