The night after the Needle was quiet—but only on the surface.
Kael crouched atop a clocktower on the edge of Vireholm's central square, cloak rippling in the wind. Below, the square teemed with nobles and merchants, their laughter ringing against the stone. Runes flared in the pavement, marking the paths only the bloodlined could walk. Above them, banners of House Varnel hung like nooses.
He watched. He waited.
The woman from the Needle hadn't lied. The list she'd given him was etched into his mind now—names of Varnel collaborators, enforcers, slavers, spies. Each name circled in red. Each name a nail in the coffin he was building for the House.
Tonight was the first.
Lord Ceryn Varnel. Cousin to the matriarch. Keeper of the family vaults. And the one who signed the ledger entry that damned Kael as disposable.
Kael's fingers flexed around his dagger. His breath plumed in the chill.
Below, Ceryn emerged from the grand basilica, flanked by two armored guards. His robes shimmered with enchantments, and his cane pulsed faintly with mana. He was smiling, of course. They always smiled.
Kael didn't plan to let him die with it.
He slipped from the tower like a shadow torn free, landing silently on a lower balcony. He moved through the dark, boots silent, cloak shimmering to match the marble behind him. When Ceryn's procession neared the alleyway, Kael dropped down, blade drawn, and—
Steel met steel.
She was waiting.
Celeste.
Her blade locked his mid-swing, sparks dancing between them as mana bit into the air. Her hood was down this time, her silver hair catching the torchlight, her eyes steady and cold.
"You don't stop, do you?" she said.
Kael bared his teeth. "Not until your whole House chokes on its own blood."
Ceryn was backing away, the guards raising their rifles—but Celeste didn't flinch. She pushed off him, blades scraping apart, and planted herself between Kael and his quarry.
"You don't understand," she said, voice low but sharp. "Killing him won't change what they did to you. Or to me."
"You?" Kael spat, circling her. "You chose to wear their colors. I didn't get a choice."
Her jaw tightened. The frost runes on her cloak flared, mist swirling at her feet.
"You think I wanted this?" she hissed. "Every name in that book is my shame too. You think you're the only one who hates what they've made of us?"
For a heartbeat, the words froze him more than her magic ever could.
But then Ceryn's laughter cut through the moment, a coward's wheeze as he ducked behind his guards.
Kael's rage returned like a blade in his ribs.
"I don't care about your shame," he growled. "Move."
But she didn't.
Instead, she lowered her sword, just slightly, and said something that almost sounded like a plea.
"Kael… if you kill him now, you won't make it out of the square alive. You're not ready yet. You know I'm right."
Kael's grip tightened, his pulse hammering in his ears. He could already feel the guards taking aim, the city watching.
But when he looked into her eyes, there was no triumph there. No threat. Only the same quiet fury he carried himself.
"Let me help you," she said. "We burn them all. But not like this. Not tonight."
Kael hesitated.
For the first time, she let him see her vulnerability—not just her skill. The faint quiver in her breath. The tiny crack in her voice.
Maybe she hated them even more than he did.
Finally, Kael sheathed his blade with a hiss.
"This isn't over," he muttered.
Her lips curved—not a smile, but something close. "No," she said. "It's just beginning."
Behind her, Ceryn barked orders at his guards, unaware how close he'd come to dying in the dark.
And Kael melted back into the shadows, his next name already on his lips.
From the rooftops, Celeste watched him go, fingers curling around her blade hilt, whispering to herself.
"Don't make me choose, Kael. Not yet."