The warm air of early July clung heavily over Montressa, thick with the briny scent of the sea and the ever-looming tension that hung over the city's noble class. Months had slipped by since Velrik had last witnessed any semblance of peace among the upper circles. Now, whispers draped themselves over every corner of the city, merchant eyes flickered with murky apprehension, and furtive meetings unfolded behind tightly locked doors. Something was on the horizon, and every soul sensed it, a storm building far above their heads.

  Velrik found himself seated across from Gareth in a small, dimly lit tavern tucked within the lower district—a refuge from the watchful eyes of the nobility. The flickering candlelight nestled between them cast long, jittery shadows across the table, the flame swaying with each breath of wind sneaking through the cracked wooden walls. Gareth’s demeanor was uncharacteristically grave; his broad arms crossed over his chest, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against his sleeve as he leaned in close.

  "This one’s bigger than anything we've done before," Gareth muttered, keeping his voice low yet resolute. "Lucien's keeping the details close to his vest, but I gather, this job could shift everything. Might even explain the king's investigators being in town."

  Velrik’s ears perked at the mention of the royal agents. The presence of the king’s investigators had sent the nobility spiraling into a hushed panic, though specifics surrounding their arrival remained obscured, evading even Lucien’s usual clarity, who had only offered cryptic comments about it being an 'unfolding opportunity.'

  "You know what I think?" Gareth continued with intensity brewing in his voice. "I think we’re being sent to help bring down Count Andelio."

  Velrik's expression hardened. "Andelio? What, has Lucien finally grown bold enough to take on someone of that stature? I figured he’d lay low when it comes to powerful foes. I don't see him pulling this off."

  "Not bold—patient," Gareth corrected, leaning forward. "Count Andelio’s been conducting his business under the table, selling secrets to foreign kingdoms. Worse, he’s running an illegal trade in people. The sort of dealings that get you killed if the right people discover them. And Lucien wants us to be the ones to help him expose it. If he is exposed, there is a chance that the count will be removed and that will leave a spot for Lucien."

  Velrik reclined in his chair, the gravity of Gareth’s revelation weighing heavily on him. "So that’s why the king’s people are lurking around. If Andelio is trafficking slaves and leaking vital intelligence, this isn't just a noble's failure—it’s a matter of the kingdom’s very security."

  "Precisely. But Lucien isn’t revealing everything. What we do need to know is our role in this." Gareth straightened, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "We’re to infiltrate one of Andelio’s fortified estates inside the city. Our mission is to gather proof—documents, records, anything that connects him to the trade. Perhaps even the people held there. The rest? We leave to Lucien and his men.”

  Velrik held his silence for a beat, contemplating the implications. Andelio was no ordinary noble; he wielded a dangerous mix of power, connections, and cruelty. If Lucien was daring enough to challenge him, it implied something monumental was at stake. Yet Lucien had a habit of omitting critical details, which set off warning bells. That left him more unsettled than the job's inherent risks.

  "What’s our team, is it just us?" Velrik finally asked, rolling a coin thoughtfully between his fingers.

  "Ffour of us. You, me, and two others. One’s a man named Corvin—or better referred to as a bird—a Corvani. He’s an expert with locks, quiet as a shadow, and trusts no one. Not the friendliest lot, but damned useful. The other is a woman named Sienna—she can blend into places she has no business being. We’ll work in pairs, covering different grounds of the estate."

  “Lucien’s choices?”

  "Yeah, he guarantees their skills. Claims we’ll be in and out faster than Andelio can blink. They will be creating a diversion and keeping Andelio busy while we sneak in another way.”

  Velrik didn't favor the way that sounded. Lucien had a reputation for making dangerous situations seem less perilous than they truly were. "That's a comforting thought, but Andelio isn't a fool. He has security, sorcery, and the means to make people vanish without a trace. If we fumble this—"

  "We won’t," Gareth interjected firmly. "We stick to the plan, get what we need, and then we’re out. No heroics. No improvising, unless I give the signal."

  Velrik nodded slowly, though the unease in his gut lingered like a lingering specter. "When do we move?"

  "Three nights from now. We’ll rendezvous at the usual spot, receive final instructions from Lucien, and set off."

  Velrik tapped his claws against the table’s edge, deep in thought. "And if it all turns to chaos?"

  Gareth exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Then we run. Fast. Don’t look back, don’t search for me, just go."

  The weight of that sound hung heavy in the air, but the decision had already forged itself in Velrik’s heart. He was in. Whatever Lucien’s grand design, whatever this job's outcomes, fate had set its wheels in motion, and whether he welcomed it or not, he had a role to fulfill.

