Thorne stood frozen in place, the echoes of Cassandra’s screams still bouncing off the cold stone walls of the lair. His heart was a hard knot in his chest, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, crumpled on the floor next to Devon’s lifeless body. The room was filled with the sharp tang of blood, and the oppressive silence that followed her wails only made it worse.

  This was the world they lived in. This was the cost of survival.

  Cassandra’s sobs were heart-wrenching, the kind of sound that tore at the soul. But Thorne kept his face neutral, his Mask of Deceit firmly in place. He couldn’t afford to show weakness now, not when the entire room was watching, judging. He knew better than anyone that emotions were a liability here. You either hardened yourself, or you broke under the weight of it all.

  Talon stepped forward, her expression as impassive as ever, though Thorne thought he saw a flicker of something, disappointment, maybe, cross her sharp features. “Get her out of here,” she barked to one of the older members.

  Two men moved forward to drag Cassandra away. She didn’t resist, her body limp as they hauled her out of the cage. Her eyes stayed fixed on Devon’s body until the moment she was out of sight.

  The silence stretched on for a few beats too long, the weight of what had just happened still hanging heavy in the air.

  Finally, Talon spoke again, her voice as cold and sharp as steel. “This is what it means to be a member of the Lost Ones. The weak die, and the strong survive. If you are unwilling to make sacrifices, unwilling to do what is necessary, you have no place here.”

  Her eyes swept over the group, lingering on each of them for a moment before moving on. “There is no room for sentimentality. No room for mercy. If you hesitate, you die.”

  Without hesitation, she plunged her hand back into the leather pouch, fishing out another crumpled piece of paper. The room seemed to hold its breath as she unfolded it.

  “Caelan,” she called.

  Caelan’s face betrayed nothing as he stepped forward. His body was rigid, his jaw clenched tight. He had always been strong, one of Marcus’s inner circle, and that strength showed now in the way he walked, every step measured, every muscle ready for what was about to come. He climbed into the cage without looking back.

  The metal door clanged shut behind him.

  Talon didn’t waste time. Her hand dove into the pouch once again, and she called out the next name. “Sera.”

  The young woman stepped forward just as quickly as Caelan had, her face set with the same steely determination. She, too, had been part of Marcus’s group. Friends, allies, both of them now forced to kill each other to survive.

  Sera marched into the cage, the door locking her fate behind her with a metallic snap. The room felt even colder now, the tension thick and suffocating as the crowd leaned in, waiting for the inevitable bloodshed.

  What followed was brutal. It was raw, dirty, the kind of fight that stripped away all pretense. Both Caelan and Sera fought with an intensity that only came when you knew your life was on the line. Their blades clashed with a viciousness that echoed through the stone chamber, each blow fueled by desperation.

  But when Caelan’s sword was knocked from his grip, the fight devolved into something uglier. They brawled, fists and elbows, teeth bared as they struggled on the bloodstained floor. The metal of the cage rang as they slammed each other against it, trying to gain the upper hand.

  Thorne watched in grim silence, his heart beating faster despite himself. There was no room for weakness here, no time for doubt. The moment you hesitated, you were dead. He could see it in Sera’s eyes, a cold detachment had taken over, a killer’s resolve. Caelan, strong as he was, couldn’t match it.

  With a final, sickening snap, Sera twisted Caelan’s neck, the sound of bone cracking reverberating through the chamber. His body went limp in her hands, and she stood, bloodied and breathless, her expression empty, hollow.

  It was over.

  Sera staggered back from the body, covered in cuts and bruises, her clothes soaked in blood, but her eyes, those cold, detached eyes, said it all. She had done what she had to do. She had survived.

  Talon gave a single nod of acknowledgment, and one of the older members of the guild stepped forward, handing Sera a small pin with the guild’s spiral engraved on it. She clipped it onto her tattered shirt, the mark of a full-fledged assassin.

  Thorne’s heart was pounding now. He could feel the tension rising as more names were called, each fight reducing their numbers further. Each victor, scarred and bloodied, took their pin and rejoined the group, Jareth among them, his face half melted from one of his opponent’s traps, but still alive, still standing.

  The recruits were thinning. The class was shrinking with every fight, and Thorne could feel his own time creeping closer. The relentless thud of his heartbeat was getting harder to ignore. He wasn’t afraid but he knew it was only a matter of time before his name was called.

  And then it happened.

  “Rielle!” Talon’s voice rang out across the chamber.

