Emerging from the shadows of the hallway, I felt the weight of the night’s grim discoveries etched into the lines of my face. The air was thick with tension, each breath heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"You shouldn't be up," Belmont chastised as he approached me, his voice laced with concern.

"I'm fine," I reassured him, though the words seemed to do little to ease his worry. His gaze remained fixed on me, unconvinced.

"You used your magic in the middle of the plaza and nearly destroyed several stands. You are not fine, Mikhail."

I could see the deep lines of concern furrow his brow, a reflection of the unease that gnawed at him. I wanted to reassure him, but how could I do that when I had no idea what had just happened? A sudden pain had surged through my arms, and before I knew it, I had unleashed a wave of magic without intending to.

"My magic is always unpredictable after the convergence spell," I muttered, trying to downplay the incident.

"Too many strange and unpredictable things have been occurring since the last convergence spell, Mikhail." Belmont’s eyes narrowed as he studied me, suspicion lurking beneath his words as if he believed I was keeping something from him.

Hoping to shift the focus, I asked, "Where did you run off to?" But as I finally looked at him, I noticed the bloodstains on his sleeves. Alarm shot through me, and I grabbed his arm. "What happened?"

"I ran into the Xoltecan woman again. It seems she ran into more trouble since I last saw her a few hours ago," he explained, his voice tight with concern.

"Was it Houndly's men?" I asked, anger simmering just beneath the surface.

"I don’t know. I sent Henry to investigate. She’s in that room with her companion—he was injured. This," Belmont gestured to the blood on his sleeves, "is his blood."

Just then, we heard footsteps ascending the stairs. Both of us turned to see Henry approaching, his face etched with concern.

"What did you find?" Belmont asked, his tone tense.

"The trail led deep into the back alleys where I found four bodies."

"Bring them in for questioning," I demanded. 

Finally, we would be able to get something on Houndly.

"I can’t… they’re all dead," Henry interjected.

"Dead? You're telling me that boy in there took out four men?" Belmont asked, incredulous.

"I don't believe it was the boy." Henry's expression shifted into confusion. "The men were burnt—nothing left but charred flesh and ash."

A chill that had nothing to do with the night air swept through me, the gravity of Henry's words sinking in. 

"But how is that possible?" I asked, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Remember the burst of light we saw?" Henry asked of Belmont, but I cut him off, confusion clouding my mind.

"What burst of light?" I asked, not recalling anything of the sort.

"You were too focused on trying to control your powers to notice, But there was a bright golden light that shone... almost at the same time as you unleashed your wave of magic," Belmont explained, his voice steady despite the implications of what he was saying.

"There were also shards of glass near the bodies—sunsphere glass," Mikhail added.

"How can this be possible?" Belmont murmured, his question hanging in the air, unanswered.

"Perhaps," Mikhail said slowly, the weight of his thoughts evident in his voice, "it has something to do with her. We know the Xoltecan woman from the pub could see past the cloak on the raven—who’s to say this other one can’t summon the wrath of the sun?"

An inexplicable need for answers bubbled inside of me. I had to find out what had happened that instant. 

"Why don't we ask her?" I pushed past them and opened the door to the room. 

Inside, the room was quiet except for the faint rhythm of breathing. The Xoltecan kept vigil over her friend, but the creak of the door jarred her from her thoughts, and she turned to look at us. 

For a moment, time itself seemed to stop, and I stumbled over my own feet as our gazes locked. My heart, usually a steady rhythm within my chest, broke free with a single, thunderous beat that echoed through me. The sensation was so foreign, so alarming, that it sent a jolt through my veins, pulsing with the enthusiasm of a war drum.

Her eyes, deep and endless, held me captive. 

In that instant, the world faded out and there was only the space between us, the air thick with an unseen force that pulled me toward her, as inevitable as gravity.

My breath caught in my throat, trapped by the weight of memory and emotion that surged within me.

After an awkward pause hung between us like a delicate shroud, I heard Belmont introduce me. 

"This is my brother, Duke Aster."

I saw her hesitation, the uncertainty in her eyes. With a shaky breath, she rose and attempted a curtsy that felt more clumsy than graceful. 

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said, straightening herself with a hint of resolve.

Without hesitation, I closed the distance between us with purposeful strides, stopping just an arm’s length away. Then, with a tenderness that surprised even me, I reached out, my fingers barely grazing her cheek. 

“You’ve been crying."

The room seemed to contract at that moment, the air thick with silent astonishment. I could feel Belmont and the other knights' eyes on us. Even she retreated a step, her nervous chuckle a thin veil over the panic I could sense rising within her. She touched her face, fingertips brushing the damp trails she hadn’t realized were there.

“Who made you cry?” I asked again, a sharpness to my tone that was not intended for her. My eyes sought to convey the concern I felt, inviting her to trust me with whatever pain she carried. For a brief moment, it seemed as though the world around us faded into nothingness, leaving only the two of us in that quiet, charged space.

Then Belmont approached with a grace that seemed almost ceremonial, taking a seat across from her. His presence altered the atmosphere, breaking the spell that had captivated me. I reluctantly stepped away from her and took my place next to him. 

