The room was silent save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock, each tick a reminder that something vital was slipping through their fingers. The moonlight painted silver streaks across the obsidian tiles, casting long shadows behind Kael as he stood at the far window, watching, waiting. The scent of blood and ozone still lingered in the air from the earlier confrontation with the Pale Flame's phantoms.
Elyra sat slumped in a chair, cradling her side. Blood oozed sluggishly between her fingers, staining her tunic dark. But her eyes never left Vespera, who stood across from her, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"You knew," Elyra whispered. Her voice was hoarse, but it cut sharper than any blade. "You knew the Pale Flame would be there."
Kael stiffened. He turned slowly. "Say that again."
Vespera didn't flinch. "I didn't know. I suspected. There's a difference."
"A difference that cost us Rhysten's life," Elyra snapped, standing now despite the pain. Her glare was incandescent. "He trusted you. We all did."
Vespera looked away for the first time. Her silence spoke louder than words ever could. Kael's jaw tensed as he took a step forward, the air around him thick with barely leashed fury.
"If you ever withhold information again—"
"What? You'll exile me? Cut me down like you did those soldiers at Kareth's Gate?" Vespera's voice trembled, but not from fear. There was something raw in it—rage, regret, maybe even grief. "We are fighting shadows with daggers made of lies. I did what I had to."
A heavy silence settled.
Then Elyra said, voice low: "There's a storm coming. You either stand with us, or we bury you in the ash."
Outside, thunder rolled.
Far from their confrontation, deep in the ruins of Lorithal, a girl with silver eyes opened her palm. In it, a dying flame sputtered—a whisper of the Pale Flame's power, stolen. In the background, masked figures murmured in a language long forgotten.
She whispered to the flame. It flared once, then dimmed, and the girl smiled.
"They'll never see it coming."
Back at the hideout, Kael paced the war room. Maps littered the table, alongside scrolls, old prophecy tomes, and one blood-smeared letter. Elyra leaned against the doorway, still pale but burning with determination.
"We lost Rhysten," she said quietly. "But we still have each other. And we still have a chance."
Kael looked up, shadows dancing across his face. "Not if Vespera betrays us again."
"Then we make sure she doesn't."
Behind them, Vespera watched from the shadows. She gripped the locket around her neck—a locket with the same sigil that marked the Pale Flame's fortress.
And it glowed faintly in the dark.