Kael didn't sleep that night.
The storm had passed, but the city's streets still glistened with rain as he prowled through the underbelly of Vireholm, each step carrying him deeper into the veins of rot he had sworn to cut out. His mind burned with Celeste's words—We burn them all. But not like this.
He hated how much they stayed with him.
He hated more that he hadn't killed Ceryn when he had the chance.
But she was right. He knew it the moment his blade stopped inches from Ceryn's throat and he felt every rifle in the square lining up on him. If she hadn't stepped between him and his fury, the ledger would have been for nothing, and he'd already be a memory on someone else's page.
Now, though… now there was time.
And time was something he could turn into a weapon.
His destination lay at the far edge of the city: a warehouse slumped against the cliffs, its windows dark, its roof sagging under years of neglect. But Kael knew better. Behind the boarded doors and broken glass lay one of the Varnel family's secret facilities—the place where names from the ledger became corpses in the river.
Tonight, he wasn't here for a name. Tonight, he was here for proof.
He crouched in the alley behind the warehouse, fingers tracing the rune-etched lock on the back door. The override chip hissed and sparked as he pressed it to the seal. He slipped inside like a shadow, boots silent on cold stone.
The air inside was worse than he expected.
It stank of blood, mana, and something sweeter—like burned sugar. Rows of metal tables gleamed under harsh white lights, each one bolted with iron manacles, stained dark with old experiments. Crates stamped with the Varnel crest lined the walls, some leaking faint blue mist from within.
Kael's stomach twisted as he moved between the tables, fingers brushing scars etched deep into the wood. He could almost see himself lying there again, a boy bound and screaming as faceless mages marked him worthless.
On the far wall, he found what he came for—a ledger even older than the one he stole, its pages thicker, its ink darker. He flipped through it, his eyes scanning names, dates, methods. Children marked as "viable," "mutated," or "discarded." Notes on spells burned into bones, on tech wired into nerves.
He shoved it into his satchel, already turning to leave—
—but froze at the sound of boots behind him.
"You really don't know how to listen," came her voice.
Celeste stepped out of the shadows near the door, her blade sheathed but her posture taut.
Kael straightened, his hand already resting on his dagger.
"You followed me."
She didn't flinch at his accusation. "You make it easy."
He sneered. "What now? You gonna drag me back to your masters? Or just cut my throat here and save them the trouble?"
Celeste's eyes narrowed, silver glinting like knives in the dim light.
"I told you already," she said. "I want what you want. But if you keep charging in blind, you're going to get yourself killed before you can burn anything worth burning."
Kael laughed bitterly. "And you're here to teach me how to do it right? That it?"
Her cloak rustled faintly as she stepped closer, until the cold aura of her magic bit at his skin.
"I'm here," she said evenly, "because I don't want to watch them destroy another one of us."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavier than any blade.
Kael's jaw tightened, but his hand slipped away from his dagger.
"What's your plan, then?" he asked.
Celeste tilted her head slightly, as though the question surprised her. Then, slowly, her lips curved—not a smile, not quite.
"Same as yours," she murmured. "We burn it all."
Then she turned toward the door.
"Come on," she called over her shoulder. "I'll show you where to strike first."
Kael stood there a moment longer, his knuckles white around the ledger in his satchel. He hated her. He hated how calm she was, how she moved through the world like she owned it, how her silver eyes stripped him bare.
But he followed her anyway.
Outside, the city was waking. The first bells of dawn tolled through the fog, and the banners of House Varnel fluttered high over the streets.
One day soon, Kael promised himself, they'd fall.
And when they did, he'd be standing with a blade in their ashes—whether Celeste was at his side… or at his throat.