Rohan emerged from the washroom, his face calm, his breath even. No one needed to know what had just happened. The storm inside him had settled, not gone, but controlled, sharpened into something cold and focused.

  As he stepped back into the main chamber of The Veil, Veyna was already waiting for him, arms crossed, her gaze sharp. The older man hadn’t moved, still seated at the heavy wooden table, watching him with knowing eyes.

  “You good?”

  Veyna asked.

  Rohan nodded once.

  She studied him for a second longer, then turned back to the others.

  “We need a plan.”

  The older man exhaled, tapping the table.

  “We have two clear paths forward. We either go after Prince Lemeir, or we find out who’s leading the Iron Talons. Either one could lead us to the same answer.”

  Rohan moved toward the table, resting his hands against the wood. His fingers no longer shook.

  “What’s our best lead?”

  He asked.

  The scarred man with the crossbow spoke up from the shadows.

  “Prince Lemeir is dangerous. He’s already begun consolidating power. If he is behind the Iron Talons, going after him directly would be suicide. We’d need undeniable proof before making a move against him.”

  Veyna nodded.

  “Which means the better option, for now, is the Talons’ new leader. If we can find them, we’ll know who’s really pulling the strings.”

  Rohan glanced at the older man.

  “Do we have anything on them?”

  The older man hesitated before pulling out a single, crumpled parchment. He spread it across the table. It was a symbol, an iron claw, gripping a crown.

  “This was found on a dead Talon enforcer, It’s new. They’ve started branding themselves with it. Which means whoever is leading them, wants to be seen.”

  Rohan stared at the symbol. His fingers traced the edges of the paper, feeling the weight of it.

  “Where do we start?”

  Veyna exhaled.

  “There’s a contact, someone who used to work with the Talons before they were reorganized under this new leader. He’s hiding in a smuggler’s den near the southern docks.”

  The older man nodded.

  “If anyone knows what changed within the Iron Talons, it’s him.”

  Rohan straightened.

  “Then I’ll go.”

  Veyna gave him a pointed look.

  “You can barely stand.”

  Rohan smirked, rolling his shoulders.

  “I’ve fought worse.”

  The older man sighed.

  “You won’t be going alone.”

  Rohan expected Veyna to volunteer, but instead, the woman with the twin daggers stepped forward, adjusting the gloves on her hands.

  “I’ll take him, if things go bad, he’s not the only one who can fight.”

  Rohan studied her for a moment before nodding. He didn’t care who came, as long as they moved fast.

  The older man folded his hands.

  “Then it’s settled. Find this contact, and figure out what the Iron Talons have become.”

  The streets of Duskwatch were quieter than usual as Rohan and the woman with twin daggers made their way toward the southern docks. The city was wounded. The attacks on the pits and the nobles had sent ripples through the underworld, and now, the streets felt tense, as if everyone was waiting for something worse to happen.

  The woman moved beside him with effortless silence, her presence calm and calculated. She hadn’t spoken much since they left The Veil, but Rohan didn’t mind. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation either. After a while, she finally broke the silence.

  “I heard what you did at the mansion, the way you fought.”

  “You’re not afraid?”

  He asked.

  She gave a small, amused scoff.

  “Afraid of you? I work in the shadows. I know monsters when I see them. You’re not a monster.”

  Rohan glanced at her.

  “Then what am I?”

  She smirked.

  “That depends on whether you can control what’s inside of you or let it control you.”

  By the time they reached the docks, the smell of salt and rot filled the air. The den was tucked away behind an old storage warehouse, hidden beneath stacks of abandoned crates and rusted ship parts.

  Rohan eyed the entrance, a narrow doorway guarded by two men, both armed. They looked relaxed but not careless.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  His companion pulled a small coin pouch from her belt.

  “Bribes usually work here.”

  Rohan shook his head.

  “We don’t have time for that.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Then what’s the plan?”

  “Something faster.”