  Thorne straightened, his muscles tensing instinctively. For a fleeting moment, fear stabbed through him, a fear that maybe, just maybe, his name would follow. That he would be forced to fight her.

  But he already knew he wouldn’t be Rielle’s opponent. Knew before Talon’s voice echoed again through the chamber, before the second name left her lips.

  “Marcus.”

  Rielle and Marcus. Brother and sister. The two of them stepped into the cage, their faces identical masks of indifference, betraying nothing of the turmoil that had to be swirling beneath the surface. They moved like shadows, slipping through the door with a silent grace that only trained killers could possess.

  Thorne’s stomach twisted as he watched them. Anyone with eyes could see what was happening now, the pairings weren’t random. Talon was no fool. She knew exactly what she was doing. Each opponent had been carefully chosen, each fight designed to sever ties, to break any bonds that remained. This was the guild’s way of ensuring there was nothing left but loyalty to them. No attachments. No weaknesses.

  Rielle and Marcus stood across from each other, their stony expressions a perfect mirror. The crowd around them hushed, the weight of the moment sinking in. The guild knew they were brother and sister, and still, they had been thrown into the ring like animals, expected to kill one another.

  Just as the fight began, a soft whisper broke the silence.

  “I’m sorry.”

  It was Rielle’s voice, barely audible, but Thorne heard it. And then, before anyone could blink, her hand blurred, her bow already drawn. An arrow flew through the air, so fast it seemed to materialize out of thin air.

  Marcus barely had time to react, jerking his sword up just in time for the arrow to glance off the blade, deflecting harmlessly to the side.

  The crowd gasped, but Rielle didn’t pause. Another arrow was already nocked and loosed, followed by another, a steady rain of projectiles aimed with lethal precision. Marcus, to his credit, fought to keep up, his sword flashing as he swatted away the arrows that came too close. But he was on the defensive, his movements growing more frantic with each passing second.

  She’s not giving him an opening, Thorne realized, his eyes narrowing as he watched the exchange. Every time Marcus tried to move in, Rielle darted back, her body flowing like water, avoiding his strikes with ease. Her Spring Step and Tumbling Escape skills saving her life again and again.

  Marcus rushed forward, his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, his movements quick but increasingly desperate. He slashed with the sword, following up with a sharp thrust from the dagger, trying to close the distance between them. But Rielle was always a step ahead, her feet moving with an assassin’s grace. She twisted, ducked, spun, her body a blur as she evaded each attack.

  Marcus snarled, lunging at her with both blades raised high. It was a powerful strike, but it was also reckless. Rielle sidestepped, slipping under his guard with a fluid motion, her Acrobatics skill making it look effortless. Marcus stumbled, off-balance, and Rielle used the opening to pepper him with arrows again, one after another, driving him back across the cage.

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  Thorne’s eyes narrowed, watching the fight unfold. She is hesitating... She could have ended the fight already.

  Every time Marcus swung, Rielle was gone, moving faster than he could keep up with. Her feet barely touched the ground as she moved, her agility and speed enhanced by the assassin's training and her skills. She wasn’t just dodging, she was using advanced footwork, enhanced by skills that let her glide across the floor with impossible precision.

  Marcus let out a roar of frustration, slashing wildly at the air as another arrow grazed his arm, then another struck him in the thigh. Blood flowed freely from the cuts, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward, determined to reach her, to end this.

  Rielle’s face remained impassive, her eyes locked on him with cold focus. She nocked another arrow, but this time, something shifted in the air around her. The glow of aether shimmered faintly along her bowstring as she pulled it back. Her body tensed, the energy gathering with each breath she took.

  Thorne felt his pulse quicken. He could see it, that subtle shift. She wasn’t just preparing a regular shot. This was something else.

  Marcus, sensing the change, let out a final, desperate battle cry and charged, his sword raised high, his dagger aimed for her heart. But Rielle didn’t flinch. Her hand released the string, and the arrow flew, not one, but three arrows split from a single shot, glowing with silver light as they streaked through the air.

  “Phantom Volley.”

  The arrows curved, spiraling through the air with supernatural precision, each one aimed at a different vital point. Marcus barely had time to register what was happening before the first arrow struck his shoulder, spinning him around. The second buried itself deep in his side, forcing a gasp of pain from his lips. The third...

  The third arrow pierced his chest, directly over his heart.

  Marcus staggered, his sword and dagger slipping from his hands as he fell to his knees. His eyes locked onto Rielle’s, a flicker of something, regret, maybe, crossing his face. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His body shuddered, the light fading from his eyes as he crumpled to the ground.

