Chapter 11: Walking The Razor's Edge

The moment Naomi saw him standing there, her entire body tensed. Castin had no right to be here. No right to be near Eli.

You're not going anywhere.

She saw the shift in his posture, the way his shoulders squared slightly. He wasn't intimidated, but he was aware. Good. He should be.

"Naomi," Castin started, his voice even. He didn't move closer, but he also didn't move back.

She cut him off. "You shouldn't be here, Castin. You have no idea what you're stepping into."

His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't lash out. "Maybe not," he admitted, "but I know who he is." His gaze flickered to Eli, still unmoving in the bed. "And I know he shouldn't be here."

Naomi's chest constricted. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. No, he doesn't know what he's talking about.

"He's safe with me," she said sharply.

"Is he?" Castin challenged, stepping forward just a fraction. "Lying in a cold room, cut off from the people who love him?"

Naomi's breath hitched. A memory fluttered at the edge of her mind, something warm and distant, something she couldn't reach.

"I'm protecting him," she said, her voice quieter, but no less fierce. "I'm all he has."

Castin's expression darkened. "No. You're all you have."

The words cut deeper than she expected. Naomi felt something crack in her resolve. No. No, he was twisting things. He didn't understand.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Her voice wavered, but she clenched her fists tighter, grounding herself. "You don't know anything about me."

"Then tell me," Castin snapped back. "Tell me why you're keeping him here, why you won't let him go home."

Home. The word sent an ache through her skull. Naomi pressed her fingers against her temple. Why was this happening? Why was he making everything worse?

"Shut up."

"I'm not leaving without him."

Her breath came faster. He wasn't stopping. He wasn't letting this go. And she knew, she knew, if he said one more thing, if he pressed any harder, he would pull something loose. Something she wasn't ready for.

"I said, shut up!"

The power flared before she fully realized what she had done.

Castin flinched, his hand reaching for something at his side, instinct, maybe, but he didn't pull a weapon. His body trembled slightly, resisting, but Naomi felt it sink into him, felt the weight pressing against his mind.

Leave. Get out. Walk away.

His muscles locked. His jaw clenched. He was fighting it.

Her stomach twisted, he shouldn't be able to fight it.

Castin took a shaky breath, his fingers twitching. "No," he growled through his teeth. "You don't get to decide this."

Her pulse pounded in her ears. Why wasn't it working? Why was he still resisting?

She pushed harder. Leave. Get out. Walk. Away.

Castin gritted his teeth, his entire body trembling as if caught in an unseen vice. His boots shifted backward, inch by inch, but every muscle in his body fought against it. He was losing, but not without a fight. His breath came in sharp gasps, his fingers digging into his palms as he strained, as if sheer force of will could break the hold pressing against him.

Naomi's pulse raced. He's resisting too much. Why is he resisting? Panic crept into her thoughts. The pressure wasn't enough. It should have been enough. She could feel the tension in the air, the struggle between her will and his, and for the first time in a long while, she was afraid she might lose.

Her hands trembled as she clenched her fists. No. No, I can't let this happen. She had lost too much already. She wouldn't lose this.

With a deep, shuddering breath, she pushed harder, shoving every ounce of force she could muster into the command. Leave. Get out. Walk away. Obey.

A sharp noise escaped Castin's throat, half growl, half something else. His knees nearly buckled, his breath ragged. He was barely holding on, his body betraying him inch by inch. Naomi could feel the moment he slipped.

His breath was ragged, his fists clenched at his sides. Naomi watched as his resolve cracked, his body betraying him as the command took hold. He couldn't fight it anymore.

He turned, stiffly, shoulders hunched like he was physically straining against invisible chains. He reached for the door, hesitating for a moment, as if trying to push back one last time, then he walked out.

The door shut behind him.

Naomi let out a shaking breath, pressing a hand against the wall for support. She didn't want to do that. But he left her no choice.

