Henry Blackwood [3]

The candlelight flickered in the dimly lit chamber, casting restless shadows along the wooden walls.

The scent of aged parchment, smoldering wax, and the faintest trace of iron—blood barely cleaned from Henry's coat—lingered in the air.

He sat motionless, fingers brushing the brittle edges of the letter, the weight of unspoken decisions pressing against his chest like an iron vice.

Across from him, Cassian leaned forward, the worn leather of his chair groaning beneath his movements.

His sharp eyes gleamed with something between amusement and curiosity as he observed Henry's stillness.

"You've been staring at that damn letter for the past hour, Henry. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to read the ink like it held the answers to the universe itself. But we both know that whatever's written there is already etched into your mind. So, what's stopping you? Are you actually going to meet him, or are you just going to sit here all night pretending you have a choice?"

Henry exhaled slowly, fingers tightening slightly before he folded the letter with precise care, setting it aside.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was measured, deliberate, like a man stepping carefully across a battlefield of invisible tripwires.

"Tell me, Cassian, if you stood before a man who controls the pulse of the underworld—a man who deals in power and blood the way a merchant weighs coin—what would you do?"

Cassian tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he poured himself another drink, the amber liquid swirling lazily in his glass.

"That depends. Am I standing before him as an equal, or as a man who owes him something? Because the answer changes depending on whether I'm holding the blade, or if it's already resting against my throat. But knowing you, Henry, you wouldn't be going to him without something in your hand. Which means, the real question isn't what I would do—it's what you're willing to do."

Henry's expression didn't shift, but there was a glint in his eyes, something cold and contemplative, something that spoke of calculations far beyond the surface.

"Azrael Darkbrone isn't just another underworld figure. He isn't some crime lord sitting on a pile of stolen riches, waiting to be toppled by the next ambitious bastard with a dagger. He's a strategist. A tactician. A man who doesn't waste time on people unless he's already determined their worth. If he's asked for me, it's not because he's interested in small talk."

Cassian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he studied Henry carefully.

"And what does that make you, then? Just another piece on his board? Or are you trying to be the one who moves the pieces instead?"

Henry's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile, something sharper, something edged with intent.

"A man with something he wants."

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken implications.

Cassian tapped his fingers against his glass before finally lifting it to his lips, taking a slow sip, as if weighing his next words carefully.

"Alright then. I'll bite. What exactly does Azrael Darkbrone want from the great Henry Blackwood?"

Henry didn't answer immediately.

He allowed the silence to settle, allowed the weight of his next words to build, before finally speaking.

"The key."

Cassian stilled, his fingers tightening just slightly around his glass.

He set it down with deliberate care, as though considering whether to laugh or curse.

"The key? The thing you took from that Valantine Graves? The one who gives the that letter."

He points his index fingers at the letter that was place on the table.

"Just like that?"

Henry's gaze was steady, unreadable.

"Not just like that."

Cassian exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with something between disbelief and reluctant admiration.

"Of course not. Because that would be too simple. And you never do simple, do you, Henry?"

Henry's voice was quiet, but unshakable.

"We maake a deal."

"Before I give him the key, I need something in return."

Cassian watched him for a long moment before tilting his head.

"And what, pray tell, does the ever-calculating Henry Blackwood desire from Azrael Darkbrone? Because I can't imagine you asking for coin—not when you could take it yourself. And I doubt you'd ask for power—not the kind men like him offer, anyway."

Henry exhaled slowly, as if feeling the weight of his own words before speaking them aloud.

"The Aetherium Shard."

Cassian blinked, his expression momentarily unreadable, before he let out a slow, low whistle.

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, his smirk returning—but this time, it was edged with something sharper.

"So that's it. That's why you're doing this. And here I thought you were getting sentimental in your old age. But no, you're still the same Henry Blackwood—the man who plays the long game while everyone else is still figuring out the rules."

Henry's fingers drummed once against the table, his expression impassive.

"This isn't a game, Cassian. If I don't play this right, I lose everything."

Cassian studied him carefully before chuckling under his breath.

"And what makes you think Azrael will actually uphold his end of the deal? Men like him—they don't make bargains, Henry. They make traps. You think you're negotiating, but really, you're just walking straight into the jaws of the beast."

Henry's jaw tightened for the briefest of moments before his voice dropped to something colder, something that carried an unspoken promise.

"Because he's smart enough to know that if he doesn't, I won't be the only one who loses."

Cassian raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

"Ah, so it's one of those deals, is it? The kind where both men walk away knowing they've been cheated, but neither of them can quite figure out how."

He shook his head, a dry chuckle escaping his lips.

"You always did have a way of making simple things complicated, Henry. And here I thought fatherhood would mellow you out."

Henry's eyes flickered just slightly at that, but his voice remained even.

"Fatherhood doesn't change the fact that some things are inevitable, Cassian. It only makes you more aware of what you can't afford to lose."

Cassian smirked, though there was something softer in his expression now, something almost thoughtful.

He raised his flask in a mock toast.

"Well then, here's to making deals with devils. Let's just hope you don't end up in his ledger before all this is done."

Henry stood, tucking the letter into his coat, his movements steady, deliberate.

His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, but it carried the weight of something final.

"He won't. Because I won't let him."

As he stepped toward the door, his shadow stretched long against the flickering candlelight, and Cassian found himself watching him go, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

Because for the first time in a long time, Cassian wasn't sure whether Henry Blackwood was walking toward a deal…

Or walking straight into a trap of his own making.