Broken Dagger

The air in the Broken Dagger was thick with smoke and the stench of cheap liquor. Conversations murmured around them, but Evelyn barely registered them. Her focus remained on Veyren, who leaned back in his chair with a smug expression, fully aware that he had them trapped in his web.

Damien exhaled loudly, breaking the silence. "So, let me get this straight. You want us to take out Lord Garreth Vale, and in return, you'll give us the information we need?"

Veyren swirled his drink, unconcerned. "That's the deal."

Damien hummed. "And what if we don't feel like doing your dirty work?"

Veyren smirked. "Then I suppose you'll have to take your chances with the assassin who already knows how to kill you."

Evelyn clenched her jaw. They didn't have time to argue. They needed information.

She glanced at Ronan, who met her gaze, his expression unreadable. He didn't like this any more than she did, but they both knew they had no other option.

Evelyn turned back to Veyren. "Tell us what you know about Vale."

Veyren's grin widened as he leaned forward. "Now we're talking."

He placed a small, folded parchment on the table and slid it toward her. Evelyn hesitated before taking it, unfolding the note to reveal scrawled writing.

Lord Garreth Vale. Estate located in the western quarter. Arrival scheduled for tomorrow night. Guarded, but not untouchable.

Damien peered over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. "You just had this ready?"

Veyren shrugged. "I like to be prepared."

Ronan crossed his arms. "Who is he meeting?"

Veyren's smirk faded slightly. "That's where things get complicated."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. "Explain."

Veyren sighed. "Vale isn't just some corrupt noble. He's tied to something bigger. He's meeting someone important. Someone from the capital."

Damien leaned forward. "Someone like who?"

Veyren hesitated. "I don't have a name. Yet. But I know this much—whoever it is, they're powerful. And they don't want anyone interfering."

A chill ran through Evelyn's spine.

Powerful figures, secret meetings, assassins who knew their moves before they made them—everything was starting to connect. But the picture was still incomplete.

Ronan tapped a finger against the table. "If we take Vale out, we might lose the chance to find out who he's working with."

Evelyn nodded slowly. "Then we need to get close to him before we strike."

Damien stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Infiltration, then murder. Sounds fun."

Ronan shot him a glare. "We're not murdering him unless we have to."

"Of course," Damien said with a lazy grin. "Only if it's necessary."

Evelyn ignored their bickering and turned back to Veyren. "Where is this meeting happening?"

Veyren drummed his fingers on the table. "An estate just outside the western quarter. Isolated, easy to defend, but not impossible to infiltrate."

Evelyn exhaled slowly. "Then that's our target."

Damien smirked. "Finally. A noble party. I was starting to miss those."

Ronan raised an eyebrow. "You hate noble parties."

Damien placed a hand over his heart. "Not when they involve espionage and the occasional stabbing."

Evelyn resisted the urge to sigh.

Veyren leaned back, satisfied. "Then it's settled. Get the job done, and I'll have your information waiting."

Evelyn stood, tucking the parchment away. "We'll handle it."

Damien pushed his chair back lazily, flashing a grin. "You know, Veyren, you could've just asked nicely instead of playing the whole 'shady informant' role."

Veyren smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

Ronan muttered something under his breath, but he followed Evelyn as she turned toward the exit.

As they stepped back into the cold night air, the weight of the mission settled on them.

Tomorrow, they would walk into a den of secrets. And by the end of the night, one of them wouldn't be walking out.

Whether it was Vale—or themselves—remained to be seen.

The night air was thick with the scent of burning oil and damp stone as Evelyn, Damien, and Ronan stood on the rooftop overlooking Lord Garreth Vale's estate. The manor sprawled like a fortress, its stone walls illuminated by flickering torches and guarded by patrols that moved in precise formation. This wasn't just a noble's residence—it was a fortress.

Damien exhaled, adjusting the collar of his borrowed jacket. "You know, for once, I'd love to sneak into a place where the guards are completely incompetent."

Ronan gave him a dry look. "If they were, this wouldn't be worth our time."

"Fair point," Damien admitted.

Evelyn ignored their usual banter and focused on the task at hand. They had three objectives: infiltrate the estate, gather information about Vale's meeting, and—if necessary—eliminate him.

Killing a noble was a dangerous move, but if Vale was part of the conspiracy, leaving him alive was an even greater risk.

Evelyn turned to the others. "We do this clean. No unnecessary fights, no bodies unless absolutely necessary."

Damien smirked. "I make no promises."

Evelyn gave him a look.

"Fine, fine," he sighed. "I'll behave. Mostly."