  Slipping silently out of the tavern, Velrik shrugged up his hood as he stepped into the cool embrace of the night. The streets of Montressa had quieted somewhat, yet the tension remained—a taut cord vibrating underfoot. Even at this hour, he could hear the distant murmurs seeping from alleyways, and the lurking silhouettes of figures lurking in the shadows, ever-watchful. It wasn’t just the nobility who felt the pressure; a sense of chaos hung over the city, a tempest brewing just out of sight.

  Staying to the darker pathways, Velrik moved with swiftness, steps light and calculated. He didn’t take the direct route home, opting to weave through the serpentine streets of the lower district, steering clear of the busier thoroughfares. Supplies were needed before his return.

  His first destination was a weaponsmith's shop, one he knew to keep its back entrance conveniently unlocked for trusted clientele. Velrik pressed against the wooden door, ears perked to catch any stirrings from within. Hearing nothing, he eased it open and slipped inside. The air was thick with the scent of oil and steel; the forge, long since silenced for the night. Moving cautiously, he bypassed the heavier weapons on display and targeted what he needed—knives and caltrops. He selected four blades, balanced and light enough for concealment yet sturdy enough to pierce leather. Leaving a fair payment on the counter—he had no intention of crossing the line with someone he might need—he vanished back into the night.

  With new items in hand, he then made his way toward an apothecary near the river docks. The elderly woman who ran it had long since closed up for the night, but he knew exactly where she stored her more discrete concoctions. Climbing up to the second-story balcony, he pried open a loose shutter and reached inside, retrieving two vials: a mild sedative, two healing potions, and a fast-acting poison. Leaving a few silver coins in their place, he sealed the window and slipped back into the shadows. Velrik still required two more items, both essential, should things take a dire turn.

  Velrik snuck into a window he strategically selected on the side of an upstanding building bordering the more affluent district. Inside, scents swirled—herbs, spices, parchment. He quickly made his way to a cluster of drawers locked behind a metal cage. Picking the lock was child's play, and soon he was rifling through them. It didn’t take long before he located what he sought—a scroll of Phantom Step and a scroll of Invisibility. The shopkeeper owed him debts, and it seemed right to keep these without hesitation.

  With those crucial items secured, there remained a singular task to complete.

  Velrik weaved through the abandoned marketplace, evading patrols that had grown more frequent in recent weeks. He ducked under awnings, stepped softly over loose cobblestones, and lingered in the shadows as necessary. Even with his honed skills, the city felt different now—a thread of danger woven through its fabric. The gazes that followed him weren’t merely those of petty thieves or beggars; they were sharper, more scrutinizing.

  Before long, he reached home, the weathered wooden door of his small house securely closed, windows shuttered against the cool night air. Velrik ensured he was unpursued and slipped inside, locking the door behind him.

  His friends occupied the main room, their murmurs falling silent as he entered. Elisa looked up first, concern blooming across her features. Dain leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in expectation, waiting for an explanation. Mira stood near the table, her keen eyes studying him, already sensing that something was amiss. Joren, ever unguarded, straightened at the sight of him.

  “What is it?” Joren inquired.

  Velrik drew a breath and pulled back his hood. "We need to talk. All of us."

  Elisa exchanged a worried glance with Mira, then nodded. "Alright. What’s going on?"

  Velrik approached the table, unfurling his cloak. From within its depths, he retrieved the throwing knives, the vials, and a small pouch of coins. He laid them out with care, allowing the weight of the moment to settle upon their shoulders. "I have a job. Bigger than anything I’ve ever done before. And I need all of you to listen closely."

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Dain’s expression darkened immediately. "Lucien?"

  Velrik nodded solemnly. "My mentor and I are in. We don’t know everything yet, but we have enough to concern us. Lord Andelio has been dealing in illicit slavery and selling secrets to foreign kingdoms. This job… it’s about bringing him down."

  Mira’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound that shattered the stunned silence enveloping the room.

  "This is different from what you usually do," Elisa finally said with a cautious edge to her voice. "It’s not merely gathering information or stealing something valuable. This is bigger. More dangerous."

  “I know,” Velrik admitted. “That’s why I’m telling you this now. If something goes wrong—if I don’t return—you do nothing. You say nothing. You keep your heads low and pretend you know naught of me or my actions. I can easily get away from anything, so don’t worry about me.”

  Joren frowned, unease creeping into his voice. "That’s not funny, Vel."

  "I’m not jesting." Velrik’s tone was unwavering, eyes locked firmly on theirs. "If I must flee, returning may take considerable time, perhaps never at all. But if I do find my way back, I’ll seek you out when it is safe. Until then, you must promise me: no heroics. No searching for me."

  Elisa's hands clenched together in anxiety. "And if we refuse?"

  "Then you create unnecessary danger for yourselves," Velrik warned. "Lucien is dangerous because he makes enemies, and Andelio is worse. Should Andelio decide you know too much, you’ll vanish, and I can’t let that happen."

