The Phantom was a legend among spies.

  No one knew his real name.

  No one had ever caught him.

  And most importantly, no one had ever seen him unless he wanted to be seen.

  His skills were unmatched—stealth, disguise, infiltration. He had toppled corrupt governors, stolen imperial secrets, and vanished without a trace each time.

  So when Countess Amelia tasked him with watching Lord Lucian Veilwood, he expected an easy mission.

  How hard could it be to observe some backwater noble?

  Phantom arrived in Duskwatch under the cover of darkness, slipping into the city like a shadow.

  He expected a wasteland of incompetence.

  Instead, he found order.

  The streets were bustling with commerce.

  The people seemed content, even hopeful.

  And the town’s militia moved with actual discipline.

  Phantom narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t what he expected.

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  Still, he had a mission.

  Phantom perched on a rooftop, watching Lord Veilwood’s office.

  He expected to see strategy meetings, secret war councils, or political maneuvering.

  Instead, he saw Lucian napping.

  For hours.

  When Lucian wasn’t sleeping, he was sipping tea, ignoring paperwork, and vaguely waving at problems until someone else handled them.

  "This… makes no sense," Phantom muttered.

  And yet, things still worked.

  Somehow.

  The town ran smoothly.

  The militia trained itself.

  Trade boomed.

  It was as if Veilwood ruled through sheer inaction.

  Phantom didn’t trust it.

  "This is a deception," he told himself. "No one is this lazy and successful."

  He needed proof.

  At midnight, Phantom slipped into the town hall archives.

  If Veilwood was hiding something, this was the place to find it.

  Moving silently, he scanned the records—trade agreements, militia reports, Varian Blackthorn’s contract.

  Nothing.

  No hidden schemes. No financial fraud. No secret military plans.

  Just evidence that somehow, impossibly, Duskwatch was running on self-sustaining efficiency.

  Phantom frowned. "That’s… not possible."

  Then, he heard the door click shut behind him.

  A blade pressed against his throat.

  And a voice calm, cold, and terrifyingly amused whispered in his ear.

  "Well, well. Another one."

  Phantom froze.

  Elaine Stormcrest.

  He knew the name. A former knight, dismissed under suspicious circumstances. A warrior so dangerous that even the Imperial Order hesitated to cross her.

  "Tell me," she murmured, tightening her grip on the blade. "Are you here to spy… or to join the fan club?"