The cold night air slapped against their skin as the restaurant’s doors thudded shut behind them. The three stood momentarily in silence. Fog curled at their feet, drifting through the moonlit street like ghostly fingers. Only the occasional supernatural figure crossed their path, heading toward the Bazaar’s portal. The world felt emptier than usual—quiet in the worst way.

  Chase reached into his coat and pulled out a smooth, translucent bead. He held it up to the starlight, his fingers trembling slightly as he rolled it between his knuckles. A long breath escaped his lips. “Are we really doing this?” he asked for what felt like the tenth time.

  John looked at Ziraya. Her brows furrowed, her amber eyes flicking toward him with restrained defiance. They both nodded.

  “Right,” Chase muttered, his voice strained. “A few rules. Especially for you.” He turned sharply to Ziraya, who tensed like a coiled spring. “No sudden moves. No talking unless spoken to. Do exactly as you’re told.”

  Her tail thumped once against the concrete. “I do know how to act civilized,” she hissed, teeth slightly bared.

  “Pretend harder,” Chase shot back, then turned to John. “You’re a merc who saved my ass twice. I thought you were reliable, so I helped you with this side job. That’s your story.”

  John gave a lazy salute. “Sir, yes sir,” he said, managing to crack a grin. It lasted only a second.

  Chase crushed the bead, and the world fell away. Wind howled past them as the spell jerked them skyward. John's stomach flipped inside out, and the ground shrank beneath them until the city lights blurred into a glowing circuit board. He looked down—instantly regretted it—and turned his head skyward, heart pounding like a jackhammer against his ribs. “Gods,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Fuck me.”

  They soared toward a distant structure: an enormous brick fortress, which looked like it once was a bustling factory, crouched at the edge of the city, wrapped in enchantments that shimmered like oil on water. The Wolfheart headquarters pulsed with mana—alive, watchful. Even the outer fence hummed with a quiet, magical rhythm, as if daring them to try crossing it.

  Ziraya swallowed hard. Her skin prickled as they descended, and she could feel it—layers of foreign mana signatures buzzing against her own like a swarm of wasps. Curious, probing, hostile. A thousand invisible eyes seemed to fixate on her. “So this is the Wolfheart home,” she murmured. “Smaller than I imagined.”

  A sharp boom punctuated their landing as they hit the gravel path in front of the building. John staggered, nearly falling as his knees buckled from the sudden shift in momentum.

  “Behind me,” Chase said, his voice clipped now, taut with anxiety. “And keep your mouths shut.”

  The trio approached the iron doors. Each step forward made the hum of the wards grow louder—a rising pitch like an electric violin string pulled too tight.

  “Don’t move,” Chase warned, arm outstretched. “One more step and those wards will turn you into ash.” He stepped to the edge of the shield, raised his voice. “Hey! It’s me!” A handful of werewolves lounging by the door lifted their heads, ears twitching. One of them grinned—until his nostrils flared. His expression twisted in an instant.

  “What the fuck is that smell?” he snarled, lowering into a crouch. Mana sparked at his fingertips, flames licking his claws.

  “Easy!” Chase barked. “It’s complicated.”

  Other werewolves emerged from the shadows—bigger, more muscular, half-shifted and twitching with barely restrained aggression. Their eyes locked onto Ziraya, hackles rising. They didn’t see a person—they saw a threat. More than a few began murmuring under their breath, spells glowing in their palms. One of them bared his teeth. “She’s dragon-blooded. She shouldn’t be here.”

  “Let them in,” came a new voice—calm, deep, and absolute. Carter stepped into view, the moonlight glinting off the armor on his forearms. His werewolf form was more controlled than the others, but no less dangerous. His eyes locked on Ziraya, unblinking.

  “Brother,” Chase said, nodding stiffly.

  “You sure about this?” Carter didn’t take his gaze off the dragon-blooded. “Bringing someone like her here—especially now?”

  Chase lowered his voice, barely above a whisper. “We need to talk to Mom. It can’t wait.”

