The moment Zayne and his group stepped out of the auction hall, the atmosphere shifted. The once lively corridors now felt colder, the flickering sconces casting ominous shadows along the stone walls.
"We need to get out of here. Now," Elias muttered, leading them back toward the underground passage.
Zayne glanced over his shoulder, his instincts screaming at him. That girl—the one who had warned him—was she an enemy, or someone trying to help? Either way, she knew who they were, and that meant the Syndicate likely did too.
The group walked swiftly but calmly, blending in with the other guests leaving the auction. They made it through the stone doors and into the tunnel, where the air was thick with moisture and the distant sound of dripping water echoed around them.
Then, footsteps.
Zayne froze. The others heard it too. Multiple figures were following them, moving with trained precision.
"Damn it," Malo hissed, reaching for his sword.
Elias cursed under his breath. "Stay sharp. If we run, they'll know we're onto them."
Zayne nodded, his pulse quickening. They kept walking, pretending not to notice, but the footsteps grew closer. Then—
A rush of wind.
Before Zayne could react, a cloaked figure appeared in front of them, stepping out of the shadows like a phantom. His face was hidden behind a silver mask, and a long, curved dagger gleamed in his gloved hand.
The tunnel behind them filled with more figures, cutting off their escape.
The Syndicate had them surrounded.
"Guests of the auction should know better than to eavesdrop," the masked man said, his voice smooth but dangerous. "You should have simply enjoyed the show and left like everyone else."
Zayne's hand tightened around his sword hilt. "If you're looking for a fight, you picked the wrong people."
The masked man chuckled. "A fight? No, no. That would be such a waste. I only wish to… have a conversation."
Elias stepped forward, his tone calm but firm. "We were simply observing, like everyone else. If you're accusing us of something, I suggest you provide proof."
The masked man tilted his head. "Proof? No need. We know who you are." His gaze locked onto Zayne. "Especially you."
Zayne's blood ran cold.
The masked man raised his hand, revealing a small, glowing sigil carved into the leather of his glove. The symbol pulsed with dark energy—a mark of the Syndicate.
"We've been watching you for some time, Zayne Carter."
Malo drew his sword. "Enough games. What do you want?"
The man ignored him, his masked face still fixed on Zayne. "Your past is tangled with ours, whether you realize it or not. If you wish to learn the truth, stop running. The answers you seek… are closer than you think."
Zayne's grip tightened on his sword. "And what truth is that?"
The masked man let out a low chuckle. "Ah, but that would be too easy. No, you must earn the truth. Keep searching, and eventually, the pieces will fall into place."
The figures around them started to shift, stepping back into the shadows one by one.
"But be warned…" The masked man's voice echoed as he, too, began fading into the darkness. "The deeper you dig, the more dangerous it becomes. The Syndicate does not forgive. Nor do we forget."
And just like that, they were gone.
A heavy silence filled the tunnel.
Zayne exhaled slowly, his heart pounding. That wasn't just a warning. It was a challenge.
Malo sheathed his sword with a frustrated sigh. "I hate cryptic bastards like that."
Elias nodded grimly. "But we got what we needed. The Syndicate knows about Zayne. And whatever they're planning, it's already in motion."
Seraphina turned to Zayne, concern in her eyes. "What do you want to do?"
Zayne clenched his fists.
"I keep digging."