The storm outside Cassian's window mirrored the storm within his mind. Rain battered the cobblestone streets of Old Greystone, where secrets walked with the living and the dead. The once-forgotten noble district had become the hidden heart of his schemes. Safe from the eyes of the Empire, yet close enough to strike at it.
Cassian stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at a candlelit map spread across an old war table. Colored pins dotted key locations—ports, guard posts, noble manors, mercenary guilds. Every piece on this board had a story, a weakness, a price.
The door creaked.
Cassian didn't look up. "You're late."
"I had to slip past three imperial agents just to get here," came a dry voice. Evelyn stepped into the room, her cloak dripping. "You should thank me for being alive."
Cassian turned, lips curving. "If you weren't, I'd have to find someone else with half your wit and none of your loyalty."
She raised a brow. "You call this loyalty? I call it madness."
He chuckled. "Both serve my ends."
They stood close now, the tension between them a fine thread—unspoken yet undeniable. For a moment, neither spoke.
"Any news?" he finally asked, shifting the mood.
Evelyn unrolled a parchment from within her coat and laid it on the table. "Duke Meridan is moving. He's sent a hawk north—an alliance with House Veinor. If they join forces, they'll control nearly a third of the border guard."
Cassian's eyes darkened. "Then it's time we move faster. We can't let the old guard consolidate."
"What about the assassin?" Evelyn asked. "The one who nearly gutted you two nights ago?"
"Pulse," Cassian muttered. "He's not just muscle. He knew my past… too well."
"You think the court hired him?"
"No." Cassian's gaze turned steel. "I think the Third Prince knows I'm alive."
Evelyn went still.
The name hung heavy in the air like ash.
"He tried to erase you once," she said quietly. "He won't make the same mistake twice."
"I'm counting on that," Cassian replied. "Because this time, I won't hesitate."
He pressed a palm to the map. "We bleed the Empire from within. Trade routes. Intelligence. Every whisper and coin they depend on, we rot it out. And we prepare to strike."
Meanwhile…
Pulse kneeled in the shadows of a ruined chapel outside the city walls. The rain didn't touch him, as if the storm feared his presence. His armor glistened with fresh blood, not his own. He whispered to the figure standing before the shattered altar.
"You were right. He's back."
The figure turned, cloaked in black.
"And yet you failed."
Pulse clenched a gloved fist. "He's more dangerous now. Smarter. I underestimated him."
"No. You grew sentimental. I warned you what he could become."
Pulse's jaw tightened. "He was supposed to be a tool. Nothing more."
The cloaked figure stepped closer. Their voice dropped to a whisper. "Then break the tool. Before it becomes the hand that wields the blade."
Back in Old Greystone
Cassian met with his inner circle in a hidden cellar. Evelyn. Roran, the ex-guard captain turned rebel. Eliah, a noble bastard with spies in every tavern. And Anais, a silent shadow from the Eastern Desert whose eyes missed nothing.
Each of them had been betrayed by the Empire in different ways. Each had a reason to follow him.
"There's a window opening," Cassian said. "Three days from now, the Imperial Envoy will arrive in Blackhollow. They'll be unguarded for nearly twelve hours as they pass through the Glenshade Woods."
"An ambush?" Roran asked, arms crossed.
"No," Cassian said. "We don't kill them. We rob them of their dignity."
He pointed to the map. "We'll take the scrolls, the golden seal, and the tribute chest. But leave them alive. Let the court see its envoy stripped and humiliated. It'll ignite questions."
"And panic," Anais added with a nod.
"It's bold," Eliah said, "but if it works…"
"It will," Cassian promised. "This is the first strike."
"And the Second Prince?" Evelyn asked.
Cassian hesitated. "He's still a mystery. But he's the most dangerous kind—patient, watching. We can't move on him until we know what side he leans toward."
Evelyn gave a slow nod, but her eyes didn't leave his.
After the meeting, when the others had gone, she lingered.
"You don't have to carry all of it alone," she said softly.
Cassian looked at her. "If I don't, who will?"
"I will," she said. "We all will. But you—" She stopped herself, biting her lip.
Cassian stepped closer. The air between them shifted. "Say it."
"You still think you're the only one who hurts. But I see you. I see the boy who survived when he wasn't supposed to. The man building an empire from ashes. And the fool too blind to know when someone's falling for him."
His breath caught.
She turned to leave, but he caught her hand.
Their eyes met, and for a moment—just a moment—the war faded.
Then he kissed her.
It wasn't soft. It was fire. It was everything unspoken—anger, longing, grief, hope. Her hand tangled in his shirt, his fingers in her hair.
When they parted, the storm outside had stilled.
"I'll win this war," he said. "But I won't lose you."
"Then don't push me away," she whispered. "Not again."
The Next Day
Cassian stood in a merchant's den, cloaked and hooded. Across from him, a masked man placed a black blade on the table.
"Forged in Nightmetal. From the mines of Eastern Del'Mar. It drinks light."
Cassian picked it up. The weight was perfect. The edge whispered through the air.
"How much?"
"No coin," the merchant said. "But a favor. One I will claim."
Cassian's smile was cold. "Then choose wisely."
He left with the blade.
Final Scene: Blackhollow's Gate
Pulse stood atop a ridge, watching the envoy's procession.
This time, he wouldn't miss.
And neither would Cassian.
Their paths had crossed once.
Soon, they would collide.