  Carter’s jaw worked for a moment, then he tilted his head. The wards shimmered like rippling glass. “Fine. Get inside. But you better be right about this.”

  “Come on,” Chase said, gesturing to the others.

  John hesitated, then stepped forward. The wards crackled as he passed through, like plunging into a storm of static and starlight. It tingled—unpleasantly so—but he pushed forward.

  Ziraya paused. Her tail lashed once, then curled in tight. She drew a deep breath and stepped through the barrier. Nothing exploded. No searing pain. She exhaled.

  Carter watched them closely. “You again,” he said to John, tone dry. “What kind of mess has my brother dragged you into this time?”

  John gave him a tired grin. “The complicated kind.” Without another word, he followed Chase into the heart of the compound.

  Behind them, Carter turned to the crowd of werewolves now murmuring among themselves in increasingly aggressive tones. “That’s enough!” he barked. “You want to pick a fight with her inside these walls? Be my guest. Just make sure your next of kin know where to find your ashes.”

  The crowd dispersed, but slowly. Unease lingered in the air like smoke.

  Meanwhile, inside, Chase’s footsteps echoed off the glowing brick walls as they made their way through the labyrinthine halls. Sweat clung to his brow. Every hallway brought them closer. “Feels like I’m walking into my own execution,” he muttered with a humorless smile. He stopped at a heavy door. Polished metal, adorned with a carved wolf’s head. His fist hovered just a moment too long, then knocked three times.

  The door swung open the moment Chase’s fingers brushed the door for the fourth time—not unlocked, but thrown, as if the building itself rejected his arrival. It crashed against the brick wall with a heavy metallic clang that echoed like a warning bell.

  Alice Wolfheart stood framed in the doorway like a statue carved from ice and iron. Her posture rigid, her arms folded like a blade across her chest. Steel-blue eyes drilled into her son, their cold fury enough to turn the air brittle. But when those eyes flicked to Ziraya, everything shifted.

  Ziraya froze. It was like stepping under a crushing weight—a mana-born pressure that slammed into her chest and crawled across her skin. Her tail stiffened. Her throat went dry. Alice’s gaze was dissecting her, peeling back flesh and bone and secrets with ruthless precision.

  “Sit,” Alice commanded, voice clipped and glacial. She gestured to three chairs in front of a long mahogany desk polished to a glassy sheen. Chase didn’t speak—just obeyed, moving like someone wading through thick fog. Ziraya followed, her legs mechanical, her breath shallow. John hesitated, his body screaming to flee, yet he forced himself forward. He wouldn't cower—not now.

  The room was austere and functional, more bunker than office. Walls of raw brick were nearly choked out by heavy filing cabinets and overstuffed shelves. Scrolls and paper bulged from every surface like overgrown roots in an old forest. It smelled of old ink and dust.

  Alice stayed standing. A queen before her court. “What is this?” she asked, voice low but heavy with accusation. Her glare slid back to Ziraya. “She’s a Scalebound. I could feel her mana from halfway across the city.”

  “I—” Chase began, but his voice faltered. “She is. Or… she was.”

  Alice's brow arched. “Was?”

  “She ran. Left them.”

  “She ran, and you thought to bring her here?” Alice’s fist slammed into the desk with a thunderous crack. The wood groaned, a splintered dent where her knuckles had landed. “The Scalebound are sharpening their blades, and you stroll into my house with one of their own? Are you insane?”

  “I had my reasons!” Chase snapped, rising halfway from his seat. “I owe him!” He jabbed a finger toward John. “He saved my life—twice! He brought her to me, and I—”

  “Who are you?” Alice’s words cut across the room like a whip. Her gaze locked onto John with unnerving precision, pinning him to his seat. “No mage in their right mind wants to work for Wolfhearts. So what are you playing at?”

  “I had my reasons,” John said, forcing his voice to stay level. Each syllable was a battle against the icy pressure clawing at the back of his mind. “Chase didn’t have anything to do with Fallwater.”

  “Fallwater?” Alice’s lips curled into a mirthless smile. “My son hiring a mage behind the pack’s back is one thing. Something he’ll regret.” Chase visibly flinched. “But you? You must’ve eaten his sob story up like a starving dog. Tell me—how much?”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “What?”

