Sonder lay on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling above her.
Restless thoughts swirled in her mind, refusing to let her sleep. She clutched her pillow tightly, her worry gnawing at her. Vell had been gone for hours.
She had never seen him truly angry—never. But she wasn't blind to the stories people whispered about him and his past. Tales of his destructive power, his fury.
She wanted to believe they were just that: stories of the past. But what if they weren't just stories? What if the past was more present than she hoped to believe?
What if he had done something awful?
Her grip on the pillow tightened as if squeezing it might push away the unsettling thoughts. She just wanted things to be right. Justice for the assassins and their master—swift and fair—was all she hoped for. That would be enough. But did Vell see it the same way?
Would he leave justice to the dwarves, or would he take it into his own hands?
Sonder shifted under the blankets, her restlessness growing. She tossed and turned in the small, windowless room that belonged to Lunt Junior. His grandfather had ordered the boy to stay downstairs with him until Vell returned.
Sonder was as safe as she could be here. The only way in was through the door, and to reach that, someone would have to pass through both Lunts. There was no chance of an attack—not with the real target, Vell, far from her.
Yet sleep refused to come. Her mind spun around a single question: Where was Vell? What was he doing?
The thought consumed her until an idea sparked in her mind, an extension of something she'd done before. She could try to locate him—feel for him the way she had sensed ores and stones in the mine.
She knew it worked on people—after all, it had worked on Lunt Junior.
Sonder sat up, clutching her pillow. The idea grew in her mind, taking root. She swung her legs over the bed, the cool stone floor grounding her as she whispered to herself, "Just like before."
Sliding to the floor, she crossed her legs and placed her palms flat on the smooth stone.
Her connection to the earth might help her find him. Vell's presence would be strong, like a beacon. The challenge would be distance. To sense him, she'd have to spread her mana thin, casting it far and wide like fishermen did with nets.
Her first attempt was a failure, a weak, unfocused pulse that revealed nothing beyond the immediate area. She tried again, steadying herself, letting her mana stretch outward.
The room came into focus first—the cold stone, the faint flicker of embers in the fireplace. Below, she sensed the Lunts. Their forms were indistinct, blurred by her inexperience, but they seemed to hold axes or similar tools in their hands.
Pushing further, her mana stretched beyond the manor walls, out into the tunnels carved into the mountain. The strain was immense, like pulling a thread so taut it threatened to snap.
And then—there it was.
A presence.
It was vast and cold, its weight pressing against her awareness like an encroaching storm. Sharp. Overwhelming.
Sonder froze, her breath caught in her throat. Her instincts screamed at her to retreat, to pull back before the presence crushed her. She pulled her mana back, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.
The presence wasn't in the distance but right outside her door.