Shadows of Betrayal

The night stretched endlessly, thick with the scent of damp earth and burning wood. The faint embers of their dying campfire crackled softly, casting eerie shadows across the dense forest. Evelyn sat on a fallen log, fingers tightening around the hilt of her sword. Sleep was a luxury she couldn't afford—not when the weight of uncertainty loomed over them.

Damien was slouched against a tree nearby, one knee bent, arms crossed. He looked at ease, but Evelyn knew better. His golden eyes, reflecting the flickering firelight, were distant. He was still recovering from the poison, and though the antidote had stabilized him, she could see the signs—subtle tremors in his fingers, the occasional hitch in his breath when he thought no one was paying attention.

Ronan returned from his patrol, brushing damp leaves off his coat. "No signs of pursuit," he said, though his tone was laced with tension. "But something feels… off."

Evelyn lifted a brow. "Off how?"

He shook his head. "Can't place it. Just a feeling."

Damien let out an exaggerated sigh, stretching his arms. "Fantastic. I love baseless paranoia."

Ronan shot him an unimpressed look. "It's called instincts. You should try listening to them instead of running your mouth."

Damien smirked. "My mouth has saved us plenty of times."

Evelyn snorted. "Name one."

Without missing a beat, Damien sat up slightly. "That time I sweet-talked our way past the border guards? Or do you not recall how my charm and dashing good looks—"

"You bribed them with all our money," Ronan deadpanned.

"A form of charm," Damien corrected, grinning. "I charmed the gold right out of our pockets."

Evelyn sighed, rubbing her temples. "This is why I don't leave you in charge of negotiations."

"Tragic, really," Damien mused. "So much wasted potential."

Ronan rolled his eyes but dropped the subject. The air between them had been tense since the battle, and even Damien's usual antics weren't enough to lighten the weight of what had happened.

Who sent that assassin?

They weren't just being hunted—someone was watching, planning, waiting.

And then there was the assassin's parting words:

We'll meet again.

A threat? A promise?

Evelyn didn't know, but she did know one thing.

"We need answers," she muttered.

Damien, for once, was serious. "And we need them now."

Silence followed. It was Ronan who finally spoke.

"I assume this 'old contact' of yours is our best shot?"

Evelyn hesitated. She hadn't seen this contact in years, and trusting him wasn't a simple matter. But right now, they had no other options.

"Yes."

Damien studied her, expression unreadable. "And where exactly is this contact?"

She exhaled slowly. "The Black Hollow."

A beat of silence.

Ronan swore under his breath. "You can't be serious."

Damien let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Of course. It's always the worst possible place, isn't it? Why can't your mysterious, life-saving informants ever live in cozy little villages?"

Evelyn gave him a flat look. "Would you trust an informant who lived in a cozy little village?"

Damien considered this. "Fair point."

The Black Hollow. A city of spies, mercenaries, and exiled criminals. A place where trust was currency and betrayal was inevitable.

"We have no choice," Evelyn said. "If we want to know who's hunting us… we need to go there."

Ronan pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is a terrible idea."

"Probably," Damien agreed cheerfully. "But those are the only kind we have."

The fire crackled, its embers glowing like dying stars.

Tomorrow, they would step into the shadows. And in the Black Hollow, shadows had teeth.

Dawn broke, casting long shadows through the trees. The forest was eerily quiet, their journey accompanied only by the crunch of leaves beneath their boots.

Damien walked beside Evelyn, his usual smirk back in place despite the lingering weakness in his movements. He caught her watching him and raised an eyebrow. "You keep staring, Varcrest. If you're that worried about me, just admit it."

Evelyn scoffed. "I just don't want to carry your unconscious body again."

Ronan, walking a few steps ahead, snorted. "You should've left him last time. Would've saved us the trouble."

Damien gasped, clutching his chest. "Betrayed by my own comrades. This wound cuts deeper than the poison."

"Shame the antidote doesn't work on your personality," Evelyn muttered.

"You'd miss it," Damien shot back.

She rolled her eyes, but a small, almost reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

Their banter aside, the journey was long. By nightfall, the forest thinned, revealing a sprawling city nestled between jagged cliffs. A wall of black stone surrounded it, the peaks rising like the ribs of a long-dead beast. Fires burned in the distance, illuminating the streets in a sinister glow.

The Black Hollow.

Damien let out a low whistle. "Charming place. Really gives off that 'welcome home' vibe."

"Stay close," Evelyn warned. "Trust no one."

Ronan gave a dry chuckle. "You say that as if we ever do."

They approached the gates, where guards in mismatched armor lounged at the entrance. These weren't disciplined knights—these were cutthroats playing at lawkeeping.

One of them stepped forward, eyes scanning them. "Haven't seen your faces before."

Evelyn met his gaze steadily. "We're here for business."

The guard smirked. "Ain't everyone?"

Before Evelyn could respond, Damien stepped in, flashing an easy grin. "Listen, I know we're breathtaking, but we'd prefer to get inside without the staring contest."

The guard blinked, momentarily thrown. Then he scowled. "Watch yourself, pretty boy."

"Oh, I do. Constantly. It's exhausting, really."

Evelyn elbowed him, hard. "Not. Helping."

The guard gave them one last scrutinizing look before stepping aside. "Fine. Just don't cause trouble."

"Us? Trouble?" Damien placed a hand over his heart. "I'm deeply offended."

They entered the city, stepping into a world of whispers and knives. Alleys twisted like veins through the streets, shadows shifting unnervingly. Every face was unreadable, every movement a calculated risk.

Ronan exhaled. "Feels like home."

Evelyn ignored him, focused on their destination.

Their contact wasn't just any informant. He was the informant. A man who dealt in secrets, who knew every whisper in the dark. If anyone knew about the assassin hunting them, it was him.

Damien fell in step beside her, his voice low. "You trust this guy?"

Evelyn's jaw tightened. "With my life."

Damien didn't look convinced. "That makes one of us."

She didn't blame him.

Because in a place like this, trust was just another way to get yourself killed.