22. Blades in the Dark

The underground passage was cold and damp, the scent of wet stone and decay filling the narrow tunnel. Yue Rin moved swiftly, her breath steady despite the exhaustion creeping into her limbs. Ao Ling led the way, her torch casting flickering shadows against the rough walls.

The silence between them was heavy, but Yue Rin knew better than to break it. Questions burned in her mind, but trust was a fragile thing between them. Right now, survival came first.

They turned a sharp corner, and Yue Rin felt it before she saw it—danger.

She stopped abruptly, gripping Ao Ling's arm. "Wait."

Ao Ling froze, eyes narrowing. "What is it?"

A soft whisper echoed through the tunnel. Not words, but the subtle rustling of fabric against stone. The breath of a predator waiting in the dark.

Then—

A blade whistled through the air.

Yue Rin ducked just in time, the tip of the assassin's dagger slicing past her ear. She twisted, driving her own sword upward, but the assassin was fast—too fast.

The shadows exploded around them as more figures emerged from the darkness. Five—no, six—silent killers, their faces obscured by masks. Imperial assassins.

Ao Ling reacted instantly, her blade flashing in the dim torchlight. Steel met steel, sparks flying as the clash of swords shattered the silence.

Yue Rin spun, dodging another strike before countering with a precise slash. Her sword found flesh, a muffled grunt escaping her opponent's lips as he staggered back. But there was no time to breathe. Another came at her, twin daggers aiming for her throat.

She barely parried in time.

The tunnel was too narrow, the walls closing in, limiting movement. Every step had to be calculated, every strike deliberate.

Ao Ling fought beside her, moving with deadly grace. For a moment, they were in sync—two warriors born of the same blood, their swords dancing in a lethal rhythm.

Then—

A blade sliced through Ao Ling's side.

She gasped, staggering backward, blood blooming against her dark robes.

Yue Rin's vision turned red.

With a fierce cry, she drove forward, her strikes fueled by fury. One assassin fell, then another. She moved with deadly precision, blocking, countering, striking—until the last assassin dropped to the ground, motionless.

Panting, Yue Rin turned to Ao Ling, who pressed a hand against her wound, her face pale.

"We need to move," Ao Ling muttered, her voice strained.

Yue Rin didn't argue. She wrapped an arm around her sister's waist, supporting her as they pushed forward.

The exit was close. Freedom was close.