Chapter Eight: The Night Heist

Metheea was brushing her hair when she heard it—a soft thump against her window.

She paused, frowning. The room was dim, lit only by the dying embers in the hearth. Lerima was asleep on the cot beside the fireplace, her soft breathing steady.

Metheea held her brush still. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she was just tired. After all, she'd spent the day attending classes, dodging sneers, and not giving Resme and her pathetic group the reaction they wanted.

Then came another thump.

She turned toward the window, heart picking up. Her dormitory was on the third floor. There shouldn't be anything outside.

A bird? she thought. A message delivery?

She crossed the room quietly, the wooden floor cool against her feet. She unlatched the window and pushed it open.

A figure stood on the narrow crawl space just outside, balanced on barely a foot of stone.

She gasped—more like a squeak—and nearly shut the window in panic.

"Don't shout," Azrayel whispered, smirking.

She gritted her teeth. "You can't be here." Her eyes darted toward Lerima. Still asleep.

Azrayel shrugged, his voice soft. "That's why I didn't walk through your door."

"Want a medal for that?" she hissed. "What do you want? Why are you here?"

His smirk didn't fade. "It's time to pay your debt."

Her stomach dropped. "What?" she whispered.

"I need your magic."

Lerima shifted in her sleep, pulling her blanket tighter. Both of them froze.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

"Come with me."

She narrowed her eyes. "You do realize how completely inappropriate this is? If anyone catches you here, it won't just be rumors—they'll hang me."

"Someone will see us," he said, nodding toward Lerima, "if you don't hurry."

She was still in her nightgown. Every instinct told her to slam the window shut. But she knew Azrayel and he wouldn't leave her alone.

Muttering under her breath, she quickly cast an illusion of herself sleeping in bed. "That'll last an hour. You better bring me back."

"Meet me at the back—"

"That's not necessary," he interrupted, grabbing her by the waist.

Her squeal was muffled as he hoisted her up, carrying her like she weighed nothing. "Azrayel!" she whisper-yelled. "We're going to die!"

"Hold on," he muttered, leaping off the crawl space.

The wind howled around her ears. Her hands clamped over her mouth to stop the scream. They landed roughly, but he didn't stumble. He ran, fast. The world blurred around them. She felt the cold air biting at her skin, her heart hammering against his shoulder.

He ducked behind a bush and lowered her gently. She was shaking.

"Where are we?" she hissed.

She looked up. They were at the back of the administrators' building, far from the main student dorms.

Azrayel was already watching the structure, eyes narrowed. "We can't enter from the front. Too many guards."

She followed his gaze. From the windows, she saw shadows moving. There are people inside.

"This is the Headmaster's building. Why would you—"

"It's better if you don't know."

"No." She pulled his arm. "You don't get to drag me into something dangerous and say nothing."

He studied her, weighing something. Then sighed. "There's a document inside. A list of noble names. People secretly backing a terrorist group."

She stiffened. "The Insurgence?"

Azrayel nodded slowly. "Didn't think I could keep that from you, huh?"

Metheea looked toward the building again, her chest tightening.

"You could just kill the guards and take it," she whispered.

"I could," he said, voice low. "But I don't want to alert the group. And most of these guards? They're just doing their jobs."

She blinked. She hadn't expected that. Not from him. He almost sounded sane.

If she said no, he'd return anyway. He'd climb her window or drag her in another night. She might as well control the damage.

"Okay," she whispered. "Let's go."

She cast her concealment spell, covering them both in a shimmer of invisibility. But his body was pressed too far.

"This won't work with you squirming away from me," he muttered.

"Oh heavens," she whispered. "We can't go like this. They'll see your arms floating like some ghost in the dark."

"I have an idea," he said and lifted her again.

"Stop—this is humiliating," she hissed as his hands forces her legs around his hips.

"Got a better idea?" he asked, completely unfazed.

She groaned. "Do not touch me."

"Whatever you say, princess," he said with a grin.

Together, they moved toward the west garden. Two guards stood near the path, one shifting his weight lazily while the other coughed into his fist. The faint scent of torch oil lingered in the air, thick and acrid, as they slipped by unnoticed.

When two more opened the back door and exited, Azrayel seized the chance. They slipped inside.

Her heart thudded violently. Her hands were slick with sweat.

"Hold me tighter," she whispered. Her arms were numb.

He adjusted his grip around her waist without a word. His steps were silent. How was he so quiet, even carrying her?

They moved up a stairwell. Her heel caught the edge of a stone step, nearly slipping but Azrayel tightened his grip just in time. They reached the second floor. The place was crawling with guards. No building had this much security unless it was hiding something.

Maybe this was why Azrayel came to the academy in the first place.

At a far corridor, he approached a specific door.

His face was flushed, but he wasn't sweating. She noticed his shoulders tensing.

He opened the door carefully. Once they were sure the room was empty, he let her down. She stumbled slightly.

Her face was burning. With shame. And fear. And something else she didn't want to name.

Azrayel motioned for silence and began rifling through the desk. Metheea didn't move at first. She just watched him; the way his fingers moved quickly, efficiently, as if he'd done this before. Her instincts told her to back away, to leave him to whatever mess he was digging into.

But instead, she stepped towards the opposite part of the room to the shelves and starting to search for something too.

Her eyes were drawn to a familiar war strategy book she used to read at home. But this one had a strange marking on the spine.

That symbol surely wasn't there before.

She pulled it free. Opened it.

The pages looked normal. But her chest tightened. There's illusion magic trace on it. She could feel it pulsing faintly. 

She whispered a dispel.

The book shimmered and the contents changed. She stared in disbelief.

It wasn't in Katarthan. And it wasn't Dythridian either. A coded language.

But if a Dythridian concealed this, this book might containDythrid's involvement with the Insurgence… this book alone could start a war.

Her fingers hovered over it. She starterd to whisper another illusion, disguising the contents and preparing to slip it back. To bury again the secrets Azrayel is looking for.

"What do you have there?"

She froze.

Azrayel stood behind her, eyes narrowed.

Before she could react, he snatched the book from her hand.

"Good job, Miss Dythridian," he murmured as he riffled through the pages.

Then came the sound of footsteps outside.

"We need to hide," he whispered. "Someone's coming."