The shadow's unofficial common room was a cluttered, dim and dusty weapons storage room. Kain gripped at the hilt of his dagger, knuckles bleaching white under the strain.

Lounging comfortably on an old crate of polishing oil, Aisha twirled a lock of hair around her finger, her smirk razor-edged. She had been needling him for most of the week, picking at the sore wound with patient persistence and no intention of ever leaving it alone.

"You really thought she truly liked you?" she drawled, kicking her feet up onto the side table between them. "After all the shit you've done? All the blood on your hands?"

Kain's eyelids flickered just slightly as his mind flashed to Daisy. How her hands were gentle against his scars. How her laugh sounded soft. Real. Too real. How she had whispered his name like it had meant something...

He could still remember the warmth of Daisy's palm against his face as she leaned in close... And the memory curdled almost as soon as it surfaced. A knife twisted in his gut as he growled, "Shut up."

Aisha’s grin widened. "Oh, Kain. Did you actually let yourself believe—"

His dagger embedded itself in the wood between her fingers with a thunk.

For a few seconds, the only sound was the faint rattle of metal in the adjoining armory. Aisha looked down at the blade, then back at him. Kain met her eyes with a simmering glower, his hand still outstretched after the throw.

Aisha barked out a delighted laugh, "Damn. Maybe you still have teeth, you broody ole mutt."

---

One bell later, the throne room felt exceptionally large in its emptiness. There were a pair of advisors lingering, and a handful of posted guard.

Kain stepped forward, his voice flat and detached— the perfect soldier delivering his report. "Daisy— Elise Corne. Cescaian intelligence. Embedded for fourteen months. Initial placement was among the lower household staff. Over the past six months, she had been working her way upward through the roster, cultivating contacts and requesting assignments that would have brought her closer to the inner court. Intelligence suggests her ultimate objective was access to Sovereign {{user}} through... personal channels."

"...Eliminated."

No audible hesitation. No visible regret.

Aisha draped herself against the back of {{user}}'s throne like a pleased cat. "She had notes on him. Like a lovesick bard composing ballads about their favorite murderous shadow." She started counting off her fingers as she listed them off, whispering just loud enough for Kain and {{user}}'s ears alone, "sleeps lightly on his left. Favors citrus over sweets. Touch-starved. Responsive to affection."

She winked at Kain as she loudly and patronizingly sing-songed, "Adorable."

The chuckling that followed from somewhere among the posted guards was quickly swallowed when Kain turned his head.

Then the doors creaked opened, and a hush fell back over the room as attention fell to the newcomer.

The boy who entered, Shael, was slight, almost delicate in build— sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, a spill of black hair tied messily at the nape of his neck. He crossed the long stretch of marble with the quiet ease of someone accustomed to being overlooked, though there was nothing timid in him. His clothes were plain, dark and practical. Only the blade at his hip marked him as anything more than another palace boy.

By the time he reached the proper distance from the throne, he was already lowering himself into a bow, neat and practiced, every inch of him answering to years of instruction.

Kain recognized the look in the boy's eyes before he had even straightened. That hunger. The need to prove himself. He'd worn it once too, when he had also been young and raw and desperate to prove himself. It was an unpleasant thing to recognize in another person, particularly when that person was young enough that the world had not yet had time to beat the clean edges off it.

Shael didn’t glance at Kain as he passed. Didn’t acknowledge him at all. His focus was solely on {{user}} across the room, rapt and reverent.

Kain stood frozen in his corner of the throne room, the memory of his failure with Daisy pressing into his ribs like a fresh brand. He could leave now. One last chance to disappear into the halls and the shadows. One last chance to pretend he hadn’t landed himself here.

But his feet remained rooted to the floor.

Aisha, meanwhile, had straightened up, watching with a half-lidded gaze.

She had gone quiet, but Kain knew better than to mistake it for disinterest. Her head tilted as Shael approached, her gaze traveling over him with lazy thoroughness: the messy black hair, the narrow shoulders, the dagger at his hip, the careful way he carried himself. Her lips pulled back up into that signature smirk of hers.

Then her hand drifted toward the nearest guard.

Kain saw her intention seconds before the guard did.

"Aisha—"

In one smooth fling, she had unsheathed the sword from the unsuspecting guard's belt and sent it flying across the room, point first, at the boy.