  Before she could question him, Rohan moved. He strode toward the entrance as if he belonged there. The guards immediately straightened.

  “Hold up, this is a private-”

  Rohan punched him in the throat. The man staggered back, choking. Before the second guard could react, the woman was already on him. She slipped behind him, a dagger pressed against his throat.

  The first guard gasped for air, reaching for his weapon, Rohan grabbed his wrist and twisted hard. The bone snapped, and the man dropped to his knees.

  The woman knocked the other guard unconscious in one swift strike to the temple.

  The smuggler’s den was dimly lit, cluttered with stolen cargo and crates of illegal goods. A few figures lounged around, gambling or drinking, but no one paid them much attention.

  At the back of the room, their target sat alone, a man with graying hair, a tattered coat, and a nervous twitch in his fingers. He noticed them instantly. His eyes widened in recognition, and then he ran.

  “Damn it!”

  Rohan yelled before taking off after him.

  The chase led them through a maze of corridors, past startled smugglers who barely had time to react before they tore through the room.

  The man was fast, but Rohan was faster.

  He lunged, grabbing the man’s collar and slamming him into a wall. The smuggler gasped, struggling, but Rohan pressed his forearm against his throat.

  “You run again, and I break your legs, sit.”

  The man gulped, nodding quickly. Rohan released him, shoving him toward an old chair. His companion leaned against the wall, daggers still in hand, watching with amusement.

  “You could’ve just asked nicely.”

  Rohan ignored her and focused on the smuggler.

  “You used to work with the Iron Talons, we need information.”

  The smuggler’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  “I don’t-”

  Rohan slammed his dagger into the wooden table right in front of his hand. The smuggler flinched. He ran a shaking hand through his graying hair, his fingers still twitching as he eyed Rohan’s dagger embedded in the table. He let out a long breath, rubbing his temples before speaking.

  “A while back, my crew got an offer. More money than we’d ever seen. All we had to do was hit a village.”

  Rohan’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

  “At first, we thought it was just another job. You know how it is, take what we can, leave no witnesses.”

  He swallowed.

  “But after the raid… I realized we weren’t just robbing people. We were cleaning up a problem for someone powerful.”

  The smuggler glanced around, as if the walls themselves might be listening. His voice dropped lower.

  “I ran. Got out before I was in too deep. The others who stayed? They either vanished or started working for the real players behind this.”

  Rohan narrowed his eyes.

  “Who’s in charge now?”

  The smuggler hesitated. He licked his lips, his knee bouncing under the table.

  “You don’t wanna know.”

  Rohan slammed his palm down on the wood.

  “I asked you a question.”

  The smuggler flinched, exhaling sharply.

  “Alright, alright. The Iron Talons have a new leader. They’re not just a bandit gang anymore. They have a stronghold. They took over an old fortress, reinforced it, and turned it into a real base. If you wanna find the one pulling the strings, that’s where you need to go.”

  Rohan exchanged a look with his companion.

  “Where is it?”

  The smuggler grimaced.

  “A week’s ride from here, deep into the territory they’ve taken. It’s not some camp in the woods. It’s a fortress. Walls, towers, siege weapons. They own the land around it. You don’t just walk in.”

  Rohan leaned in, his voice dangerously low.

  “And the leader?”

  The smuggler exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

  “Whoever they are, they’re not just some warlord. People say they’re a knight. Not the kind who parades through cities waving banners, the kind that survives wars. If the stories are true, they’re surrounded by other trained fighters, people who could cut down thousands on their own.”

  Rohan’s fingers curled into fists. The smuggler looked at him, his eyes suddenly dead serious.

  “Listen. I left because I saw what happens when people dig too deep. You don’t get away. You won’t just get yourself killed, you’ll get everyone you know killed.”

  His voice lowered to barely a whisper. “There’s something out there, something bigger than you realize. If you keep going down this road, you’re gonna find it. And when you do?”

