Chapter 33: Whispers in the Dark

The moment they passed through Valmere's gates, Evelyne felt the shift in atmosphere. The streets were alive with movement, but beneath the surface hum of the bustling city, an undercurrent of unease ran deep.

She pulled her cloak tighter, scanning the crowd. The city was larger than she had imagined—its stone architecture grand yet worn, its alleys twisting like veins into unknown depths. It wasn't the first time she had set foot in a place like this, but tonight, every shadow felt heavier.

Phileo took the lead without hesitation. "Stay alert. If something feels off, leave." His voice was firm, but Evelyne noticed the way his hand hovered near his sword.

Alsiel sighed dramatically. "Right, because that worked so well last time."

Phileo ignored him, his attention locked on the streets ahead.

They moved swiftly, blending into the flow of people until they reached a quieter district. It was here that they parted ways, disappearing into the veins of Valmere's underbelly.

---

Evelyne kept her steps measured as she slipped into the marketplace. By night, the vendors had changed—the daylight merchants replaced by figures draped in dark cloaks, whispering trades of stolen goods and hidden secrets.

She wove through the scattered stalls, keeping her ears open. It wasn't long before she caught wind of something unusual.

"Rumors say the Order's sent someone ahead," a voice murmured nearby.

Evelyne slowed her pace, pretending to inspect a set of worn leather gloves.

"Someone? You mean the hounds?" another voice scoffed.

"No. Someone higher. They're looking for a killer."

Her grip tightened.

She forced herself to stay calm, shifting her stance slightly to get a better look at the speakers. Two men, hunched over a crate of supplies, speaking in hushed tones.

"If he's really here, Valmere won't be safe for long."

Evelyne's pulse quickened. She had heard enough.

Turning on her heel, she melted back into the crowd. She needed to find Phileo—now.

---

Phileo leaned against the worn wooden counter of a dimly lit tavern, eyes scanning the patrons. The place reeked of ale and secrets, a perfect place to gather information.

The bartender gave him a wary glance. "You new here?"

Phileo nodded, flipping a coin onto the counter. "Looking for work."

The man took the coin but didn't smile. "What kind?"

"The kind that pays well."

A pause. Then, with a subtle tilt of his head, the bartender gestured to a table in the corner.

Phileo followed his gaze. Two figures sat there, deep in conversation. Their expressions were unreadable, but their postures screamed experience—mercenaries, most likely.

He didn't hesitate. He approached.

One of them, a man with a scar running across his jaw, looked up first. "You looking for something?"

"Information."

The other, a woman with sharp green eyes, smirked. "That'll cost you."

Phileo slid another coin onto the table. "The Order. Their movements in Valmere."

The two exchanged glances.

Scar-jaw leaned in. "Word is they've already set a trap."

Phileo's muscles tensed. "For who?"

Another smirk. "You."

Phileo didn't react, but his mind was already working. If the Order knew he was here, that meant they had someone watching. And if they had someone watching—

A movement at the tavern entrance caught his eye.

Evelyne.

She looked around, spotted him, and moved quickly. Too quickly.

She had something urgent.

Phileo turned back to the mercenaries, voice low. "We're done here."

He stood, meeting Evelyne halfway before she could speak.

"They know," she whispered.

His jaw tightened. "I know."

Alsiel's voice suddenly cut in from behind them. "Good. Because we've got company."

Phileo turned just in time to see figures emerging from the crowd outside, their steps too coordinated to be anything but trouble.

The trap had already sprung.

And Valmere was about to become a battlefield.