Ronan pulled out a rolled parchment—a layout of the estate, courtesy of Veyren. "The meeting is taking place in the east wing. Vale has a private study there, heavily guarded. We need a way inside without drawing attention."

Evelyn's eyes flicked across the estate. "A party. There's a gathering happening inside."

Damien grinned. "Oh? A noble gathering? My favorite."

Ronan frowned. "We're not here to socialize."

"Speak for yourself," Damien said. "I look fantastic in formal wear."

Evelyn ignored them. "If we blend in, we can move through the main halls without suspicion. We just need to find an entry point."

Damien studied the manor. "Leave that to me."

Before Evelyn could stop him, he was already scaling down the rooftop, slipping into the shadows.

Ronan muttered under his breath. "I swear, one of these days, I'm letting him get caught."

Evelyn sighed. "Let's move."

The scent of expensive perfume and aged wine filled the air as Evelyn stepped into the grand ballroom, now adorned for the evening's festivities. Lavish chandeliers cast a golden glow over the polished floors, and nobles in fine silks and embroidered coats moved gracefully through the space.

Damien adjusted his cuffs beside her, blending seamlessly into the aristocratic crowd. His demeanor was effortless—smiling, charming, every bit the rogue noble he pretended to be. Evelyn, on the other hand, stiffened under the weight of the charade.

"You're supposed to be blending in," Damien murmured, sidling up beside her. "Try smiling. You look like you're about to stab someone."

"I might," she muttered.

Damien chuckled. "Relax. Just follow my lead."

Before she could protest, he swept her into a slow waltz, guiding her across the ballroom floor with practiced ease. Evelyn barely had time to react before she found herself moving to the rhythm, forced into the dance.

"I hate you," she muttered under her breath.

Damien grinned. "You're welcome."

They twirled past unsuspecting nobles, all while Damien subtly led them toward their true target—the east wing.

Ronan, disguised as a servant, slipped through the crowd unnoticed, his movements precise as he navigated toward the back corridors.

Their plan was in motion.

Beyond the ballroom, the east wing of the estate was a different world entirely. The lavish décor gave way to cold stone corridors, the air thick with silence. Here, the real game was being played.

Evelyn pressed herself against the wall as a pair of armed guards passed, their conversation hushed.

"The meeting's already started," one murmured. "Lord Vale doesn't want to be disturbed."

"We won't let anyone through," the other assured.

Evelyn exchanged a glance with Damien and Ronan.

They had to move fast.

Ronan gestured toward a side passage. "There's another way in—the upper balcony. Less guarded."

Damien smirked. "Finally. I was getting bored."

With swift, silent movements, they scaled the balcony, moving like shadows above the guards below.

Inside, voices carried through the air—Lord Vale's deep tone, and another voice, unfamiliar but laced with authority.

Evelyn's breath caught.

This was it. The missing piece.

They inched forward, peering down at the meeting unfolding below.

Lord Garreth Vale sat stiffly in his chair, a goblet of wine untouched at his side. Across from him stood a cloaked figure, their face obscured by the flickering candlelight.

"You are certain the knights suspect nothing?" the cloaked figure asked. Their voice was calm, measured.

Vale nodded. "For now. But they are relentless. If they uncover the truth—"

"They won't," the figure interrupted. "If they do, you know what must be done."

Vale hesitated. "There has been… an issue. The assassin failed."

Silence. Then, the cloaked figure leaned forward slightly. "Failed?"

"They survived," Vale admitted. "They're still alive."

The air in the room grew tense.

The figure's voice darkened. "Then we will deal with them another way."

Evelyn's blood ran cold. They were talking about them.

Damien's jaw tightened beside her.

Ronan tensed. "We need to move."

Evelyn nodded, already calculating their next steps. They needed to know who this figure was.

But as she shifted forward, the floor beneath her creaked.

Vale's head snapped up. "Who's there?!"

The cloaked figure turned sharply.

They had been spotted.

Evelyn cursed. "Move!"

In an instant, the room erupted into chaos. Guards rushed forward, swords drawn. Damien leapt down first, disarming the nearest guard with a flick of his wrist, his movements effortless.

Ronan followed, blocking an incoming strike with his dagger.

Evelyn landed last, her sword flashing in the dim light as she parried an attack.

Vale stumbled back, eyes wide with panic. "Kill them!"

The cloaked figure, however, did not react with fear. Instead, they moved with deadly precision, drawing a thin, curved blade. Their stance was practiced, their movements calculated.

Evelyn's heart pounded.

This wasn't just a noble's lackey.

This was someone dangerous.

And she was about to find out just how dangerous they really were.