  He shook his head.

  “It won’t let you leave.”

  Silence hung between them. Rohan didn’t move and his companion said nothing. Then, finally, Rohan pulled his dagger from the table. He turned toward the door without another word. The smuggler exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping in relief.

  “You’re really gonna go after them, aren’t you?”

  Rohan paused. Without looking back, he muttered.

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  Before he walked out he slit the man's throat in one swift movement. Turning towards the woman she didn't say a word.

  “Let's go.”

  Rohan and his companion moved quickly through the streets, returning to The Veil as the weight of what they had learned pressed against them. A war was coming. One that would swallow everything.

  When they stepped inside, the older man was already waiting, his hands resting on the heavy wooden table, maps and documents spread out before him. Veyna stood nearby, arms crossed, watching as they approached.

  Rohan didn’t waste time. He told them everything. The stronghold. The knight. The warnings from the smuggler.

  When he finished, silence settled over the room.

  The older man let out a slow breath, shaking his head.

  “Then it’s as we feared.”

  Rohan’s jaw clenched.

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  The older man looked at him.

  “There is no plan.”

  Rohan’s fingers twitched.

  “What?”

  The older man leaned forward.

  “The Iron Talons are no longer a bandit group, Rohan. They’re an army. Their leader is a trained warrior, their forces are organized, and their stronghold is nearly impenetrable. And if Prince Lemeir really is involved? That means this war is inevitable.”

  Rohan’s voice darkened.

  “Then we need to do something.”

  The older man sighed.

  “No. We need to survive.”

  Rohan felt something snap inside him.

  “You’re going to sit back and do nothing while they burn everything to the ground?”

  The older man didn’t flinch.

  “We deal in information, not wars. This isn’t our fight.”

  Rohan’s breathing slowed. His hand moved to his dagger, gripping the hilt tightly.

  “So that’s it?”

  He said, voice low.

  “You’ll just wait this out? Hide in your little tunnels while thousands die?”

  The older man’s eyes remained steady.

  “It’s not worth losing our lives over something inevitable.”

  Rohan exhaled sharply. Then, without hesitation, he drew his dagger and pressed it against the older man’s throat.

  The room shifted instantly.

  Steel scraped against leather as weapons were drawn. The woman with twin daggers had both blades out, ready to strike. The scarred man with the crossbow had already taken aim. More figures in the room stood, their hands on hilts, waiting. But Rohan didn’t back down.

  His voice was deathly calm.

  “If I ever hear that you’ve decided to work with the Iron Talons, I will kill everyone in this room myself.”

  The older man stared at him without an reaction. Tension coiled in the air.

  The twin-dagger woman shifted closer, her grip tightening. The crossbowman’s aim didn’t waver. Veyna didn’t move, she simply watched.

  Rohan’s gaze flicked around the room, his blood roaring in his ears. They thought he was bluffing. They thought he wouldn’t do it, but he would. He would carve through every single one of them if it meant stopping the Talons.

  The older man sighed. Slowly, he raised a hand, a silent command for the others to stand down.

  “Enough, put your weapons away.”

  No one moved at first. But after a long moment, they obeyed. Rohan didn’t lower his dagger, not yet.

  The older man met his gaze.

  “You’re not going to change your mind about this, are you?”

  Rohan’s grip tightened.

  “No.”

  The older man exhaled through his nose, then reached for a small satchel beneath the table. He tossed it toward Rohan, who caught it with his free hand.

  “There’s enough in there for a long journey. You’ll find a horse in the eastern stables. Take it. But don’t expect anything more.”

  Rohan finally pulled his dagger away. The older man didn’t rub his throat, didn’t react to the threat at all. He simply studied Rohan.

  “You’re walking into a war, and you won’t win it alone.”

  Rohan turned toward the door.

  “I don’t need to win, I just need to kill enough of them to make it matter.”

  With that, he left, leaving the weight of his vow behind him.