A Deal in the Dark

The Black Hollow breathed danger. It slithered through the streets, curled around the alleyways, and whispered from the mouths of those who thrived in its depths. The city wasn't alive—it was lurking, waiting for someone to misstep.

Evelyn kept a steady pace, her hand never straying far from her sword. She had walked these streets before, knew the rules of survival: Don't show weakness. Don't ask the wrong questions. And most of all—don't trust anyone.

Damien walked beside her, his usual smirk in place, but his golden eyes flicked from shadow to shadow, cataloging every threat. He might joke, but she knew he was assessing everything, just like she was.

Ronan trailed behind, arms crossed, his presence less obvious but no less dangerous. The three of them were an anomaly here—outsiders, strangers in a city that despised unfamiliar faces.

"Charming place," Damien mused. "Really gives off that 'friendly neighborhood murder den' aesthetic."

Evelyn ignored him. She had more pressing concerns than his commentary.

Their destination was near.

A tavern stood at the end of the alleyway, its wooden sign swinging lazily in the wind. The Broken Dagger.

A fitting name.

The inside reeked of sweat, ale, and unwashed bodies. The kind of place where people drowned their pasts in cheap liquor, where knives spoke louder than words. A thick tension settled over the air as the trio entered, but no one moved. These were seasoned criminals. They knew how to recognize a fight that wasn't worth picking.

Evelyn strode toward the back without hesitation. A single man sat in the dim candlelight, boots propped up on the table, swirling a cup of something strong and undoubtedly laced with poison—not for himself, but for anyone foolish enough to steal his drink.

He didn't look up as they approached. "I was wondering when you'd come crawling back, Varcrest."

Evelyn didn't flinch. "Nice to see you too, Veyren."

At that, the man finally lifted his gaze. He was older than she remembered, but only slightly—his dark hair was tousled in a way that looked effortless, and his smirk was the same as ever: amused, but sharp.

Damien gave a low whistle. "So this is your mysterious contact? I expected someone taller."

Veyren's eyes flicked toward him, unconcerned. "And you must be the dead weight."

Damien grinned. "Actually, I prefer 'charming burden.'"

Ronan groaned. "I hate both of you."

Evelyn pulled out a chair and sat. "We need information."

Veyren tilted his head. "You always do. What makes this time different?"

Evelyn leaned forward. "Someone tried to kill us."

That got his attention. His fingers paused on the rim of his glass. "Specifics."

"She was trained. Too well," Ronan said, taking the seat beside Evelyn. "She knew how we fought. She anticipated everything."

Veyren's expression didn't change, but Evelyn caught the flicker in his eyes. He knew something.

Damien leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. "She also called me by name. I tend to have that effect on women, but this one was a little more… stab-happy than usual."

Veyren sighed. "And you're sure she wasn't just someone you wronged in the past?"

"Could be. The list is long," Damien admitted. "But this felt different."

Evelyn's patience was thinning. "Veyren. Who sent her?"

Veyren swirled his drink again, considering. "The kind of assassin you're describing? She's not just some sellsword. If she knew your moves before you made them, it means one thing."

Silence stretched between them.

Damien's voice was quieter this time. "A spy."

Veyren nodded. "Or worse."

Evelyn felt a cold weight settle in her stomach. "Then who is she working for?"

Veyren exhaled. "That, I don't know. But I can find out."

Ronan narrowed his eyes. "And what do you want in return?"

Veyren's smirk was slow and deliberate. "Ah, Varcrest. You know me so well."

Evelyn clenched her jaw. She had been expecting this.

"The Black Hollow doesn't deal in charity," Veyren said. "If you want information, I need something in exchange."

Evelyn nodded. "What is it?"

Veyren leaned forward, his voice dropping. "There's a noble in town. A pompous bastard who thinks he's untouchable. I need him… dealt with."

Damien's brow lifted. "By 'dealt with,' do you mean—"

"I don't care how you do it," Veyren interrupted. "But make sure he doesn't walk out of the city alive."

Evelyn's fingers tightened around her sword hilt. She had expected a price. But not this.

Silence stretched between them.

Ronan exhaled sharply. "You want us to kill a noble?"

Veyren's smirk didn't waver. "Problem?"

Damien, surprisingly, was the first to speak. "Depends. Do we get to know why, or is this one of those 'just trust me' deals?"

Veyren studied him for a long moment. "His name is Lord Garreth Vale. He's been… making moves. Bad ones. If he walks out of the Hollow, a lot of people will suffer."

Evelyn met his gaze, searching for a lie. Veyren didn't deal in half-truths. If he was saying this, then the noble was dangerous.

Still, this wasn't a mission they could take lightly.

Veyren seemed to sense her hesitation. "You want answers? This is my price. Take it or leave it."

Evelyn exhaled slowly. The pieces were moving too fast, and they had little time to decide.

But they needed answers.

And in the Black Hollow, survival came at a cost.

She looked at Damien and Ronan, weighing their reactions.

Finally, she turned back to Veyren and said, "Tell us everything you know about Lord Vale."

The deal was struck.

And the hunt had begun.