  Rielle stood there, her bow still raised, her breath steady. For a moment, the entire chamber was silent, and Thorne looked frozen at the scene. She had killed her own brother, calmly, methodically, with no hesitation.

  The arrows dissolved into glowing aether as Marcus's lifeless body slumped fully onto the floor, his blood pooling beneath him. Rielle lowered her bow, her face a perfect mask of indifference once more.

  But Thorne saw it. Just for a second, the briefest flicker of emotion, something buried deep beneath the surface. Guilt. Pain. And then it was gone, replaced by the cold detachment that had been drilled into her since day one.

  Talon stepped forward, breaking the tension with her sharp voice. “Rielle.”

  Rielle’s head snapped up as Talon tossed her the small spiral pin, the symbol of the guild. She caught it without looking, her movements mechanical. She pinned it to her cloak with hands that didn’t tremble, didn’t falter.

  She didn’t look back at Marcus’s body. Not once.

  Thorne’s hands tightened into fists at his sides as he watched her walk away from the cage. He’d seen it in her eyes. She had done what was necessary, what the guild demanded of her. But something had shattered inside her the moment that arrow left her bow, and no amount of training could hide that from him.

  Rielle walked past him without so much as a glance, her steps slow and deliberate as she left the arena. The other recruits were silent, too shocked, too afraid to speak.

  Talon’s gaze swept over the remaining recruits, her lips curling into a faint smile. “That is how you fight,” she said, her voice a purr of satisfaction. “That is how you win.”

  Thorne's heart was still pounding in his chest, but he kept his face impassive. Only four of them remained, Cynthia, Vance, Rhea, and himself. He could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken realization that his time was coming. There was no avoiding it now. This was it.

  Talon stood in front of the remaining recruits, her hand once again reaching into the cursed pouch. Thorne watched her closely, his eyes narrowed as her fingers rifled through the slips of paper, deliberately taking her time. The crowd was silent, holding its breath, waiting for the next match to be called.

  “Cynthia!” Talon’s voice rang out, and Thorne’s heart jumped, hammering in his chest. His muscles tensed involuntarily. His next opponent...

  “And Vance.”

  Vance’s head snapped up, surprise flickering across his face. His eyes darted over to Cynthia, who was already rising to her feet, her expression unreadable. It was clear that Vance had expected something else. He had expected Rhea.

  His gaze immediately shifted to Rhea, who was staring at Thorne with wide, frightened eyes. She hadn’t been called. She had survived this round... which only meant one thing.

  It was planned. All of it.

  Vance’s jaw clenched as he looked between Thorne and Rhea, realization dawning on him like a slap to the face. Thorne didn’t have to say a word. The smirk tugging at the corner of his lips told him everything. Vance’s eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and anger as the truth hit him.

  Thorne had orchestrated this. He had made sure Vance wouldn’t fight Rhea. That honor would be reserved for him.

  It’s good to be the teacher’s favorite pet.

  Thorne’s smirk lingered on his lips as Vance glared at him from across the room. The anger simmering in Vance’s eyes was there for all to see, his fists clenched at his sides as Cynthia walked past him toward the cage. But Thorne didn’t care. He had orchestrated this, played the game in his favor. Rhea was his opponent, not Vance’s.

  *

  Three weeks ago...

  Thorne remained silent for a moment, staring down at the waves crashing against the rocks below. The sound was soothing, but it didn’t quiet the storm inside him. Finally, he turned to Sid, watching the older man’s profile, the deep lines of age etched into his face, the white strands running through his once-dark hair, the way his shoulders slumped slightly, as if carrying the weight of years.

  Sid broke the silence first. “Is this about your last trial?” His voice was quiet, almost gentle, as though he knew what was coming. “About your next move?”

  Thorne shook his head, keeping his eyes on the sea. “No.”

  Sid tilted his head, studying him for a moment. “Don’t feel guilty for leaving the guild, you know. No one will hold it against you.”

  “I’m not,” Thorne said flatly, and it was the truth. He wasn’t guilty about leaving the guild. There were too many secrets, too many layers of betrayal woven into everything the guild represented. But that didn’t mean he knew exactly what his next move was.

  Sid nodded slowly, still watching him with that knowing, fatherly gaze. Thorne could sense the unspoken question lingering in the air.

  “What even is the last trial?” Thorne asked, breaking the silence. “I keep hearing about it, but no one tells me anything.”

  Sid shrugged, though there was a hesitation before he spoke. “The ultimate test of loyalty.”