  Mira remained silent for a long moment before finally voicing her thoughts. "I don’t like it. But… okay."

  Dain grunted, clear trepidation shadowing his features. "Fine. If things go badly, we’ll adhere to your wishes."

  Elisa sighed, rubbing her temples in frustration. "Every part of this situation makes me uneasy. But you’re right; what’s beyond our control must be accepted. Just… be careful."

  Joren huffed, frustration etched across his brow. "You better return, Vel."

  Velrik forced a wan smile, determination flickering in his gaze. "I’ll do my utmost. Oh, and there’s a broken floorboard under my bed. If I don't come back and you need to move, please leave a letter there. I’ll be able to retrieve it eventually."

  They lingered in heavy silence for a moment longer before Velrik finally stood. "I have preparations to make. It starts in three days. Until then, we act as if nothing has changed. Understood?"

  Reluctantly, they all nodded, the implications of his words weighing heavily in their hearts.

  Velrik donned his cloak, fastening it securely. He cast a meaningful glance around the room, taking in their faces, cherishing the warmth of their presence.

  If this mission went awry, it could be the last time he gazed upon them. But he’d made his choice, and there could be no retreat.

  The moon hung high over Montressa as Velrik slipped through the streets like a specter against the glow of lanterns. The nobility may have teetered on edge, but the city's depths stirred restlessly with their own brand of chaos. The docks came alive even at this hour, smugglers unloading crates, beggars huddled in alleys, and thieves prowling for opportunities. Yet, distracted indulgences were not part of his agenda. His focus lay beyond the city walls.

  He navigated through a little-known passage, a crumbling fragment of the old city wall where the stones had shifted to allow egress. He had traversed this route countless times before, and as always, he left nary a trace of his passage. His small frame facilitated the journey, footfalls nearly silent over the cobblestones.

  Beyond the walls, the land unfolded in uneven hills and sparse woodland. Here, the night air cooled significantly, laced with the scent of damp earth and pine. Velrik advanced swiftly yet cautiously, sharp eyes casting through the shadows effortlessly. The world before him was painted in dark blues and silvers, details crisp and vivid against the abyss. His ears perked to the rustling of movement in the underbrush—small creatures, likely nothing to worry about, but vigilance remained his ally.

  After nearly an hour, he arrived at the location he sought—a small clearing nestled between two gnarled trees, remnants of a long-vanished fire pit that bore the memories of times shared with friends. He had celebrated his eleventh birthday here, amidst laughter, stories, and a sky full of stars. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  With practiced efficiency, he knelt to dig. The soil was damp yet yielding, making the task swift. His sharp claws aided the effort, raking through the dirt with minimal strain. Minutes later, he had unearthed a small hole deep enough to stow a sturdy wooden box he had brought along. Inside, he placed the items that mattered most—his savings, a spare dagger, a change of clothing, and cherished trinkets from his past. If misfortune came calling, this hidden cache would be his lifeline to starting anew.

  Covering the box with dirt, he smoothed the ground until nothing betrayed his act of concealment. Satisfied, he gathered fallen leaves to lay over the spot. One final glance, and he retraced his steps toward the city.

  Re-entering Montressa, Velrik took on a new sense of purpose. Recklessness was not an option. Gareth had instilled in him the gravity of preparation—not solely for the job ahead but for any unforeseen misfortunes. This called for scouting escape paths and identifying safe havens should the tides turn.

  His first destination led him to the rooftops. Scaling the side of a weathered building was second nature, his claws providing traction where others might falter. From above, the city unfurled beneath him, its labyrinthine streets and shadowy alleys offering myriad opportunities. His balance felt instinctual, his tail adjusting subtly to equip him for each agile step along the narrow ledges.

  He marked the pathways that offered optimal cover—the tight spaces between buildings, wooden beams upon which he could swing, and abandoned terraces that could serve as hiding spots. Several rooftops featured chimneys large enough for him to hide inside, though soot would leave a decidedly unstealthy mark if he weren’t cautious. He committed every route to memory.

  Next, he descended into the market district. At this hour, only a handful of vendors remained, some methodically closing their stalls while others dozed beneath awnings. He darted through the maze of wooden structures, paying attention to which ones had weak locks, which crates offered concealment, and which alleyways turned into dead ends. The mixture of scents—stale bread, drying herbs, and the distant tang of blood from a butcher’s stall—awoke a familiar urgency within him. The city’s dark heart thrummed with purpose, and Velrik was well-versed in how to navigate it.

  A particular butcher’s stall caught his attention—its back entrance opened to a storage room, the unmistakable scent of raw meat hanging in the air. More importantly, wooden crates towered high enough to offer protection should he need to hide. Marking the site in his mind, he moved on.