The outskirts of Rat City stretched before him, dimly lit by scattered lanterns, their glow flickering against damp stone walls. The tunnels here were quieter, almost abandoned, but Castin's boots echoed louder than they should have. His body still felt stiff, the last remnants of Naomi's influence clinging to him like a phantom weight. He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as sensation fully returned.

He was free.

But that didn't mean he wasn't furious.

Each step forward untangled more of the frustration curling in his chest. Naomi had won, for now. She had forced him to leave, had dug into his head and made him obey. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening as he replayed the moment over in his mind. He had fought her influence harder than he should have been able to. She had felt it too, he was sure of it, the second of hesitation before she pushed harder.

If she had hesitated even a second longer, he might have broken free.

His breath came in short, frustrated bursts. She had made a mistake. She hadn't told him to forget.

Her panic had cost her that much.

And that mistake meant he still had a choice. A duty.

He reached the Lantern Archway, pausing beneath its soft glow. The fabric of the hanging lanterns swayed gently with the underground breeze, the light bouncing against the stone with a warmth that felt foreign to him now. The festival felt like a lifetime ago. The memory flickered in his mind, Emma's laughter, Elizabeth's wary glances, the way for a few fleeting moments, it had felt like he belonged to something again.

Not yet.

He kept moving, boots finding their way forward on instinct.

The market district came into view as he moved deeper into the city. Even at this late hour, there was still life in it. Dimly lit stalls with exhausted merchants, workers returning home after their shifts, the scent of roasted roots and warm bread still clinging to the air. He could have stopped, could have blended into the lull of normalcy, but this wasn't his world.

He exhaled sharply and forced himself to move.

Naomi was wrong. Eli deserved to be home.

He wove through the narrowing alleys, past familiar pathways, until the towering shape of the palace loomed before him. The guards at the entrance barely acknowledged him as he approached, perhaps they could sense something in his expression, the tightness in his movements.

He was done walking.

He had made it.

Now, it was time to speak.

As Castin approached the towering palace gates, a pair of palace guards stepped forward before he could announce himself. One of them, a stern-faced rat with a scar over his brow, spoke first. "The King has been expecting you. Follow me."

Castin clenched his jaw but said nothing as he fell in step behind them. Of course he knew. The Rat King always knew more than he let on, and now he had timed his summons perfectly. Damn manipulative bastard.

The halls of the palace were quieter than the streets outside, the flickering lanterns casting long, wavering shadows on the stone walls. Castin had walked these halls before, but tonight felt different. The weight in his chest wasn't just exhaustion, it was the knowledge of what he had seen, what he had learned, and what he had to report. This felt like it was bigger than just Naomi and Eli.

The guards led him through the corridors until they reached a familiar set of doors. One pushed them open without a word, revealing the dimly lit chamber beyond. The Rat King was already seated, fingers steepled, golden eyes watching Castin with that ever-present knowing gaze.

"You've returned," the Rat King said, voice even. "I assume that means you found something."

Castin exhaled sharply. "I found Naomi. And I found something else, well, someone else."

The Rat King's fingers tapped lightly against the table. "Go on."

Castin hesitated only for a breath before he spoke. "Eli. He's alive. She's been keeping him hidden. He's in a coma, I saw him myself. She wouldn't let me stay, and when I tried to reason with her, she did something to me, something I can't quite explain. I fought it at first, pushed back against it as hard as I could, but she just kept pressing, and in the end… she won."

Matias, standing nearby, tensed at those words. His eyes flickered toward Castin, his expression unreadable.

"So it happened to you as well," he said, voice quieter than usual."

His frustration was palpable, his own inability to speak about Naomi gnawing at him. The Rat King's expression didn't change, but something in his gaze sharpened.

"Eli lives," he repeated, the words carrying an unspoken weight. "And Naomi has been hiding him from us, albeit not entirely on purpose."