  Thorne groaned, leaning back on his hands. “Please don’t tell me it’s another torture session.”

  Sid chuckled, a rare sound from him. “Not quite. It’s… different.”

  Thorne stole a glance at his teacher, narrowing his eyes. “Then what is it?”

  Sid hesitated again, as though weighing whether or not to say more. Finally, he sighed, giving in. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. You’re leaving the guild anyway.” He paused, and Thorne watched him closely as he continued. “It’s a fight. A fight to the death.”

  Thorne’s expression darkened as Sid explained what the trial entailed. It wasn’t the physical torture he had expected, but it was close enough. No, this was far worse, a brutal showdown between recruits, a trial that forced you to kill someone you might have considered a friend. A test to see if you were willing to sever all ties, to cut through anything and anyone that might hold you back.

  It was cruel. It was twisted. And it was exactly what Thorne had come to expect from the guild.

  “I wouldn’t have expected anything less,” Thorne said quietly when Sid finished.

  Sid gave him a small, rueful smile. “What can I say? It’s a tested process. Most assassin guilds do something similar.”

  Thorne grunted in response, his mind already churning with a plan. An idea had formed in the back of his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He turned to Sid, his lips curling into a smarmy grin. “You know,” he began slowly, “I never really took advantage of the fact that you’re my teacher. Or that I’m the boss’s favorite.”

  Sid raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching into a smirk. “What are you getting at?”

  Thorne leaned in slightly, his voice low but full of mischief. “Can I ask for a favor?”

  Sid’s smirk widened, intrigued. “Depends on what you have in mind.”

  Thorne hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “Are you aware of what happened in Valewind?”

  Sid’s brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms. “If you’re talking about that boy, Corwin, who tried to kill you... Yeah, I know about it.” He studied Thorne’s face carefully. “Why?”

  Thorne nodded slowly, the bitterness still fresh in his mind. “What you don’t know is that Corwin wasn’t acting alone.” His voice was colder now, more calculated. “The whole thing was orchestrated by Rhea and Vance.”

  Sid’s frown deepened. “You’re sure about that?” Thorne’s eyes darkened as he looked out over the cliffside. “I’m sure. I overheard Corwin talking with Rhea. They planned the whole thing.” His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a simmering anger that hadn’t quite cooled. “The only thing I don’t know is why. We were friends... at least, I thought we were.”

  As he said it, Thorne’s gaze dropped, and for a brief moment, the hardness in his expression faltered. The betrayal still stung, more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t just the fact that they had tried to kill him, that much was expected in the guild, but the way they had used him, manipulated his trust. He had let his guard down, and they had driven a dagger right into that vulnerability.

  Sid, to his credit, didn’t judge him. He remained silent for a moment, letting Thorne’s confession hang in the air before he sighed, the sound heavy with understanding. “That’s the way of this world,” Sid said quietly, his voice lined with something like sympathy. “Trust is dangerous in a place like this.”

  Thorne didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Sid was right, of course. Trust was dangerous. He had learned that the hard way.

  “So,” Sid began, turning to look at Thorne fully, “what do you want me to do?”

  Thorne straightened up, his face hardening once more as he met Sid’s gaze. “I want Rhea to be my opponent in the last trial.”

  Sid raised an eyebrow, his mouth tightening into a thin line. “Rhea?” he asked, his tone skeptical. “Are you sure about that? You could just let the trial run its course. Let the guild pair you with whoever they choose.”

  Thorne shook his head, his expression colder than before. “No,” he said firmly. “This way, I get rid of one of my enemies, and I crush the other.” He glanced back at Sid, his eyes sharp. “Vance cares about her. If I kill her, it’ll destroy him.”

  Sid studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to read the thoughts behind Thorne’s cold facade. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said finally, his voice low and thoughtful.

  Sid didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stood there, watching Thorne with an expression that was hard to read, part disappointment, part understanding. Finally, he let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re sure about this?” he asked again, his voice quieter now, as if giving Thorne one last chance to reconsider.

  “I’m sure,” Thorne replied, his voice cold and resolute. “She tried to kill me. I want to return the favor.”

  Sid nodded slowly, though there was a deep sadness in his eyes, one that Thorne couldn’t fully understand. It was as if Sid saw something in him, something Thorne hadn’t yet realized about himself. But the older man didn’t press the issue. Instead, he reached out and clapped Thorne on the shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind.

  “It will be as you wish,” Sid said softly, his voice resigned.

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