Momen lay in the dirt of the collapsed cellar, the ledger balanced on his thighs, and listened for chasing footsteps that never came. The walls above filtered the morning sounds: carts creaking,
a far-off bell, the rising voices of merchants convincing themselves last night hadn't happened.
He forced his breath to slow, watching the rectangle of light at the hole-his only escape if someone actually followed the mud trail and found him here. He hadn't always understood why prey hid after the chase.
But now he did. The hiding was worse. In the dark, the world pressed closer. His own heartbeat got louder. The stone walls seemed to sweat fear in small, cold beads. He opened the ledger again, turning its heavy pages. The words swam-tight, regular lines of symbols, some repeated, some lone. Numbers, Kaelen had said. Names, maybe. Momen remembered the way he'd spoken, each word etched like a mark on the paper itself.
Momen remembered the way he'd spoken, each word etched like a mark on the paper itself. Not just records. Leverage.
He squinted at the page, forcing his eyes to focus. The symbols meant nothing to him at first-just loops and slashes-but patterns began to emerge. Columns repeated. Marks grouped together. Some entries were longer than others, with additional strokes beside them, like afterthoughts carved in later.
Debts.
That much he could guess.
He flipped a few pages forward. More of the same. Names-probably. Amounts-definitely. But then something changed.
Near the middle of the book, the handwriting shifted. Tighter. Sharper. Less frequent entries, but each one marked with a small symbol beside it-a hooked line, almost like a claw.
Momen traced one with a dirty finger.
This wasn't trade.
This was something else.
He leaned closer, heart beginning to pick up again-not from fear this time, but something colder. Recognition without understanding. The same feeling he'd had when the red voice first spoke. When something inside him knew before his mind did.
These weren't just debts.
They were people.
Important people.
He didn't know how he knew that. But he did.
A sound above made him freeze.
Footsteps.
Not running. Not searching wildly. Measured. Heavy.
Guards.
Momen closed the ledger instantly, pressing it flat against his chest as if that could somehow quiet it. The footsteps passed overhead, slow and deliberate, the faint jingle of armor carrying through the broken boards above.
They weren't looking for him.
Not yet.
But they would be.
His gaze drifted back to the book in his hands.
Kaelen wanted this.
Not food. Not coin.
This.
Momen swallowed. His throat felt dry despite the damp air.
What would a man like Kaelen do with something like this?
The answer came too quickly.
Control.
He thought of Brann.
How the man had walked through the slums like he owned it. How people stepped aside without being told. That wasn't just strength. That was… something else.
Power that didn't need to be proven every second.
Power like this.
Momen looked down at his hands. Still black with dried mud. Still trembling slightly.
He hadn't just stolen a book.
He had stolen something that could move the city.
A slow, sick realization settled in his chest.
That warehouse-
It hadn't just been guarded because of goods.
It had been guarded because of this.
And he had walked in.
Taken it.
Walked out.
His grip tightened on the ledger.
Someone would notice.
If they hadn't already.
The footsteps above faded. The city noise crept back in, filling the silence they left behind. Normal life. Unaware. Or pretending to be.
Momen pushed himself up slowly, wincing as his ribs reminded him they still existed. He couldn't stay here.
The mud trail.
He glanced toward the hole he'd dropped through. The light had shifted slightly. Time was moving.
He had to move with it.
He tucked the ledger under his arm, keeping it tight against his side, and moved toward the broken stairs. Each step creaked under his weight, loud in the confined space. He paused after every sound, listening.
Nothing.
He reached the top and pressed against the warped door. It resisted for a moment before giving with a dry crack, opening just enough for him to slip through.
The hallway beyond was empty.
Dust hung in the air, unmoving.
Good.
He moved quickly now, but not carelessly. Quiet steps. Controlled breathing. Every movement deliberate. Like the knights.
The thought came uninvited.
He pushed it away.
This wasn't that.
This was survival.
He slipped through the building, down the narrow corridor, past the dead kitchen, and out into the alley.
The light hit him hard.
Too bright.
Too open.
He kept his head down and moved along the wall, letting the grime and mud do its work. Just another piece of filth in a place that tolerated it barely.
Voices drifted from the street ahead.
"…found him this morning-"
"-no, I'm telling you, crushed-"
"-guards everywhere-"
Momen slowed.
So they had found Brann.