Castin nodded. "I don't think she's our enemy, not in the way we might assume. I think she truly believes she's protecting him. But she's terrified of what happens if we take him from her."

The Rat King exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming lightly. "Then for now, we let her believe she has won. If we act too soon, we lose control of the situation. And we do not yet understand the full scope of her abilities."

Matias's expression darkened. "So we're just letting her keep him?"

"For now," the Rat King confirmed. "Until I can speak with her myself. But there are more immediate concerns."

Castin took a slow breath, steadying himself. "There's more. Before I confronted Naomi, I followed Matias. I saw where he was going. He led me straight to her hideout. I watched him hesitate before entering, like something was stopping him. He stood there, writing something down, frustrated. And then he left."

Matias, who had been standing tensely beside him, turned sharply. "You what?" His ears flicked, and for the first time that evening, his composure cracked just slightly. "You were following me?"

Castin lifted a shoulder, half shrugging. "Look, I had my orders. You were acting strange, and the Rat King wanted to know why. I just happened to figure out what you were already chasing."

Matias narrowed his eyes. "Happened to? You spied on me."

Castin smirked, the first hint of amusement breaking through the heavy conversation. "You call it spying, I call it being thorough."

Matias exhaled through his nose, looking to the Rat King as if waiting for some kind of reprimand, but the Rat King merely observed, his expression betraying no particular reaction.

Still, Matias crossed his arms and muttered, "Next time, I'd appreciate a warning."

Castin huffed a quiet chuckle. "Sure, I'll send you a note next time I tail you. Make it real formal."

Matias shot him a glare but didn't push the argument further. His jaw tensed, his frustration deepened, the weight of Naomi's control still looming over him. "I tried to go inside. I tried to find out what she was hiding. But I couldn't." His fists clenched. "I couldn't."

The Rat King observed them both carefully before nodding. "So Naomi has left a mark on both of you. That makes things… complicated."

Instead of reacting immediately to the revelation about Eli, the Rat King sat in still contemplation, his golden gaze shifting between Castin and Matias. The weight of the moment pressed down on the chamber like a held breath. Finally, he exhaled and leaned forward, his fingers interlocking as he rested his chin on his hands.

"There are larger dangers in this city than a single secret," he said, his voice calm but resolute. "Naomi and Eli will have to wait. For now, I have something else for you both."

Matias and Castin exchanged glances. Neither of them liked the idea of leaving things unresolved, but the Rat King's tone left little room for debate.

"The Gun Runners have been making moves," he continued. "We've been watching, but something has changed. They are bolder. More coordinated. No longer just a band of smugglers and thieves—now, they are something more."

He paused, letting the tension settle before delivering the final blow.

"There are whispers that Nikodemus is involved."

The very name shifted the air in the room. A chill, an unspoken weight of history and consequence.

Matias straightened, his expression darkening. "That name again."

Castin clenched his jaw, inhaling sharply. He had heard it, too—from the Rat King himself, back when he first arrived in Rat City. He hadn't known the full weight of the name then, but now, hearing it again in this context, he understood that it wasn't thrown around lightly.

The Rat King's voice dropped slightly, quieter but no less commanding. "If Nikodemus is backing them, we need to know why. We need to understand what they are preparing for before they make their next move."

Matias exhaled, his fists resting against the table. "And you want us to get close."

The Rat King nodded. "You must make yourselves useful to them. Give them a reason to trust you, to welcome you. They only keep those who serve their purpose. Find out what that purpose is."

Castin ran a hand through his hair, letting out a low whistle. "So, just blend in with a bunch of criminals and hope we don't get killed? Simple."

The Rat King smirked slightly. "Adapt quickly, or die quietly."

Matias shook his head but didn't argue. He understood the reality of what they were being asked to do.

The Rat King sat back slightly, his gaze steady. "If they suspect you, you won't live long enough to warn us. This mission is not just about survival, it's about preparation."

