Henry Blackwood [2]

The candle flickered, its golden glow casting shifting shadows against the damp stone walls.

The scent of old parchment and faint traces of iron filled the air—remnants of past dealings in a world that had long abandoned honor in favor of survival.

Henry sat at the wooden table, his gloved fingers tracing the edges of the letter once more.

The wax seal had long been broken, but the weight of its contents had not lessened.

He had read it, yet his mind still circled around each carefully inked word, dissecting them, unraveling their meaning, their intent.

His back rested against the creaking chair, yet his body was anything but relaxed.

The dim glow of the lantern illuminated the tired edges of his face, the sharp angles of a man who had lived too long in the shadows.

Cassian sat across from him, his elbows propped against the table, fingers interlocked as he watched Henry in silence.

The smuggler's face was unreadable, but his eyes held something close to curiosity—perhaps even concern.

The silence stretched between them, a thick and lingering thing, before Cassian finally spoke.

"You look like a man who's just been given a choice he doesn't want to make."

Henry's fingers stilled against the parchment.

He didn't look up immediately, his eyes still lingering on the inked words.

"It's not that I don't want to make it,"

Henry murmured, voice low.

"It's that I know once I do, there's no turning back."

Cassian exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair.

"That bad, huh?"

Henry finally lifted his gaze, pinning the man with a stare that spoke volumes.

He didn't need to answer.

Cassian clicked his tongue.

"Alright, let's break it down, then. You received a letter from someone who doesn't send messages lightly. It's not a threat, not a job request—this is something else. Something personal."

Henry remained silent.

Cassian tapped a finger against the table.

"What does it say?"

A long pause.

Then, finally, Henry spoke.

"It's an invitation."

Cassian's brow arched.

"To what?"

Henry's grip on the parchment tightened.

His voice was quieter when he responded, as if saying the words aloud would make them real.

"To understand."

Cassian frowned, shifting slightly.

"Understand what?"

Henry let out a slow breath.

He set the letter down carefully, fingers brushing over the ink once more, as if trying to feel the weight of the words rather than just read them.

"Everything."

A silence stretched between them again.

This time, Cassian didn't break it immediately.

He studied Henry for a long moment before exhaling and rubbing his jaw.

"You know, you're not a man who hesitates much, Henry. So if this letter has you sitting here, staring at a damn candle like it holds the answers to the universe, then whatever it says must be..."

He trailed off before shaking his head.

"Shit."

Henry chuckled dryly, a humorless sound.

"That about sums it up."

Cassian's expression darkened slightly.

"And yet, you haven't burned it. You haven't walked away."

He leaned forward again, resting his forearms against the table.

"Which means you already know what you're going to do."

Henry didn't answer immediately.

His fingers traced the edges of the letter once more before he finally spoke, his voice quieter this time.

"It's not about knowing, Cassian. It's about accepting."

Cassian exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"And what exactly are you accepting, Henry?"

Henry closed his eyes for a brief moment before reopening them, his gaze harder now, colder.

"That this world is far deeper than I ever thought."

He tapped the letter once.

"And that if I take this path... there's no coming back."

Cassian stared at him.

"Then why even hesitate? You already said it—once you know, you can't unknow."

Henry let out a slow breath, his fingers curling into a fist against the table.

"Because knowing the truth is one thing."

He met Cassian's gaze, his voice steady.

"But surviving it?"

A pause.

"That's another matter entirely."

Cassian was quiet for a moment before he leaned back, crossing his arms.

"And yet, here you are, still considering it."

Henry's lips curled into a shadow of a smirk.

"You think I've ever been the type to walk away from a challenge?"

Cassian chuckled, shaking his head.

"No. No, you're not."

A silence stretched between them again, but this time, it wasn't heavy.

It was filled with something else—understanding.

Cassian sighed, rubbing his temple.

"Alright, fine. I won't talk you out of it. But at least tell me this—who's the sender?"

Henry finally pushed the letter toward him.

Cassian hesitated before picking it up, his eyes scanning the first few lines.

His brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Then, he read the signature at the bottom.

He froze.

His eyes slowly lifted to meet Henry's, something like disbelief flickering in his gaze.

"…Azrael Darkbrone."

The name sat between them like a storm waiting to break.