Of course they had.
He edged closer to the corner, just enough to listen.
"-not natural," one voice said. "No blade marks. Nothing. Just… ruined."
"Monster, then," another replied. "Or magic gone wrong."
"Same thing," the first muttered.
Momen stepped back.
Monster.
The word settled into him too easily.
His chest tightened, and for a moment he thought the heat would come back-the pressure, the red voice-but it didn't. Just a dull echo of it, like something waiting.
Watching.
He forced himself to move again.
The Leaning Loom wasn't far.
Every step felt heavier now, not from fatigue, but from understanding.
Before, he had been running from death.
Now, he was carrying something that could cause it.
Different.
Worse.
He reached the crooked building and slipped inside without hesitation.
The common room was quieter this time. A few heads turned, then looked away. He crossed it without stopping and pushed through the blue curtain.
Kaelen was exactly where he had been before.
Of course he was.
The man looked up as Momen entered, his pale eyes flicking immediately to the ledger under his arm.
For a brief moment-so brief Momen might have imagined it-something changed in his expression.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Expectation fulfilled.
"You were not followed," Kaelen said.
It wasn't a question.
Momen stepped forward and placed the ledger on the desk.
A dull, heavy sound.
"No," he said.
Kaelen rested a hand on the cover, almost gently.
"Good."
He opened it, flipping through pages with practiced ease, scanning entries faster than Momen thought possible.
Satisfied.
Momen watched him.
"You knew what this was," he said.
Kaelen didn't look up. "Of course."
"You didn't say."
"No," Kaelen agreed calmly.
The pages stopped turning.
Silence stretched.
Momen felt something twist in his chest again-not the heat, not the rage.
Something colder.
"You're going to use it," Momen said.
Kaelen finally looked up.
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No shame.
Just fact.
"For what?"
Kaelen studied him for a moment, as if deciding how much truth he was worth.
"Influence," he said at last. "Stability. Opportunity."
Momen's jaw tightened. "That's not what this is."
Kaelen's gaze sharpened slightly.
"No," he said. "It is not what you think it is either."
He tapped one of the pages.
"These names," he continued, "are men who believe themselves untouchable. Men who ruin others quietly. Men who rely on the fact that no one can prove anything."
Another tap.
"This proves things."
Momen didn't respond.
Because he didn't know if that made it better.
Or worse.
Kaelen closed the ledger.
"You did well," he said. "Better than expected."
He reached into the desk and produced a folded set of papers, sliding them across.
"Your name," he added, "for now."
Momen stared at them.
A name.
A place.
Proof he existed.
All for this.
He picked them up slowly.
The paper felt heavier than the ledger.
"Room is yours," Kaelen continued. "Food downstairs. Work, when I require it."
Momen nodded once.
Transaction complete.
But he didn't move.
Kaelen noticed.
"You have something else to say," he observed.
Momen hesitated.
Then:
"People are going to get hurt because of that."
Kaelen held his gaze.
"Yes."
No denial.
No excuse.
Just truth again.
Momen exhaled slowly.
The answer settled something in him.
Not comfort.
Not acceptance.
Just clarity.
He turned and walked toward the curtain.
"Boy," Kaelen said behind him.
Momen stopped.
"You wanted to survive," Kaelen continued. "Now you will."
A pause.
"Try not to confuse that with being clean."
Momen didn't respond.
He pushed through the curtain and stepped back into the dim common room.
The noise felt distant.
Muted.
He moved to the stairs and climbed them without thinking.
Room seven.
The key turned.
The door closed.
Darkness.
He stood there for a long moment, the papers still in his hand.
A name.
A place.
A future.
Bought with theft.
With blood.
With something he still didn't understand.
He sat down on the edge of the pallet, staring at nothing.
The knight's hand flashed in his mind again.
Clean.
Steady.
Certain.
Momen looked down at his own.
Still dirty.
Even when washed, they would still be these hands.
The room felt smaller than before.
Tighter.
Like it knew.
He lay back slowly, staring into the dark.
He had wanted a way out.
He had found one.
It just led somewhere else.
And whatever he was becoming-
It wasn't a knight.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
The thought didn't hurt the way it should have.
That was the worst part.
Outside, the city moved on.
Inside, something in him shifted.
Not breaking.
Not healing.
Just… changing.
And this time, he was awake to feel it.