Castin exhaled, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Alright. When do we start?"

The Rat King gestured toward the door, his tone firm yet measured. "You have much to prepare for. Take the time you need, but return only when you have something of value to share. This mission depends on patience as much as action."

Castin and Matias stood at the threshold of the mission that would dictate their survival.

They walked in silence for a while, the weight of the task ahead pressing down on them. Eventually, Matias exhaled sharply, breaking the quiet. "I didn't like you when you first got here."

Castin smirked slightly. "I noticed."

Matias shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It wasn't because of your attitude, though that didn't help. It was because you're human."

Castin's smirk faded as he glanced at him. "Figured."

Matias let out a slow breath. "You get to walk around here, and people look at you like you belong. I've had to fight for that every single day of my life. I've seen what your kind does to us. How easy it is for humans to decide who deserves to exist and who doesn't."

There was a long pause before Castin responded. "And now?"

Matias glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Now, I think you actually give a damn."

They didn't shake hands or share some dramatic moment, but something between them shifted. A quiet, mutual understanding had formed, an acknowledgment of where they had started and how far they had come.

As they reached a small armory tucked into a corner of the palace, Matias nodded toward a rack of clothing. "You need to look the part."

Castin browsed through the worn leather vests and patched tunics, finally selecting something that looked both rugged and functional. He stripped off his old, more structured outfit, replacing it with something that made him feel less like a soldier and more like someone who had lived in the underbelly of Rat City for years. He adjusted his vest, glancing at Matias.

Matias smirked slightly. "Now you look like you belong."

Castin rolled his shoulders, testing the fit. "Good. Let's hope they think so too."

Matias had secured information on where new recruits were often scouted, a smuggler's tavern known as The Rusted Fang, nestled deep in the underbelly of Rat City, where those seeking work could prove their worth. They stood near the palace gates, ready to disappear into the city.

"You ready?" Castin asked, adjusting his vest one last time.

Matias took a slow, measured breath. "No. But let's go anyway."

With that, they disappeared into the shadows, no longer soldiers or guardsmen, but men stepping into a world that would just as easily consume them if they weren't careful.

The Rat King sat alone in the dim chamber. His golden eyes remained fixed on the space where Castin and Matias had stood, his mind already running through possibilities, contingencies, consequences. He had planned for many things, accounted for many unknowns, but even he had not foreseen how swiftly the pieces would move.

Eli lives.

The thought settled deep within him, heavier than he had expected. He had long suspected that at least one other had survived, he had read between the lines of Naomi's erratic movements and the whispers of those who still clung to the past, Eli and Naomi had been very close so it only made sense to him. But confirmation changed things. Knowing was different from suspecting. It made every decision from this point forward far more delicate, far more dangerous.

He would not act on it. Not yet. Patience had always been his greatest weapon. But patience was only useful so long as he controlled the board. Naomi had forced his hand by revealing herself, by revealing Eli. The balance of power had shifted, and now, he had to ensure that it tipped in his favor.

Naomi had hidden much from him. But now, she had made herself known. And she would have to answer for it.

But not today.

For now, his attention remained on the Gun Runners. If Nikodemus had returned to Rat City, it was only a matter of time before the foundations of everything they had built began to shake. The Gun Runners were no longer just a rogue faction of smugglers. They were growing, evolving, and worse, organizing. That was not something done without guidance, without purpose. And if Nikodemus was behind that purpose, then Rat City stood at the edge of something far greater than a power struggle.

If Matias and Castin failed, it would not just be their lives that were forfeit.

The city would burn long before Eli ever had a chance to come home.

The Rat King exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against the armrest as his thoughts wove a web of possibilities. He had played this game for longer than most had drawn breath. And yet, the stakes had never felt quite so uncertain.

His golden eyes flickered toward the lone lantern that illuminated the chamber, its soft glow barely keeping the dark at bay.

"Let's see how this plays out."