The whisper of silk was louder than footsteps in the halls of the Grand Assembly.

Beneath gold chandeliers and walls laced with ivory trim, ministers of the Virellian Kingdom sipped red wine and lied to each other with practiced smiles. Each wore power like perfume—loud, intoxicating, and ultimately masking the stench underneath.

Ash stood quietly against a column, cloaked in a waiter's coat that didn't quite fit and holding a silver tray with two glasses of champagne.

He hadn’t come for the wine.

He was hunting a ghost.

Across the room, Count Rael Veylor laughed too loudly at something a senator said. The Count was draped in red velvet, a cane with a raven’s head resting in one gloved hand. Beneath the surface charm, his reputation dripped with blood and whispers—ties to smuggling rings, secret prisons, and most recently… the Hollowmere vault.

Ash’s eyes never left him.

In his pocket, the cipher scroll twitched like a second heartbeat. He had decoded only a third of it, but one name had appeared three times already: Rael Veylor.

Ash weaved through the crowd and slipped behind a service door.

The real servers were gathered in the narrow corridor, laughing and smoking cigarettes. One of them looked up.

“Break room’s full,” the girl said, then frowned. “Wait. You’re not—”

Ash tapped a finger to his lips and smiled. “Shhh. I’m a ghost.”

She blinked.

He disappeared down a side hall, leaving only the champagne tray behind.

---

Veylor’s Private Room – Upper Chamber

The Count's private room was less opulent than expected—no chandeliers, no silk drapes. Just old books, dark shelves, and a desk cluttered with wax-sealed letters.

Ash locked the door behind him.

He moved with the care of a man rewinding a trap. Gloved fingers slid over books, testing for triggers, false spines, hidden drawers. At last, behind a shelf of dusty poetry, he found it.

A ledger.

He flipped through its pages. Names. Payments. Routes.

Then—there.

A symbol. The same crest on the back of the scroll from the painting. A coiled serpent biting its own tail—Ouroboros.

Ash whispered, “So it’s not just a metaphor. It’s a faction.”

Suddenly—click.

A gun.

Pointed at his head.

“You’re clever,” said a voice. “Too clever.”

Ash raised his hands slowly and turned. “Count Veylor. Your parties need better locks.”

The Count didn’t smile. His eyes were hard, cold. “You shouldn't be here.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Tell me who you work for. I might let you leave without broken bones.”

Ash tilted his head. “You know, I once tried honesty. I didn’t like it. It made me feel... soft.”

Veylor cocked the pistol.

“I was hoping you'd say that,” Ash whispered.

Then he dropped to the floor, kicked the rug, and a thin puff of blinding powder exploded upward. Veylor staggered back, coughing.

Ash sprang forward, disarmed him, and pressed the barrel of the pistol against the Count’s throat.

“Now,” Ash murmured, “we’re going to talk.”

---

Interrogation – Veylor's Study

The Count sat tied to his own chair, glaring through swollen eyes. “You don’t know what you’re part of. The Order doesn’t care for fools.”

Ash crouched before him, thoughtful. “So it’s an order, then. Not just whispers and snakes.”

“You’re too late. The signal’s already been sent.”

Ash narrowed his eyes. “Signal?”

Veylor sneered. “You’ll see. When the roses fall.”

That phrase again.

He'd heard it in the ambassador’s recording. “The roses will fall.”

“What does it mean?” Ash asked.

Veylor laughed. “You’ll find out when the sky bleeds.”

Ash stood. “Dramatic. I admire that.”

He turned to the ledger again and ripped out the page with the crest.

Then he leaned down, his voice suddenly colder. “I want you to remember something, Count. When the ground crumbles and your order dies screaming, I’ll be the one smiling.”

Ash left the room quietly. Behind him, the Count sat in darkness, trembling.

---

Agency Safehouse – Two Hours Later

The hideout was a former bathhouse converted into an intelligence bunker. White tiles. Dim lights. The scent of lemon oil and old steam.

Ash laid the documents out on a marble bench. Elena watched, arms folded.

“You interrogated him?”

“Briefly. He was extremely rude.”

“And you’re certain he’s part of this Order?”

“He had the crest. Same as the vault. Same as the cipher map.” Ash tapped the page. “They call themselves Ouroboros. Circular. Eternal. Probably think they’re gods.”

Elena’s voice dropped. “Ash… if they’re connected to the roses, then they’re behind the assassinations.”

“I’m sure of it.”

He paused, then added, “And something’s coming. Soon.”

Elena looked tired. She rubbed her temples. “You're still decoding the scroll?”

Ash nodded. “Sable took a copy and vanished. But I’ve got enough. The next mark is in Velhurst.”

She frowned. “That’s across the border.”

“I’ll take a train.”

“You’ll be hunted.”

“I usually am.”

---

Train to Velhurst – Midnight

Ash sat in a first-class compartment with a glass of black tea and a stack of old letters. Rain struck the windows like thrown pebbles. He didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.

His reflection in the glass looked unfamiliar. Pale. Worn. A flicker of who he used to be.

Once, he had a real name. Once, he had a brother.

Now, he was a ghost dressed in silk and shadows.

A knock on the compartment door.

Ash didn’t move. “It’s locked for a reason.”

The door creaked open anyway.

Sable stepped inside, soaked and smiling. “Miss me?”

Ash didn’t smile. “Did you follow me?”

“Only since the chapel.”

He sighed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Coming from you,” she said, sitting across from him, “that’s practically a compliment.”