  “How much to walk away?” She gestured dismissively at Ziraya. “How much for her? For this whole mess to vanish into the night?”

  “Mom!” Chase’s voice cracked. “This isn’t about money!”

  “Do not interrupt me!” Alice roared, her voice dropping a chill across the room. “You’re lucky I haven’t knocked you unconscious for this blunder! The Scalebound are circling, and you drag of of them into my home!”

  “They’re hunting me,” Ziraya whispered, her voice barely audible as she pulled the hood of her cloak down.

  For a breathless moment, even Alice stilled. Her eyes widened—not in fear, but in precise recognition. As if she'd just realized the game had changed. “Ziraya Scalebound.” Alice’s tone turned to venomous silk. “Daughter of Vaeryn. Tell me, child—why shouldn’t I end you now and save us all the trouble?”

  John stood. “Because you don’t want war.”

  The air thickened instantly. Alice’s mana surged—a spectral fist gripping his throat. John's knees buckled. He bit back a groan as sweat gathered at his brow. The force of her presence was suffocating, drowning.

  “Do not test me, mercenary,” she hissed. “Name your price and disappear.”

  John’s hand brushed his revolver.

  “MOM!” Chase barked, noticing the flash of desperation in John’s eyes. “Don’t touch him!”

  Alice tilted her head, unimpressed. “You would challenge me?”

  “The old laws are clear,” Chase said, standing. Crimson lightning flickered around his fingers. “He came under my protection.”

  Her eyes narrowed. Tension gripped the room like a trap primed to snap. Then Alice clicked her tongue and took a slow, deliberate breath.

  “Why bring her here?” she asked coldly. “Is she lying? Did she charm you, both of you?” She looked between John and Ziraya. “How did a Scalebound heir wind up trusting a nameless mage with barely enough mana to light a candle?”

  John bristled. “We all have reasons. Ziraya left because she had to. She’s not—”

  “Ziraya, huh?” Alice interrupted, her lip curling in a sneer at John’s familiarity. “And what do I see here? A dragon-blooded heir and a gutter mage playing house?”

  Ziraya flushed but didn’t speak.

  “I can explain,” Chase said quickly. “Her father was going to marry her off. She ran, and—”

  “Marry her off?” Alice’s eyes gleamed with predatory interest. They drifted to John, then back to Ziraya. “So… you eloped. My brilliant son brought the honeymooners to mommy for help.”

  “We’re not—” John started, but Chase’s sideways glance warned him off.

  “Maybe,” John muttered finally, going along Alice’s perception.

  Ziraya sat motionless, hands folded tightly in her lap, her cheeks still burning.

  Alice exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair before folding her arms again. “This is reckless,” she said, voice colder than ever. “Foolish. Possibly fatal.”

  “We know that,” Chase replied quietly.

  “And yet here you are,” Alice muttered. Then she looked again at Ziraya, her gaze unreadable. She exhaled slowly, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, as if already exhausted by the weight of everyone's stupidity. The tension in the room thickened like molasses. Then she spoke—each word like a knife slid beneath the skin. “Tell me, mercenary,” she said, voice low and deliberate, “what stops me from cutting you down where you stand?”

  “I—” Chase tried, but her eyes snapped toward him. Cold. Cutting. Silencing. He withered under her gaze like paper before a flame.

  “I could end you in less time than it takes my son to blink,” Alice continued, her tone terrifyingly calm, as though discussing the weather. “He would fail in his duties, yes—but in doing so, I’d be free. Free to deal with the Scalebound problem however I choose. And keeping her alive? That’s a powerful bargaining chip.”

  “Mom!” Chase growled, fists clenched at his sides.

  “You could do that.” John’s voice came out steadier than he felt. Inside, he was spiraling—his thoughts a crashing tide of confusion and despair. He shifted his weight subtly, fingers brushing his Spell Glove, ready to unleash a blast of Hyper Boiler if it came to it. “But let me ask something in return. Why haven’t you?”