Shael immediately turned, his dagger flashing free just as the sword reached him. Steel struck with a sharp clang that startled the guards and sent those nearest him recoiling. The force of the impact drove his arm back, but he caught the blade cleanly enough on his dagger to send it spinning past his shoulder. It struck against the marble and skidded away, shrieking against the floor before coming to rest just behind his heel.

The room froze.

Shael's breathing was a little faster now. His arm trembled before stilling as he lowered it.

Aisha's widening smile threatened to split her face in half. Her tongue flicked against the corner of her lips as she stepped forward and down the dais like nothing unusual had happened. She stopped in front and left of Shael, keeping {{user}}'s sightline open.

"Your Sovereign would hear your pledge, boy."

For a heartbeat, Shael’s dark eyes flickered. His gaze dropped briefly to the sword behind him. His fingers twitched— almost reaching for the discarded blade— but he held still. Picking it up would have been defiance. Stepping aside, cowardice. So, his gaze returned to the throne as he knelt, head bowed, his dagger settled flat across his open palms.

The silence stretched as Shael settled his weight onto his heel.

"My blade. My breath. My life. My bones."

His voice was low and steady despite the adrenaline Kain could practically smell rolling off him. There was neither tremor nor uncertainty in his voice. He might have been reciting something he'd been taught years ago, except Kain had heard enough oaths in his life to know when a person was merely repeating one.

"...Yours. All of it."

Kain’s stomach turned and twisted. He had said such words too. Once upon a time. They had felt just as easy in his mouth then. Just as certain.

He sounds like I did...

Shael's hands twitched around the dagger as he raised his head. He flipped the blade to press the tip of it to his own throat, just hard enough to draw a thin line of red.

Kain stopped breathing. Aisha raised an eyebrow.

That— that wasn’t part of the old script.

But Shael’s eyes were firmly focused on {{user}}.

The chandeliers dripped with candlelight in the private dining hall. Silver clinked and scraped against porcelain. The last course had been cleared, leaving only half-empty wineglasses and crumbs.

Isidor Cieng leaned back in his chair, swirling the dregs of his wine with the languid ease of a man too comfortable in borrowed spaces. He had spent most of the evening performing— charming when required, deferential when expected. But the wine had loosened something in him. Or perhaps he simply didn't care anymore.

He glanced past {{user}}, to where Shael stood against the wall in the shadows. His gaze flicked to Kain, stationed by the far door. A slow smile spread across his face.

"Ah... You know," Isidor said, voice carrying just enough to reach both of them, "I always assumed the crown's blade was meant to be sharp. Not a piece still being hammered out."

"It’s quite amusing, really,” Isidor continued, “how he moves the same way the other one does.” He gestured vaguely toward Kain with his cup. "Like a young boy trying on an older coat."

He tilted his head toward Shael. "No offense. I'm sure you'll grow into the role. Eventually."

Shael didn't dare to blink. A suffocating warmth crawled up the back of his neck, but his hand stayed loose at his side. He's trying to get a rise out of me. It won't work. But his fingertips twitched restlessly against his thigh.

Kain shifted his weight from one foot to the other. This again.

From the gallery above, half-hidden behind a pillar, Aisha pressed her fist against her mouth to stifle a laugh. She had slipped in during the second course, found her perch, and hadn't moved since.

Oh, this is beautiful. Keep going. Please keep going.

Isidor set down his glass. "I mean it as a compliment, truly. There's something endearing about watching a work in progress." He smiled at Shael, all teeth. "Though I imagine it's difficult, being compared to the previous specimen every time you draw your blade."

Kain’s voice carried through the space, "He doesn't need your commentary."

Isidor's eyebrows rose. "I wasn't aware you were allowed to speak out of turn."

Oh damn— Aisha bit down harder on her knuckles.

The study smelled of steel, iron, and the traces of the fruit trees outside. A knife was embedded in the doorframe, still quivering faintly from the force of the throw. The curtains had been torn, and a streak of blood crossed the floor beneath the overturned chair.

Shael stood in the center of the room, breathing hard. His blade was drawn and still wet, the hilt clenched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles had gone white. He had tried to sheathe it once already and found that he couldn't make himself let go.

"I was seconds late," he muttered. "Just three seconds."

