The sun had long since vanished behind Orellia's volcanic peaks when Pierre, Raven, and Alyssa slipped from the Crimson Sparrow into the harbor's murky waters. The distant sounds of Jack's continued heroic proclamations echoed across the town square, providing the perfect cover for their infiltration.
Pierre's boots squelched against the wet dock planks as he hauled himself up from the water. The cold harbor brine had soaked through his clothes, but the chill helped sharpen his focus. Hardy's borrowed darkness still coursed through his veins, a constant reminder of what he'd absorbed from the fallen tyrant. The sensation felt like swallowing broken glass wrapped in velvet—powerful but wrong in ways that made his teeth ache.