  Alice blinked, her interest piqued. “Are you truly daring me to end your life?”

  “You felt Ziraya’s mana before we even stepped foot on your land. You could have ordered us killed from a dozen different angles, and yet... here we are. Still breathing.” John held her gaze, willing his knees not to buckle. “Why?”

  A flicker of a smile played at Alice’s lips—not amusement, but recognition. A predator finding interest in an unexpected prey. “Dangerous game, mercenary,” she murmured. “But you’re not entirely wrong. I anticipated a Scalebound deserter, yes. Some disgruntled officer maybe. But Vaeryn’s daughter?” She chuckled, the sound sharp and humorless. “Even I didn’t see that one coming.”

  “You see an opportunity.” John pressed on, swallowing the panic rising in his throat like bile. “Leverage. A scandal like this—especially if it spreads? That kind of rumor could cripple the Scalebound’s political power.”

  Alice drummed her fingers together, eyes still locked on him. “Truly remarkable. Chase, take notes—your pet mercenary has a better grasp of our situation than half of the local families.” She turned her gaze back to John, her smile gone. “And yet... he’s still just a hired blade.”

  John flinched but held firm.

  “I could spin the story,” Alice continued, “leak a few items that belonged to the girl. Let the world assume she ran off with a common mage. Vaeryn’s reputation? In shambles. But here’s the thing—what use are you to me in that story? Why should I let you walk away?”

  “You need me.” John said, too quickly. Then he forced himself to breathe, slowing his words. “The Wolfheart name is hated in mage circles. But I’m already there. I move freely. No one would suspect I’m working with you—because everyone knows mages don’t work with you.”

  “You want a job?” Alice’s voice cracked like frost beneath bootsteps. “Instead of begging for your life?”

  “All I ask is a new identity gem for her.” John gestured to Ziraya, who sat silent, tense. “Call it a signing bonus.”

  Alice raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You mistake breathing for bargaining power. I haven’t agreed to anything.”

  “Then let me say it another way.” John’s mouth was dry. His throat ached. “I’m not denying you can kill me. The question is—how fast?”

  That hit home. Alice’s posture shifted—just slightly, but enough to notice. Her gaze flicked to Chase, and the unspoken implication hung in the air: If John survived long enough, her son would be honor-bound to retaliate.

  “You’d use my son against me?” she asked, voice low.

  “I’d use whatever I have,” John said, then immediately regretted how fast the words came out.

  Alice’s expression darkened. “What makes you think he told you the truth about the old laws?”

  “Because no sane person in his position would’ve helped us otherwise.” John’s voice cracked. Then he steadied it. “Not unless he believed in something bigger.”

  Alice exhaled through her nose, slow and deliberate, her gaze slicing toward Chase before returning to John like a blade drawn from a sheath. “I don’t like being cornered, mercenary. You’d do well to remember that.”

  “And I don’t like being threatened.” The words burst out before John could stop them. Silence followed—dense, suffocating. John’s heart thundered in his chest. He might’ve just signed his death warrant.

  Alice stared. Then, finally, she let out a quiet growl. “Confidence is useful. Arrogance will get you killed.”

  John nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Do,” she said, rising to her feet. The weight of her authority made the room feel smaller. “Don’t go strutting around like you’ve won anything. Stay hidden. Keep your head down until I decide how we’ll play this.”

  With a flick of her wrist, the door groaned open of its own accord. “Get out. All of you.”

  Chase didn’t hesitate. He bolted. Ziraya followed quickly, her face still pale.

  John took one step, then another, resisting the urge to collapse with each pace. Only when the heavy door slammed shut behind him did he realize he was holding his breath.

  The door thudded shut with a finality that echoed through the room. Alice sat still, her eyes fixed on the metal as though trying to see through it. Silence reigned—heavy, alive. Then, with a quiet tap-tap-tap, she began drumming her fingers on the lacquered surface of her desk. Her nails clicked like ticking clock hands. “A mercenary mage,” she murmured. “And a clever one at that.” She leaned back in her chair, eyes half-lidded, the fingers of her left hand tracing the edge of her desk. “He hid his mana. That’s the only way Ziraya slipped out from under Vaeryn’s nose. He’s either far more powerful than he lets on—or more foolish.” She smirked slightly. “Possibly both.”

