The room seemed smaller with every passing second, the air thick with an unspoken threat. Saphielle's pulse quickened, her grip tightening on the dagger in her hand. She glanced at the swirling silver orb on the table, its glow intensifying like a heartbeat responding to her rising tension.
Maren knocked again, louder this time. "Don't make me kick this door in, Saphielle. It's been a long day, and I'm not in the mood for games."
His voice carried that same calm menace she remembered too well—a dangerous blend of patience and certainty. Maren never bluffed. If he said he'd break the door, he would.
With a curse under her breath, she sheathed the dagger and moved to the door, flipping the latch. She opened it just enough to meet his gaze, her expression guarded.
Maren leaned against the doorframe, his broad figure filling the space. His dark cloak was dusted with ash and dirt, and his sharp features were partially hidden beneath the shadow of his hood. But it was his eyes that held her attention—piercing and golden, like the glow of a dying sun.
"You're tracking dirt into my room," she said flatly, trying to mask her unease.
"Your room?" Maren raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you'd gone respectable." He pushed the door open with one hand, stepping inside before she could protest.
Saphielle bristled but didn't stop him. Closing the door behind him, she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, watching as he surveyed the small, sparse space.
"You've been busy," he remarked, his gaze landing on the orb.
"I could say the same about you," she shot back. "What are you doing here, Maren?"
He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "Looking for answers."
"I don't have any for you."
"You have that," he said, nodding toward the orb. "And I know you didn't pick it up just because it looked pretty."
Saphielle didn't respond, her mind racing as she tried to anticipate his next move. Maren was as calculating as he was relentless, and she doubted he'd come all this way just to chat.
"Whatever it is," she said carefully, "it's none of your concern."
"Wrong," he replied, stepping closer. "It's every bit my concern. Do you even know what you're holding, Saphielle? That thing isn't just some trinket—it's tied to the Veil. To everything that's been happening lately."
She stiffened at his words, but her expression didn't waver. "And I suppose you came here to save me from myself? How noble."
Maren's lips curved into a faint smirk, though his eyes remained serious. "No. I came here because whatever you've stumbled into is dangerous. If you think you can handle it on your own, you're fooling yourself."
"I've done just fine so far."
"Have you?" He gestured toward the orb. "That thing is reacting to you. If you keep it, you'll be a beacon for everything trying to tear its way through the Veil. And trust me, you don't want their attention."
Saphielle's fingers twitched, her instincts screaming at her to hide the orb, to deny everything. But deep down, she knew he was right. The artifact had felt strange from the moment she'd taken it—like it was alive, watching her, waiting.
"What do you want from me, Maren?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
"I want to know who you took it from," he said. "And why."
She hesitated, weighing her options. Trust was a luxury she couldn't afford, especially not with someone like Maren. But lying to him outright would only make things worse.
"The target was a scholar," she admitted. "He had ties to the Academies in Sevalith. He was researching something about the Veil—said it was weakening."
Maren nodded, as if that confirmed something he already suspected. "And this was his prized find?"
"It was hidden," Saphielle said. "Locked in a safe with enough wards to make your head spin. Whatever it is, he didn't want anyone getting their hands on it."
"Then he was smarter than most," Maren muttered.
He reached out toward the orb, but Saphielle stepped in front of him, her eyes narrowing.
"Don't," she warned.
Maren held up his hands, palms open. "Relax. I'm not going to take it from you. Not yet, anyway."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't move.
"The scholar," Maren continued, "did he say anything before you killed him?"
She hesitated again, the memory of the man's final moments flashing in her mind. His fear. His desperation.
"He said the Veil wasn't just weakening," she said slowly. "He said it was being torn apart."
Maren's expression darkened, his golden eyes flicking back to the orb. "Then we're already out of time."
Before she could ask what he meant, a sharp crack echoed from outside the inn. The sound was followed by a low, guttural growl that made the hair on the back of Saphielle's neck stand on end.
Maren moved to the window, pulling back the heavy drape just enough to peer outside. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath.
"What is it?" Saphielle demanded, already reaching for her weapons.
"Trouble," he said grimly. He stepped back, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Looks like they've found you."
Saphielle's heart sank as she caught the faint sound of claws scraping against stone. Whatever was out there, it wasn't human.
The orb pulsed again, brighter this time, as if in response to the approaching threat.
Maren drew his sword, its blade shimmering with an eerie, golden light. He glanced at Saphielle, his smirk returning despite the tension in his posture.
"Hope you're ready to fight," he said. "Because this is going to get messy."
End of Chapter 8