The silence was thick, charged with the weight of unspoken questions and the lingering tension of recent danger. It was Mara who broke the stillness, her voice soft yet carrying a firm resolve. "I owe you my thanks… once again," she said, her eyes meeting Belmont’s with a depth of gratitude.

"A habit is forming, I see," Belmont responded with a light chuckle, his eyes twinkling with both amusement and curiosity. "Three times in as many days, yet we don’t know your name."

"Call me Mara," she replied, the name slipping quickly from her lips as if it were a familiar shield to guard her true identity. 

"Miss Mara, can you share with us what happened to you and your friend?"

She paused, sensing our scrutiny, "We were chasing a young thief—a boy who took something from me."

Belmont nodded slowly, processing her words. "A thief, you say? And this led you into the dangers of the alley?" His tone was gently probing, inviting her to reveal more of her story.

"Yes," She continued, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows across her face.

"It must have been a precious item that he took."  

"It’s more than just a stolen item. It was a gift from Jean."

"Is Jean your partner?" I asked, feeling irritated by her comment. My displeasure must have been evident in my voice as Belmont turned to look at me with a confused look on his face. 

"No, he's just a friend," she answered, and the irritation that had suddenly flared up was gone, replaced by relief. 

She then recounted the harrowing ambush. 

"I can’t claim to know them," she confessed, her voice a low murmur as if fearful of awakening the ghosts of that afternoon. "They were strangers, but their purpose was clear—they wanted me, though I know not why."

"My knight found their remains," Belmont informed her, a look of panic quickly flashing across her face at his words. 

She swallowed hard, "An end came to them by their own hands," she whispered.

The room held its breath, Belmont and I watching her with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. Belmont’s jaw clenched slightly, his eyes flickering with a hint of surprise at her admission. 

"I don’t fully understand it myself. One moment they were there, and the next…" She trailed off, her eyes distant, as if she were lost in memory.

"One of them threw a glass object to the ground. And then there was a blinding light," she whispered, "When the light faded, we saw their burned bodies across the cobblestones. Their attack must have backfired."

Belmont and I exchanged glances laden with unspoken questions. Her story seemed to fit with what they had discovered, but something about it left us both uneasy.

The moment of silence stretched, heavy with tension, until the creak of the door opening pierced it. Elliot stepped in, his arms cradling a bundle of simple yet clean clothes. "Fresh attire for you, Miss," he said, his voice respectful as he offered a slight bow, presenting the garments like an olive branch of comfort.

"Thank you," she responded, her voice soft and appreciative as she accepted the offering. 

"That is all for tonight," I heard myself saying, noticing the looks the other gave me. They wanted to keep pressing, but I could see and even feel the fatigue she was experiencing, and I did not want to burden her further. 

"If you remember anything else, please advise us," I added. I gave the other men stern looks, and they all seemed to understand my intent as they excused themselves. Their departure was marked by a hushed murmur of theories and conjectures that lingered in the air like a fog.

I lingered for a moment longer, my mind turning over everything I had just learned, the pieces of a puzzle that seemed impossible to solve. With a final glance at her, I followed Belmont out, the weight of longing settling heavily on my shoulders. 

The heavy door closed behind us with a definitive thud, sealing Belmont, Henry, Jansen, Elliot, and me in the dimly lit corridor. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and the undercurrent of whispered strategies. 

Ras's uneven gait caused us all to turn and look at the short man, who had a serious expression. 

“We've received information that Tabitha’s men have been seen in disarray,” he informed us, his brow furrowed, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Word has it that a contingent went missing after they went after what they considered an ‘easy target.’”

Henry leaned against the cold stone wall, arms crossed, his demeanor as solid as the masonry behind him. “The men we found—charred corpses in that alley—they must be Tabitha’s, not Houndly's. They were bold enough to attempt a daylight abduction, and it cost them everything.”

Belmont acknowledged the connection with a slight nod, his expression remaining unreadable as his eyes narrowed in thought. “Those bodies burned beyond recognition tell a tale, but without more, we cannot directly confront Tabitha or Houndly."

We stood in contemplative silence, each of us lost in thought. The corridor felt like a chessboard, and we, mere pieces, maneuvered by unseen hands. The reality of our situation hung over us like a dark cloud, ready to burst at any moment.

Elliot shifted restlessly, his arms hanging loosely by his sides, frustration evident in his voice. “What if Houndly and Tabitha are working together?” he lamented, running a hand through his tousled hair. 

"The both of them have been locked in a territorial war of Dampshaw for years. It is unlikely that they are now working together. It's likely Tabitha knows what Houndly wants and is trying to get it before him." I say through gritted teeth. Tabitha's mercenaries were another nuisance that needed to be eliminated. Still, though she and Houndly were rivals, there was a lot of crossover in their activities that seemed to aid the other from getting caught. 

Belmont interjected sharply, cutting through the frustration like a well-honed blade.“They want Mara and fate, it seems, has graciously delivered her into our hands.” His lips twisted into a sly, knowing smile, a precursor to the complex web of strategies forming behind his keen eyes.

A shudder of unease rippled through me as we exchanged wary glances. The subtle curl of Belmont’s mouth revealed layers of unspoken plans, each darker and more complex than the last. Remembering the conversation we had earlier, I questioned if I was still willing to use her as bait.