The night air of the capital was alive with noise and deception. Every street told a story, and every shadow listened. Lara walked those streets like a ghost who remembered what it was to bleed.

Her cloak brushed the cobblestones as she passed between lanterns, their flickering light catching the sharp lines of her face. Her guard, Marcus, kept a steady distance, blending into the crowd but never far. He had once been a soldier of the Aizdihar Kingdom—a man who had seen her rise and fall and now followed her in quiet loyalty.

They stopped before a low building spilling laughter and perfume into the street. A red curtain swayed in the doorway, and the sound of a lute drifted through. Above the entrance hung a faded sign: The Velvet Mare. A place where HE was a regular.

It was a place for the forgotten rich and the desperate poor, where secrets cost less than a drink.

Inside, the air was thick with incense and smoke. Men of noble birth lounged on cushions with painted women draped over them like trophies. The smell of cheap wine clung to the walls. Lara kept her hood low and her step unhurried as she moved toward the back.

Her eyes found the girl she sought almost at once—a young woman with hair like burnt gold and a gaze that missed nothing. 

she was someone... He had his eyes on for quite a time yet... she was out of his reach... someone far too expensive for him. Karina. She had agreed to Lara’s offer the night before, her voice cool but wary. “I’ve been bought before,” she’d said. “But never by someone who looked at me like I was still human.”

Now she approached them with a smile that could fool any man. “He’s here,” she murmured to Lara, nodding toward a curtained alcove where laughter rose above the din. “Drunk, loud, and bragging about his days in the old court.”

“Count Collin,” Lara said quietly. The name felt like ash on her tongue.

Karina’s smile tightened. “I’ll handle him. You’ll get your answers.”

Lara’s hand brushed the dagger hidden in her cloak—not out of fear, but memory. “Be careful,” she said.

Karina gave a faint laugh. “Careful doesn’t make a living here, my lady.” Lara noticed her pursed lips behind those confident words.

She slipped behind the curtain.

Karina grapsed the situation quite fast and did as she was told.

The Velvet Mare pulsed with the music of a city that had forgotten sleep. Laughter, dice, and deceit tangled in the air. Lara waited in the shadows while Marcus watched the door. Somewhere behind the curtains, Count Collin drank and bragged, and Karina walked straight into the lion’s den.

Karina moved as if born for that stage—measured steps, a painted smile, a heart pounding loud enough to drown the music. Every gesture was a line from a script she hated, but tonight the performance had a reason. She was there to draw out the truth.

The Count leaned back, wine spilling from his cup. “You again?” he slurred. “Didn’t I already buy your loyalty?”

Karina laughed softly, a sound rehearsed a hundred times in the mirror. “You bought a story, not silence,” she said, and let the conversation twist around his vanity. The tavern noise dulled; the space between them tightened.

“Tell me about Count Amin,” she whispered, letting the name hang like smoke.

For a heartbeat the man blinked, sobered by memory. Then arrogance returned. “Amin,” he scoffed. “Proud fool. The Emperor sent him north after having his eyes—slave mines. Broke him.”

Karina’s hand, resting on the table, curled into a fist. “And his daughter?” she asked quietly.

He laughed, cruel and careless. “Sold. To Baron Nagir. Probably ended like you—playing pretend for coins.”

The laughter around them blurred. Karina stood abruptly. The mask on her face cracked, just once. When he reached toward her, she twisted his arm in a flash of movement—enough to remind him she wasn’t his toy. His cry was swallowed by the music.

“You’ve said enough,” she murmured, voice trembling with both rage and control.

She turned and left through the red curtain, her pulse hammering.

Time moved strangely in that place. The music rose and fell, voices blurred together. Lara waited in the shadows of the hall, her mind half in the past, half in the growing noise behind the curtain.

She could hear them—the rough laughter of a man who believed himself untouchable, the soft tone of a woman playing a role. The words were muffled, but she could sense when the mood shifted: the pauses, the change in pitch, the sudden drop of laughter into something heavier.

And then—silence.

Lara stood, her body tense. Marcus took one step forward, hand near his sword.

The curtain moved. Karina emerged first, her expression unreadable but scared. Behind her, Count Collin stumbled into view—his face flushed, his voice slurred. He tried to grab Karina’s wrist, but she slipped aside with practiced grace and fear.

“I told you what I know,” he muttered, spitting the words like seeds. “The man was sent north—to the mines. The girl—sold off to that wretch Nagir."

'You nobles and your ghosts. You always come back to haunt your own filth.”

He laughed—a sound more beast than human.

Something inside Lara broke.

Before Marcus could move, she stepped forward. Her hand caught the Count’s neck from behind, dragging him close. His laughter died when he met her eyes—eyes that burned with a calm, lethal fire.

Whatever he saw in her face must have been enough. He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet, collapsing into a heap of spilled wine and terror. Lara turned away before her anger became something irreversible.

Her hands that barely fit the back of his neck, clenthed tight, breaking his neck bone into pieces. He cried out in pain but Lara smashed his head on the ground before he could utter a scream.

Once- twice- thrice... and finally a hand on the shoulder puling her back. She grabbed a burning wood by the fire and burned his body.

“You’ll never speak her name again,” she whispered.

Karina stood frozen, watching her. For a long moment, neither spoke.

Finally, Lara said softly, “You did well.”

Karina shook her head. “I did what I’ve always done. But this time... someone cared what I had to say.” Her tone was tired, but there was a flicker of warmth behind it.

Lara’s expression softened. “You’re coming with me. You’ll have a place to stay, until you decide what comes next.”

Karina blinked. “You don’t even know me...”

“I know enough,” Lara replied. “You told the truth when most wouldn’t dare. That’s worth more than loyalty in this city.”

It was either this or Lara would have fallen on her knees and begged for her forgiveness.

By dawn, the brothel had faded into silence behind them. The streets glowed pale under the rising sun. Marcus walked a few paces ahead, ensuring their path remained clear. Karina followed quietly beside Lara, wrapped in a borrowed cloak.

“Do you believe he was telling the truth?” Karina asked at last.

Lara’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon. “Yes. And if he was, then I know where I must go next.”

"He had no reason to lie."

“The northern mines,” Marcus said grimly.

Karina nodded once. “That’s where the slaves vanish. And perhaps where Nina’s father met his end.”

She did not speak the rest aloud—and maybe where you’ll find what’s left of her.

The city stirred awake around them. Merchants lifted their shutters, street hawkers shouted for coin, and the day began like any other. But for Lara, everything had changed. She had become silent. Her heart was clutching on her ribs, with each passing second, the pain was becoming unbearable. Nina...Nina...Nina, each passinh second whispered her name. And the name of her childhood teacher. Sir Amin... It took her too long, she bit on her lower lips trying to stop the tears from coming.

For the first time since entering the empire, she had a direction—not given by others, but chosen by her own hand.

The whisper of fire that had started in the palace was now spreading outward, slow and unstoppable.

Lara pulled her hood lower as the morning light brushed her face. “Prepare the horses,” she said to Marcus. She could not afford another minute. “We leave before sunset.”

"You will be guided to your place by my maid Lilliyana, just give her this." Lara said as she handed her, her handkerchief and a written letter.

"Marcus escort her and then come find me."

And without another word, she disappeared into the turning crowd, her purpose sharp as the blade hidden beneath her cloak.