"Haa…"

Cassian exhaled, rubbing his temple before setting the letter down on the table.

The name—Azrael Darkbrone—still lingered in the air like an unspoken curse, its weight settling into the room.

The flickering candlelight cast uneasy shadows across his face as he processed the implications.

Then, just as the atmosphere grew heavier, Cassian suddenly leaned back and stretched, rolling his shoulders with an exaggerated sigh.

"Alright, before we start talking about impending doom, let's take a moment to acknowledge something important, Henry."

Henry arched a brow, his fingers still resting lightly on the parchment.

"And what would that be?"

Cassian smirked.

"That despite all your brooding, despite all this talk of fate and no return, you're still a father of two very energetic children and the husband of a woman who's probably already planning your funeral if you even think about doing something reckless."

Henry's expression didn't change immediately, but there was a slight flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, buried deep beneath the weight of his thoughts.

"I'm listening,"

Henry said, leaning back in his chair.

Cassian grinned.

"First of all, how the hell is Lyrium? Last I heard, the kid managed to convince an entire group of merchants that he was a lost prince and nearly got himself adopted by a noble family."

Henry let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"He's... the same as ever. Too smart for his own good. He got bored last week and decided to build a 'fortress' in the garden using estate furniture. Lilian was ready to throw him into the river."

Cassian barked out a laugh.

"That sounds about right! And what about Rihana? Six years old now, isn't she?"

Henry's lips twitched.

"Six going on sixteen. She's got that same sharp look as her mother. I swear, Cassian, she can already tell when I'm lying about something."

He shook his head.

"You should have seen her face when I told her I'd be back before dinner last time."

Cassian grinned, leaning forward.

"Did she say anything?"

Henry exhaled.

"She folded her arms, looked me dead in the eye, and said, 'Father, you are a liar and a scoundrel.'"

Cassian burst out laughing, slamming a hand on the table.

"She's going to rule that estate one day. You better start preparing now."

Henry shook his head with a smirk.

"Oh, she already thinks she does."

Cassian wiped a tear from his eye.

"And speaking of ruling things—how's Lilian? I assume she's keeping the entire Blackwood Estate in one piece while you're out here brooding over letters and stabbing people in alleys?"

Henry's smirk faded slightly, but his expression was still softer than before.

"She's... doing what she always does. Managing the estate, handling the trade routes, ensuring we don't fall into political ruin while I'm off playing assassin."

His voice turned quieter.

"She knows I have to do this. But that doesn't mean she approves."

Cassian studied him for a moment, his smirk dimming into something more thoughtful.

"You ever think about just... stopping?"

Henry sighed, rubbing his face.

"Of course, I do."

Cassian raised a brow.

"And?"

Henry's fingers tapped against the table rhythmically.

"And then I remember why I started in the first place. The underworld doesn't just disappear because I wish it would. The enemies I've made don't forget. The people I've protected—my family, my estate, my children—they're only safe because I make sure they are."

Cassian tilted his head.

"You sure you're not just making excuses?"

Henry's gaze flickered.

"Maybe. But what choice do I have? If I step away, who fills the void? Someone worse? Someone with no restraint, no principles?"

Cassian exhaled slowly.

"So you keep walking this path, knowing full well where it leads?"

Henry's eyes darkened.

"I walk it so they don't have to."

A silence settled between them.

This time, it wasn't the weight of unspoken words but the weight of understanding.

Cassian, after a long moment, let out another breath and shook his head.

"You're a stubborn bastard, you know that?"

Henry smirked slightly.

"So I've been told."

Cassian rubbed his face before letting out a small chuckle.

"Well, at least tell me this—does Lilian still have that dagger she keeps for the sole purpose of threatening you when you do something stupid?"

Henry let out a short laugh.

"Oh, she does. And she's sharpened it recently."

Cassian grinned.

"Smart woman."

Henry's smirk lingered for just a moment before fading.

His gaze drifted back to the letter on the table, the name at the bottom still burning in his mind.

The momentary reprieve, the brief distraction, had passed.

Cassian followed his gaze and sighed.

"So... Azrael Darkbrone. You planning on giving him the key?"

Henry didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he picked up the letter once more, his thumb running over the ink.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"I don't think I have a choice."