When the sun had barely crested the horizon, Damien sat staring at the spread of documents across the safe house table. Evidence that lined each parchment spoke of Elyas's enormous network: transactions, alliances, plans-all woven together like an impenetrable tapestry. In the seeming victory of the warehouse's destruction, though, Damien knew they were still chasing a ghost.
Amara sat cross-legged on the table, her blades laid restlessly beside her as she worked her way through a hunk of bread. She flicked her sharp blue eyes up to his tensed hands. "You're going to wear a hole in that map if you keep glaring at it."
Damien didn't say anything; his steel-gray eyes remained fixed on a ledger in front of him. "There's something missing," he muttered.
Carys leaned back against the far wall, arms crossed. "We took everything from that warehouse, Damien. If it wasn't in there, it doesn't exist."
"It exists," Damien said, his voice hard. "Elyas doesn't leave anything to chance. The fact that we found this much means he wanted us to. It's a trail, but only the parts he's willing to lose."
Amara raised an eyebrow. "You're saying this is bait?"
Damien nodded. "Partially. He didn't think we were going to blow up the warehouse, but he did want us to at least have enough information to run around with this while he plans something bigger."
Carys furrowed his brow, advancing to peer over his shoulder. "If this is bait, where do we go from here? We can't afford to waste time running after ghosts."
Damian turned to a map taped to the wall, marked with signs and locations. He tapped at a spot near the northern border. "The ledger speaks of a place-an estate owned by Lord Marlowe. One of Elyas's closest allies, he sits on a crucial supply route. If Elyas is brewing something up, that is where the real truth would be found."
"Marlowe," Amara said, chewing thoughtfully. "He's a snake. Rich, paranoid and loves his secrets. This will be fun."
Damien's jaw tightened. "We are not going for fun. We are going for leverage. If we can dismantle Marlowe's operations, we will force Elyas to reveal his hand."
Carys nodded. "Then we hit him hard. When do we leave?"
"Tonight," said Damien. "Marlowe's place is heavily protected, but when it is dark, we shall have the advantage of surprise."
By sundown, they were tied up to the estate of Lord Marlowe. The further north, the harder it was with thick forests turning into open fields whose mist was oppressive. The estate was on top of a hill. Even at night, the high stone walls and great gates could be seen.
Damien studied the structure from a distance, his steel-gray eyes narrowing. Guards patrolled the walls, their torches casting faint pools of light that barely pierced the gloom.
"Marlowe's expecting trouble," Amara said, crouching beside Damien. "This won't be like the warehouse. He's paranoid enough to keep his best men close."
"Good," Damien replied. "That means he's hiding something worth protecting."
Carys joined them, her green eyes sharp as she surveyed the scene. "There's no way we're getting through the front gates without raising an alarm. We'll need to find another way in."
"There," Damien said, his finger extending and jabbing toward the nearest cluster of trees near the eastern wall. "The cover is thin, but it is the smallest part of the perimeter. If we can climb the wall quickly, we will have a chance to slip inside unnoticed."
Amara smirked. "You had me at 'climb'."
----
It was tense - every rustle of leaves, the crunch of boots poised to give them away. Damien went ahead, stepping deliberately as they reached into the cover of the wall's shadow.
Amara dug into her satchel, and as she hauled out a grappling hook, she hurled it over the edge. The hook caught, biting into stone with a faint clink; she checked the line before nodding. "Ladies first," she whispered, grinning as she set to climbing.
Damien and Carys kept a steady breathing pace as they climbed up the stone, getting to the top without breaking stride. Here, they ducked low, guiding themselves away from the lights of the torches that swept across the courtyard below.
It sprawled here, gardens perfectly tended toward a central manor looming over it like a fortress. Guards patrolled in pairs, their routes diverging and converging in practiced precision.
"There," Carys whispered, nodding toward a side entrance. "That door leads down to the lower levels. Marlowe keeps his vaults and records down there."
Damien nodded. "Stay low. We don't want a fight unless we have no choice at all."
---
The trio moved quickly, darting between shadows as they made their way to the side entrance. Amara picked the lock in seconds, and they slipped inside, closing the door softly behind them.
The interior of the estate was as opulent as expected, with marble floors and gilded walls that spoke of Marlowe's wealth. But Damien had no interest in the décor.
"This way," Carys whispered, leading them down a narrow staircase.
The air grew chillier as they stepped down, the walls lined with torches flickering in the draft. Down at the bottom of the stairs was an iron door, heavy, its lock more complex than the one outside.
Amara studied it for a moment before pulling out her tools. "This might take a minute."
"Make it quick," Damien said, his voice low.
Amara operated with practiced ease, the lock clicking open after a moment of tense silence. Stepping back, she smiled to herself. "And they said this would be a tough assignment."
Damien pushed open the door and entered. Narrow shelves and cabinets lined the massive room. Heavy with old parchment and ink, the faint glow of lanterns cast an aura of light on stacks of documents and ledgers.
"This is it," Carys said, her green eyes sweeping the room.
They fanned out, combing through the files for anything that would place Marlowe in Elyas's scheme.
His heart lurching he discovered a pile of letters stamped with Elyas's seal. All were replete with shiploads of arms and stores, payoffs to influential officials and plans to stir up dissension in the royal court.
"This is it," Damien said, holding up the letters. "This is the proof we need."
---
They barely had the time to savor the moment before footsteps echoed down the hallway. Damien's steel-gray eyes narrowed as he motioned for silence.
Guards, Amara whispered, her daggers already in hand.
Carys glanced about the room. "There is no other way out."
Damien's jaw set. "Then we fight."
A batch of guards burst in, smashing down the door; their swords bared as they pounced. Damien moved first, the sword flashing with a parry against the lead guard's strike. Amara leaped forward, her movements a blur as she took down two guards with swift, precise strikes.
Carys had avoided being pinned down next to the shelves, the little space working to her advantage as she dispatched another attacker there.
War broke into the room with an echoing clanging of steel, with cries and battle shouts along the chamber.
The sword sang through air with intense perfection at every slash against the guards. The numbers were just too much for him, and the enclosure at that time was quite poor for maneuverability.
"Carys, quickly, get those documents and run!" shouted Damien.
"But what about you?" came her reply just about choked with urgency.
"We will hold them off," said Damien. "Go!"
Carys stood rooted to the spot for a full moment and then snatched the letters, running through the door.
Amara stepped next to him, her lips curving slightly up in a determined smirk: "Too bad you have to fight while I like a good fight."
Damien smiled, breath tight and hoarse. "Let's make it count."
Back to back, the two fought, their movements in complete synchronization as they held off the remaining guards.
From then, the room lay scattered with bodies when the reinforcements finally came in; then, Damien and Amara slipped into the shadows, disappearing into the night.
----
And after hours, all three had come to perfection at a safehouse just out of town. Carys threw the loot documents on the table in triumph.
"We have everything we need," she declared. She said everything was here - the involvement of Marlowe, the plans of Elyas.
"Iron will cut through," said Damien, steel-gray eyes burning with resolution. "Then we strike. Elyas has been pulling the strings too long. Time to cut them."
Amara leaned back, her smirk widening. "It's about time. Let's finish this."
Heavy with the knowledge of the coming battle, but also touched with that slight glimmer of hope that victory might at last be near, he felt. It was dawn, early at first.