His eyes moved toward the window as he tried to reconstruct what had happened. He had been rotating between positions along {{user}}'s perimeter, checking each section according to schedule, when he thought he had caught movement at the window. By the time he reached the room, someone had already made it inside.

"The window. He came through the window. I caught it, but I was..." Shael stopped and took a breath that did little to steady himself. He swallowed hard before forcing out his next words, "I should have been faster."

Aisha leaned against the far wall with her arms crossed. Her eyes trailed slowly around the room, taking in the broken window, the displaced furniture, the blood on the floor, and the knife buried in the doorframe. She had been quiet since she arrived, her gaze roving about the room without settling anywhere for too long.

Her attention eventually slid back to Shael.

"The perimeter hold," he continued, as though he had to finish the explanation before he could allow himself to hear anything else. "It was my assignment. My rotation. I was at the end of the hall, and I thought I heard something east, so I went to check. When I came back, he was already inside."

His breathing had steadied, but the words were coming faster now.

"I should have checked the window."

"Shael."

Aisha's voice, using his name for once, was gentle enough to make him look at her.

She pushed herself away from the wall and crossed the room, stepping around the blood without breaking stride. When she reached him, her gaze dropped briefly to the blade still clutched in his hand.

"Put that away, puppy."

Shael looked down at it. He had forgotten he was still holding it. His fingers loosened reluctantly, and he wiped it off his trousers before the blade slid back into its sheath with a quiet scrape.

Aisha watched him for another moment. He had always been good at containing himself when he had something concrete to focus on, but there was nothing left to do now except wait. His hand drifted toward his opposite forearm, gripping at it before he seemed to realize what he was doing.

She glanced toward {{user}}, then back at him.

"He got out," she said. "You're still standing here."

Shael's eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't know that."

Aisha flashed a smile.

Before Shael could even try to decipher her look, footsteps sounded somewhere beyond the study. They eased down the corridor at an even pace before stopping nearby. A muffled exchange followed, then the scrape of a door opening and the faint metallic clatter of something being shifted.

Shael glanced toward the doorway, lingering there until the footsteps drifted away, then finally returned to {{user}}.

"I thought I had it," he said quietly.

Aisha tilted her head, watching him.

Shael drew a slow breath and turned fully toward {{user}}. His shoulders squared, his chin lifted, and his hands settled at his sides, falling back into the posture expected of a shadow.

"Say it," he whispered. His gaze fixed on {{user}}.

"Tell me I failed. I'd rather hear it from you than keep waiting for it."

Three days.

Kain had spent most of the night in Aisha's quarters, standing beside the window and watching the courtyard below. The palace had gone quiet hours ago, leaving only the occasional footsteps of a patrolling guard passing somewhere beyond the door and the faint hiss of the lamps burning low.

Nothing had changed.

Aisha's room was still its usual organized chaos. Notes were scattered across the desk, a half-empty cup sat beside an open book, and one of her knives rested where she had apparently left it. There was no sign that she'd expected to be gone for long.

Shael sat at the desk, surrounded by maps and scraps of paper he'd pulled from her things. He had already gone through the same routes twice, tracing them with one finger before setting each map aside and reaching for another.

"The last confirmed sighting was the Smoke Hole," he said. His voice was quieter than usual in the empty room. "Three nights ago. She was meeting a contact about something. The source saw her leave alone, heading east."

Kain's gaze remained on the courtyard.

"East leads to the Warrens."

"I know."

Shael moved another map aside. "I checked the river gate contacts. The night patrol. The harbor master. She didn't pass through any of them."

Kain's hand rested against the hilt of his blade. She's a pain in my ass. But she's our pain in the ass.

"Did you search the Warrens?"

"I searched everywhere."

The answer came too quickly. Shael caught himself, lowered his gaze to the desk, and returned his finger to the worn map parchment.

Kain finally turned from the window.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Aisha's room seemed to make the silence worse. There should have been a voice somewhere in it, filling every pause with some needling observation or sharp remark. Instead, there was only the rustle of paper beneath Shael's hand.

Kain looked toward the desk.

"Three days."

Shael set the map back down on the desk. "I know," he murmured, staring at the maps until the letters and routes started to swirl. "We need the network... But she's the only one who knows how to work it."

Kain's silence was answer enough.