The hooded man's smile didn't reach his eyes, which gleamed with the cold, calculating precision of someone used to making deals in the darkest corners of the city. His finger traced the rim of his glass as he waited for Rina's response. Every second that passed seemed to tighten the grip of tension in the air, the hum of the tavern's crowd falling into a background hum.
Rina felt her heartbeat slow, her mind sharpening as it always did when she was cornered. The stakes were high, and the wrong move would make things worse. But she was no stranger to dealing with those who thrived on manipulation and secrecy. She needed to keep her cards close to her chest.
"What kind of favor?" she asked, her voice level.
The man's eyes flicked to her companions briefly, then returned to her. "Something simple, for someone with your skills. A delivery, let's say. One that's a bit too risky for a man in my position to make himself."
Rina's gaze narrowed. There was always a catch. "If it's so risky, why do you assume I'd agree?"
The man chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Because I know who you are, Rina. The Ghost of Arcathia, some call you. Others say you're the woman who never leaves a trail. I've heard enough whispers in the right places to know that you've survived things most wouldn't. That means you're resourceful… and desperate."
Rina's blood ran cold. She had spent years making sure her reputation never got in the way of her work, keeping herself hidden in the cracks of the city. Yet somehow, this man had connected the dots. Whoever he was, he had more information than she was comfortable with.
Her eyes darted briefly to Torin and Alara, who stood on edge behind her. They hadn't picked up on the nuances of this exchange the way she had. They were both ready to fight, but violence wouldn't win them anything here. Not yet.
"I don't make deals with ghosts," she said, keeping her tone sharp. "You'll need to offer more than vague promises."
The man leaned back, crossing his arms. "The deal's simple: you make the delivery, and I give you Blackthorn. He'll be waiting for you once the job's done. You don't make the delivery? Well… you won't find him. And I imagine Garrick's patience will run thin."
Rina could see he was testing her resolve, waiting to see if she would bite. But she wasn't the type to take a leap without seeing the ground beneath her first.
"I need more than just your word," she said. "Give me something to show this isn't just another trap."
The man raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed with her caution. He slowly reached into his cloak, pulling out a small silver emblem, shaped like a dagger piercing through a coin—just like the sign outside the tavern.
"This," he said, holding it up, "is one of Blackthorn's personal marks. Only his closest allies carry these. You bring this with you, and he'll know you're not just a pawn."
Rina took a breath. The emblem was genuine; she could tell from the intricate craftsmanship. If Blackthorn was as elusive as his reputation suggested, then this mark could be a key to his world. Still, it was a gamble—one that could either bring her closer to unraveling the Box's mystery or plunge her deeper into the shadows.
She reached out and took the emblem from the man's hand, studying its weight for a moment before tucking it into her satchel.
"Where's the delivery?" she asked.
The man's smile returned, more satisfied this time. "There's a caravan leaving Arcathia tomorrow at dawn, heading toward the border of Illyria. It'll stop by the old ruins near Blackthorn Ridge. You'll need to be there before nightfall. Make sure the package gets into the right hands, and your job is done."
Rina nodded, though a thousand questions swirled in her mind. Blackthorn Ridge was notorious for being a hub of illegal trade, a place where deals were made in secret, and trust was a rare commodity. Getting in and out unnoticed would be a challenge.
"Consider it done," she said, her voice firm.
The hooded man stood, clearly pleased with the outcome. "I'll make sure Blackthorn knows to expect you. Good luck, Ghost."
With that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the tavern, leaving Rina, Torin, and Alara standing in the dim light.
Alara was the first to speak, her tone bristling with frustration. "We're really doing this? Running errands for some shady informant?"
Torin crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. "We don't have much of a choice, do we? If this is the only way to find Blackthorn…"
Rina held up her hand to quiet them. "It's not ideal, but it's a lead. We need to follow it."
She could feel Alara's tension beside her, but there was no point in debating. The path was set, and they had no other options. At least, none that didn't involve risking everything they'd built so far.
"We need to prepare," Rina said, her mind already calculating their next moves. "Gather supplies. Weapons. Make sure we can move fast."
Torin nodded, already stepping into action. Alara, though still hesitant, followed suit. Rina watched them for a moment before her hand drifted to the satchel at her side. The Box pulsed faintly, a constant reminder of the larger danger they faced.
As they left the tavern and melted into the winding streets of Arcathia, Rina's mind churned with thoughts of Elias Blackthorn. Who was he really? What secrets did he hold about the Box?
And more importantly, why did Garrick want him found so badly?
As the sun set and the city fell into its usual chaos of night, Rina knew one thing for certain: the deeper they ventured into the web of deceit, the closer they came to the edge of something far darker than they had imagined.
She just hoped they could survive the fall.