Deep underground.

  Seven stood amid the chaos, her chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Blood smeared the cracked stone floor, pooling around her boots and dripping from the jagged altar at the center of the room.

  Flickering red-flamed torches illuminated grotesque symbols etched into the stone, their dark lines filled with a substance that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The air was filled with the metallic tang of blood, mingling with the faint, sickly sweetness of incense that still clung to the space like an unwelcome guest.

  She leaned heavily against the damp, crumbling wall, one hand pressed against her side where her ribs ached with every breath. With a frustrated grunt, she ripped the mask from her face and let it clatter to the ground. Cool air hit her sweat-slick skin, and she exhaled shakily, running a trembling hand through her hair. How did it get this far?

  She turned her gaze toward the carnage, her breath catching in her throat. The bodies lay strewn across the chamber, their twisted limbs splayed at unnatural angles. Lifeless eyes stared blankly upward, reflecting the flickering torchlight in a grotesque parody of life. Blood streaked the stone floor in jagged rivers, pooling around the altar.

  Her stomach twisted violently, a sick heat rising in her chest. She clenched her jaw and tore her eyes away, pressing a gloved hand to her mouth to steady her breathing. This was supposed to just be another reconnaissance mission.Not… this.

  Her fingers curled into a fist, the leather of her gloves creaking as her nails dug into her palm. The pressure steadied her, anchoring her against the wave of emotions threatening to pull her under. She swallowed hard, forcing her breathing to slow. You can’t afford to lose it now. Focus, damn it. Look at the details. Find answers.

  Seven pushed herself off the wall, gritting her teeth as pain flared through her side. She crouched beside one of the cultists, careful not to let the blood touch her, and rifled through their pockets. Her fingers found a scrap of parchment, folded and stained with blood. She unfolded it carefully, her eyes scanning the jagged handwriting. The words were nonsense to her, but the sigil scrawled at the bottom was unmistakable. That symbol again. Whoever’s pulling the strings is consistent, I’ll give them that. But this means it’s bigger than I thought. If this cult was just one cell… how many more are out there?

  The thought made her stomach drop. She stuffed the parchment into her satchel and rose to her feet, wincing as her muscles protested. She needed to get out of this suffocating pit and regroup. The longer she stayed, the more vulnerable she became. Can't let myself fall here.

  Her eyes darted to the jagged doorway at the far end of the chamber. The tunnel beyond it led back to the surface, to freedom. But before she could take a step, the faint echo of footsteps reached her ears.

  Her heart clenched, the adrenaline that had barely faded roaring back into her veins. She slipped her hand to the hilt of her blade. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she strained to listen. The footsteps were measured, growing louder with each passing second. Whoever they are, they’re not in a hurry. That means they’re confident.

  She flattened herself against the wall, melting into the shadows cast by the flickering torchlight. Her free hand moved to her belt, brushing over the familiar weight of her throwing knives. The ache in her ribs screamed at her to stay still, to wait, but she forced herself to remain ready. Stay calm and patient, can't afford to get caught here.

  The footsteps stopped just beyond the doorway, the silence stretching long enough to make her skin crawl. Then, a voice called out. “Impressive work, you’ve left quite the mess.”

  Seven’s grip on her blade tightened as she stared at the doorway. Damn it, it seems like they know I'm here. But maybe they don't know my exact location just yet.

  Seven pressed herself against the wall, her breaths shallow and controlled despite the dull ache radiating through her ribs. Still need to wait for the right moment.

  The footsteps stopped just beyond the doorway, the stillness pressing down on her like a lead weight. “I know you’re here, little servant of the Prophet. Hiding in the shadows, as expected.”

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  Seven’s grip on her blade tightened, the leather-wrapped hilt grounding her as her mind raced. Servant of the Prophet? The bile in his voice was unmistakable, and it set her nerves on edge. Curses, he knows.

  “You know,” the voice continued, “I didn’t expect much from one of you, but this?” A pause, filled with the sound of his boots crunching over broken glass. “This is pathetic. Slaughter without purpose. Chaos for its own sake. Is this the Prophet’s grand design?”