  Her gaze drifted toward the far wall, where an ancient map of the old territories hung. “But there’s more to him. He flinched at the wrong times, and yet didn’t break. His pulse screamed panic, but his tongue stayed sharp. Curious.” She laced her fingers together, resting her chin atop them. “A wild card. I’ll need to keep him close.”

  John barely made it five steps before Chase grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the nearest stone pillar. “What the hell was that?!” Chase’s voice was a harsh whisper, but the rage behind it crackled like lightning. “Are you suicidal?! Do you even realize how close to dying you were?!”

  “I-It worked, didn’t it?” John offered a shaky grin, sweat still clinging to his temple. The flickering corner of his vision showed his Improbability Factor, his ultimate trump card.

  “You don’t bluff with Alice Wolfheart!” Chase hissed. “That woman doesn’t blink before cutting off fingers. Or heads.”

  John winced but stayed silent.

  Behind them, Ziraya stood frozen, her gaze distant, lips parted slightly in thought. Her fingers brushed over the soft edge of her cloak as she played the confrontation over in her mind. Finally, she looked at John. “Thank you.” The words came out smaller than she meant, and her ears—delicate and slightly scaled—turned a deep crimson. She immediately spun away, pretending to adjust her belt. “I mean… for standing up for me.”

  John blinked, momentarily stunned. “Oh. Um. Of course.”

  “I’m really going to see half-mage, half-lizard babies, aren’t I?” Chase muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

  “Chase!” John snapped, narrowing his eyes.

  “Hold your tongue, Wolfheart,” Ziraya growled without turning around.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Chase raised his hands in mock surrender, then jabbed a finger at John again. “But seriously, that stunt? Way too bold. Do us all a favor and don’t try to out-negotiate a woman who once made a trade delegation cry without saying a word.”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” John muttered, eyes flicking to the hallway shadows. “She was going to kill us. I had to say something.”

  “And next time she might decide to call your bluff.” Chase’s voice lowered, losing some of its bite. “You’re not invincible.”

  John’s throat tightened. He looked down at his hands—still trembling—and clenched them into fists.

  “I know that.” His voice was barely a whisper.

  Images flashed behind his eyes. The pain. The failures. The cold restart.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Chase’s expression softened slightly. “That said… I hate admitting it, but that was some damn good negotiating.” He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “She’s not an easy woman to impress.”

  “You think so?” John asked, cautiously hopeful.

  “You’re still breathing.” Chase smirked. “That puts you above most people who try to play games with my mother.” He turned to Ziraya. “Now listen. Both of you. Lay low for a while. Stay in the safehouse. Days, maybe a week—just until this whole thing cools down.”

  Ziraya frowned. “A week?” Her voice was tense. “My father isn’t going to give up that easily.”

  “Which is exactly why you need that identity gem,” Chase said. “Trust me—my mother’s wheels are already turning. She wasn’t happy, but she’ll see the value in protecting you… eventually.”

  Ziraya hesitated, her hand falling to the hilt of her blade—an old, familiar comfort. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she muttered, “but… thank you, Wolfheart.”

  “I did it for that idiot.” Chase jerked his thumb toward John. “Remember that. And treat him well. Or I’ll come find you.”

  “Hey!” John scowled. “I’m not a puppy, I can take care of myself!”

  Chase rolled his eyes. “Sure. Just don’t try negotiating with my mom next time.”

  That earned a short laugh from John—and to his surprise, Ziraya let out a soft giggle. The sound was light, breathy, unfamiliar.

  She covered her mouth a second too late, her eyes wide. John stared at her, surprised by the laughter more than anything else. It didn’t belong in a place like this—in cold stone hallways and behind steel doors. It sounded like something born under sunlight and soft winds.

  It was a promise of something better.

  A promise of freedom.