"Quiet," I breathed. If they heard us, we were already dead.
Cold stone pressed into my back as I forced my lungs into a slower rhythm. The air had already turned metallic, coating the inside of my throat until each inhale dragged harder than the last.
Even under the open sky, nothing moved. Moonlight stretched thin across the dirt, pale and useless.
I leaned out just enough.
Four figures. Two above, perched along the balcony like watching statues. Two below, guarding the gate.
Black hoods. Long robes dragging across the ground—yet not a single sound followed their movement.
"Carlos…" I muttered, eyes fixed on them. "Are they—"
"Cult."
The answer came instantly. Too fast. The silence that followed didn't settle; it hung, sharp and uneven.
Carlos narrowed his eyes at their robes. "The weave… the stitching…" His voice slowed. "It's identical to the ones I—"
He stopped.
I turned slightly. "Identical to the ones you…?"
Carlos didn't move. Not even a breath. A bead of sweat slipped down his jaw, cutting through the dirt on his skin. His gaze drifted—not to me, not to them—just… away.
"...Nothing."
The word scraped out. I held his stare for a moment longer, then let it drop. Pressing him now would only shut him down. I pulled back behind the wall.
"Layla. The fragment comes first. Move when we distract them."
"Right…"
Layla's gaze lingered on me—too steady, too quiet.
Not fear. Not trust. Something closer to recognition.
The Judge.
The thought didn't feel like mine. It settled in anyway.
For a second, I searched her face for fear. I didn't find it. What lingered there was quieter. Heavier. Something that sat too close to pity.
Carlos rolled his shoulders. A dry crack split the silence. "So… shall we?"
"No killing," I said. My fingers twitched, heat flickering faintly beneath the skin. "We need them alive."
A short breath left him—almost a laugh. "Fine. No worries."
He stepped forward. I caught his sleeve.
"Hey."
He paused.
"Don't die."
The words stayed steady. If he died here, the System wouldn't stay silent. It would open him up. And I wasn't sure I wanted to see what was inside.
A crooked grin pulled at his mouth. "Oh, I won't."
We slipped through the dark, sticking to the deepest shadows. At one point, a cultist's head snapped in our direction.
Too close.
A hand clamped around my arm—then I was pulled back, swallowed by darkness before I could react. My pulse slammed high against my throat.
"Thanks…" I whispered.
A short nod. "Upper floor. Boost."
He was already crouching. I stepped onto his interlocked hands, gripping his shoulder. His muscles tightened—then drove upward.
The world dropped away for a split second. My fingers caught the stone edge of the balcony, and I pulled myself up, rolling onto the floor without a sound.
Below, Carlos faded into shadow like he'd never been there.
I exhaled slowly. Then—footsteps.
A figure moved down the hallway ahead, robes brushing faintly against the floor. My eyes scanned the corridor.
A clay pot sat near the wall, dried dandelions spilling from its rim.
That would do.
I pressed flat against the corner.
Closer. Closer—
The moment he passed, I moved. The pot swung down.
THUNK
The impact rang out. Clay burst apart in my hands, and the man dropped instantly, his body folding into the floor.
I didn't move. The broken neck of the pot remained in my grip.
DRIP
DRIP
Blood slid along the jagged edge, soaking into the brittle petals. I crouched, pressing two fingers to his neck. A pulse. Still there.
Air slipped out of me, slow.
"We'll have the ritual tomorrow," a voice drifted from around the corner.
"No not now—the fragment must be secured…"
"Saydiria demands it."
"…even the gods cannot read it."
My grip tightened. Footsteps approached. Two of them.
I moved fast—dragged the body, forced it into a decorative chest, and slammed the lid shut just as they turned the corner.
They stopped.
"Huh… blood?"
"Where did that come fr—"
"Cut myself," I said, stepping forward while flexing my hand. "Rusty junk everywhere in this place."
They didn't answer. Their eyes shifted past me to the floor—to the faint, dark line leading straight to the chest.
A pause. Too long.
They moved. Steel flashed. I twisted, but my footing slipped.
The blade scraped my shoulder—
but the pain didn't arrive immediately.
It came late. Distant. Like it belonged to someone else.
My grip tightened anyway.
Something felt… off. Not in my body—in the space between thoughts.
"Only cult members understand how valuable human blood is," one of them said, his voice hollow. "You don't."
My fingers curled. Heat surged—too fast to control.
I knew I was about to lose control a fraction before I did.
"You butcher people to feed gods," I said, my voice dropping to a low growl.
"That's enough."
BOOM
Fire erupted outward. The floor cracked, split, and then collapsed entirely. Both of them vanished into the dark below, their voices swallowed by falling debris.
Silence rushed back in, heavy and suffocating. I turned. Carlos stood there, watching me. He was too still.
The air shifted. Cold crept in where it shouldn't have. The edges of my vision began to bleed, dark seeping inward like ink in water.
I tried to steady myself, but the ground didn't feel level anymore.
My legs gave out. The ceiling tilted sideways.
I had been drugged...