  Her teeth clenched, the words biting deeper than she wanted to admit. She pressed herself further into the shadows, her fingers brushing the cool, metallic weight of her throwing knives. Stay calm. Let him keep talking.

  The man paced with an unsettling calm, as though he owned the room and everything in it. The flickering light of nearby torches caught the pristine white of his cloak, illuminating its sharp contrast against the blood-drenched floor. The crimson lining peeked through with each step, a stark mirror to the violence that surrounded him.

  His face was hidden behind a Mourne Mask, except cracked and jagged. Streaks of dark crimson, resembling blood tears, trailed from the hollow eyes down to the sharp curve of the mouth. Seven’s stomach churned as she took it in. Of course. Of all the luck, it had to be one of them.

  He moved toward the center of the room, boots avoiding the larger pools of blood. The care with which he navigated the carnage made her skin crawl, as if he found the filth beneath him but not the act that caused it.

  “You’re quiet,” he said. The mocking edge in his tone struck a nerve, though Seven forced herself to remain still. “What’s wrong? Has the Prophet’s leash around your neck gotten too tight to let you speak?”

  Her jaw clenched, the words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. She pressed her back against the cold stone, willing her breaths to stay even. He doesn’t know where I am. He’s guessing. Stay calm.

  The man’s pace slowed as he approached the altar, his cloak brushing lightly against the stone. He extended a gloved hand and traced his fingers over the jagged edges of the blood-slicked surface. “I wonder if the Prophet cares about the messes their followers leave behind. Or are you all expendable, like the rest of their pawns?”

  Seven’s nails bit into her palm as she crouched lower, the words stirring something raw inside her. He doesn’t know anything. He’s just taunting you.

  She edged forward, her shadow magic rippling faintly around her like an instinctive defense. Her ribs protested the movement, but she gritted her teeth against the pain.

  The man tilted his head, as if sensing her shift. “Aah, the scurrying of a frightened rat. You think I don’t know where you are?”

  Seven froze, her pulse hammering in her ears. The shadows around her flickered as if sensing her hesitation. Damn it all!

  The man turned fully, his movements deliberate, like a predator closing in on wounded prey. His mask seemed to glare at the darkness where she crouched. “I’ve dealt with your kind before, always so loyal. So eager to die for a figure who wouldn’t even pause to mourn you. Tell me, little shadow, how many more corpses will it take for you to realize that your precious Prophet isn’t worth it?”

  Seven’s grip on her blade tightened. She forced herself to step into the faint light, though every instinct screamed at her to stay hidden. “And who are you to judge? What makes you any better?”

  The man tilted his head slightly, the hollow eyes of his mask fixed on her as if studying a puzzle he’d already solved. “I never claimed to be better. But I’m not the one groveling at the feet of fairy tales and false promises.”

  Seven’s stomach twisted at his words, the venom in them striking deeper than she cared to admit. He doesn’t know anything about what I’ve been through. She forced herself to take a step back, her shadow magic curling tighter around her. I have to act now.

  The man’s hand moved, the faint glow of crimson light sparking to life in his palm. “You won’t leave this room alive, little shadow. Not unless you tell me where the Prophet is.”

  Seven’s magic surged in response. She thrust her free hand forward, her will snapping into focus. The shadows around her rippled and exploded outward, swallowing the room in an inky void. The torches guttered and died, their flames snuffed out as though consumed by her magic. Darkness enveloped them both leaving nothing but the faint crackle of crimson energy in the man’s palm.

  “Coward,” he spat. The crackle of his energy shifted, striking against the shadows, but Seven didn’t wait to see if he would find her.

  Her feet moved before her mind could catch up, carrying her toward the nearest exit. Her ribs screamed in protest with every step, sharp bolts of pain threatening to slow her down. But she pressed on, her breath ragged as she plunged into the tunnel’s narrow opening.

  Behind her, his voice echoed, venomous and laced with fury. “Run, little shadow! Run as far as you like, you can’t escape what’s coming!”