  His third stop brought him to an old sewer entrance concealed beneath a rotting pier along the docks. Slipping inside, he landed softly on the dank stones below. The tunnels extended far beneath the city, some branching toward forgotten catacombs, others leading into basements of decrepit buildings long since abandoned. Velrik had traversed these passages before; while they reeked of decay, they provided some of the safest places for vanishing when the city guard began hunting.

  Velrik tested a few of the older gates, noting which were rusted shut and which offered a chance of being pried open. A loose grate near the watch barracks caught his attention; it opened directly beneath their headquarters—a dangerous but useful fact to stash away.

  Finally, he arrived at a tavern near the city’s edge, a dilapidated establishment known as The Rusted Crown. It was a refuge where questions were unwelcome, a sanctuary for desperate men and fugitives seeking anonymity. He lingered briefly, but he memorized the side exits and concealed cellar doors that led into the neighboring building. If the need arose to evade pursuit, this would serve as an excellent place to disappear.

  By the time he returned home, the sky began to lighten, casting a fresh glow over the weary city. He slipped inside quietly, moving past the rooms where his friends slept.

  For the next couple of days, Velrik immersed himself in the flow of life, blending seamlessly with the expected routine. Should anyone observe him, they would see not the rogue preparing for a job that could alter everything, but rather a streetwise Vulpin going about his usual errands, engaged in the mundane tasks of life.

  The library became his sanctuary. He arrived early, as he often did, offering a nod to the elderly librarian, who had long since ceased questioning why a boy like him spent his hours amidst the tomes. Parchment and ink's familiar scent enveloped him, a comforting contrast to the city’s grime. Seat taken at the corner window; the morning sunlight warmed the wooden desk. A book lay open before him, but his eyes chased the words—his thoughts instead swirled with every possible scenario, every twist his fate could take, every error he may yet overlook.

  The task itself appeared straightforward—a simple directive to retrieve what Lucien desired and slip out undetected. But jobs were never that uncomplicated. Complications were an inevitability, and there existed always unseen details that could spiral unpredictably. Velrik had rehearsed the plan a thousand times in his head, yet doubt lingered like a half-formed shadow. Had he covered every variable? Had he factored in any guard shifts he hadn’t anticipated? Was there an unseen alarm? A locked door that might elude him at the worst possible moment?

  He forced himself to breathe, echoing the words Gareth had instilled in him about patience, retaining control of his mind before allowing fear to rule. Yet this job felt fundamentally different from any he had undertaken. This wasn’t simple theft or the act of liberating a few chained souls. This involved Lucien, and Velrik had learned through trials with the half-elf that nothing he orchestrated ever followed a straightforward path—especially with a Count’s name involved.

  He flicked his gaze back to the open book, compelling himself to absorb a passage concerning historical battle strategies—a personal study to better grasp the perspectives of those in power. But even as he read, his senses remained attuned, alert to every discreet sound around him. The rustle of turning pages, the faint cough of another visitor, the creak of the ancient floorboards as the librarian paced nearby—his instincts cataloged each detail, staunchly keeping his guard up, even within the library’s confines.

  By midday, he finally closed the book, reclining back in his chair to watch the bustling life beyond the window. The city moved unconcerned, blissfully unaware of the pressure coiling around him. Envy bubbled within him for those carefree souls—the merchants bartering over goods, children scampering in play, travelers passing through with oblivion to the scheming woven beneath the city's surface. In a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to envision walking away from this life, vanishing beyond Montressa’s borders. But that was not his reality. It wasn’t the promise he made to himself.

  The rest of his day followed the same semblance of routine. He wandered through the market, gathering snippets of information from hushed conversations, paying attention to any peculiarities in the patrol schedules of the city guard. He dosed by a tailor’s shop under the guise of securing adjustments for his cloak, yet his true agenda lay in carefully scanning the postings cluttered on the back wall—disheveled notes left by those in the know, coded messages hinting at jobs, threats, and altering allegiances. Nothing mentioned Lucien, but that didn’t dull his anxiety.

  Nightfall found him returning home, sharing dinner with his friends as if fate had not shifted at all. He bantered with Dain about his intolerable choice in ale, teased Joren regarding his woeful luck with women, and feigned annoyance as Mira swiped a piece of his bread, grinning with triumph. But beneath it all lingered that heavy weight. He could see it reflected in their eyes too—the unvoiced concern, the understanding that this mission was unlike all those that had come before.

  As he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, restless thoughts returned to haunt him. He had undertaken every step needed to prepare. He had scouted. He had strategized. He had accounted for each possibility. Yet lurking in the back of his mind was an unyielding whisper—what if it was still not enough?

  Velrik clenched his jaw and forced his eyes shut. There was no reverting to the past. Whatever transpired, he would tackle it head-on. And if worst came to worst—if he had to run—he would find his way back one day.

  But for now, all he could do was wait.