Midnight Train — Continued

The candlelight flickered as the train carved through the night. Rain etched silver streaks on the window, while distant lightning lit the darkened countryside.

Ash poured another cup of tea. He did not offer Sable any.

She stretched like a cat, kicking her boots up on the seat across from him. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m calculating,” Ash murmured. “You interrupted a very important algorithm.”

“What were you calculating?”

“Odds of being betrayed by someone with nice cheekbones and a hidden dagger.”

Sable smiled faintly. “And?”

“Not favorable.”

They sat in silence for a while. The clatter of the train wheels became the rhythm of their thoughts.

Then Sable leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I know what the roses mean.”

Ash glanced at her, one brow raised.

“They’re not flowers,” she said. “They’re people. Codenames.”

“Assassins?”

She nodded. “Or… operatives. Loyal to the Order. They’re activated when the signal is sent.”

“And what signal is that?”

“The phrase: The roses will fall. When it’s spoken in public by the designated mouth, every sleeper agent in the vicinity awakens.”

Ash sat back, hands laced. “Clever. And impossible to trace.”

“Exactly.”

“And yet,” Ash said softly, “you’re telling me this.”

Sable tilted her head. “Maybe I want this Order to fall too.”

He studied her. She wore truth the same way he did—loosely and often upside down.

“Or maybe,” he said, “you want me to burn my fingers on your behalf.”

“I could just kill you.”

“You’ve had chances.”

“Too many,” she murmured. “And yet here we are.”

Ash tapped his teacup. “Then let’s pretend we trust each other. Just for tonight.”

“Agreed.”

---

Velhurst — Two Nights Later

Velhurst was a city of steel and soot. Tall spires like needles clawed at the sky, and smoke poured from factories lining the river’s edge. In the slums, children sold rusted trinkets and stolen keys. No one slept. Not really.

Ash walked alone through the Drowned District, wearing a cloak that hid his fine suit and a knife strapped to his thigh. He passed boarded shops and flickering lanterns. The air smelled of oil and wet leather.

He stopped at a warehouse that looked abandoned. The door was marked with the symbol of a crow stitched into a white circle.

This was it.

The address from the scroll.

He stepped inside.

---

Warehouse Interior

The inside was cleaner than expected—empty crates stacked neatly, floor swept, shelves labeled with painted numbers.

And waiting at the center was a man.

Not just any man.

Tall. Bone-thin. Wearing white gloves and a black velvet coat that shimmered when he moved. His face was pale, his lips bloodless. But it was the eyes that held Ash still.

Cold. Metallic. Like twin coins from a kingdom long dead.

“You’re late,” the man said.

“I’m dramatic,” Ash replied.

The man smiled faintly. “They call me Doctor Vein.”

Ash stared. “Did you choose that name yourself?”

“I earned it.”

“I bet you did,” Ash muttered. “So. Are you here to kill me, recruit me, or deliver a vague speech about destiny?”

Vein walked toward a wooden crate and opened it. Inside were dozens of vials filled with glowing blue fluid.

“Do you know what this is?” Vein asked.

“Bad news in a bottle.”

Vein nodded. “It’s called ‘Chimera’. The Order’s latest creation. Enhances strength, sharpens memory, suppresses pain… and eventually drives the user mad.”

“Classic cocktail.”

“Each vial is tagged to a sleeper agent. When the roses fall, the agents inject Chimera. Then they kill. Efficient. Terrifying. Beautiful.”

Ash’s fingers twitched near his pocket. “So this is your plan? Release monsters across the continent?”

Vein closed the crate. “It’s already in motion.”

Ash took a step forward. “Then you won’t mind if I burn all of this.”

Vein tilted his head. “You really think you can?”

Ash smiled. “No.”

Then he snapped his fingers.

The fire started instantly—Sable had planted explosives earlier, hidden in the floor panels. Blue flames roared upward.

Vein hissed. “You planned this?”

Ash drew his blade. “I never improvise without five backups.”

Vein lunged.

They clashed in the smoke—Ash agile and graceful, Vein a whirling shadow. The knife grazed Ash’s cheek. Ash countered with a punch to the ribs and a knee to the gut. Vein snarled, his gloved hands sparking with static.

“You’re enhanced,” Ash whispered. “You took Chimera.”

“Enough to kill you.”

“But not enough to kill the side effects.”

Vein staggered, clutching his temple.

Ash kicked him into the crates. Vials shattered. Blue liquid sizzled on the floor.

“You’re a slave,” Ash said. “Your gods don’t care if you live.”

“I am the sword of Ouroboros—”

Ash silenced him with a well-placed strike.

Vein crumpled.

Ash stepped back into the flames and threw the last detonator onto the largest crate.

The warehouse exploded.

---

Velhurst Bridge – Dawn

Ash and Sable stood on a stone bridge overlooking the river. The warehouse was nothing but cinders now, black smoke curling into a crimson sky.

Sable handed him a folded paper. “Next location.”

Ash took it. “How did you find this?”

“I asked nicely.”

He raised a brow. “You threatened someone, didn’t you?”

She smiled. “Repeatedly.”

They stood in silence for a while.

Ash asked, “Did Vein matter to you?”

“No,” she said. “But I hated him less than most.”

“That’s almost affection.”

She shrugged. “We’re spies. Affection is a knife with a smile.”

Ash chuckled, then unfolded the paper.

Coordinates. A signature. A symbol—

An owl perched on a blood moon.

His smile vanished.

Sable saw the change. “What is it?”

Ash's voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s him.”

“Who?”

Ash’s eyes were distant. “My brother.”