Doctor Thorne's note, with its clinical and brutal conclusion, remained on Catherine's desk for hours. It was a declaration.
A declaration of competence, of ruthless efficiency, and above all, a declaration of parity. Thorne did not see himself as her tool, but as her equal in the shadows, a partner in crime who expected to be treated as such.
Catherine understood the message. She had found a scalpel of surgical precision, but the hand that held it was as firm as her own, and it could just as easily be turned against her.
This new alliance was a serpent she had to feed with caution, all while keeping a foot on its head.
Chen's death was a given.
A loose thread cut.
She felt no pity, no remorse, only a cold appreciation for Thorne's professionalism. The true price of the operation was the information. And the information was good.
A location: the Dyers' District. A name: Viktor.
It was all she needed to open the next front in her war. Her first plan, based on subtlety and the manipulation of a single man, had failed because her adversary was reactive. She would not make the same mistake twice.
Her new strategy would be a two-pronged attack, designed to overwhelm The Rook's defenses, to force him to react in multiple theaters of operation at once.
The first front would be clandestine, a slow infiltration from below. She took a sheet of parchment and drafted a new order for Madame Lin's network. The instructions were clear.
"Focus all your resources on the Dyers' District. I want a map of every alley, every abandoned warehouse. Find a gray stone house with no windows on the ground floor. Simultaneously, gather everything you can on a man named Viktor. His habits, the taverns he frequents, his associates, his weaknesses. I want to know the name of the woman he sleeps with, the wine he prefers, and the god he prays to, if he has one. Gold will not be an issue."
She sent the message via Leo, knowing that Madame Lin's network, with its dozens of eyes and ears, was the perfect tool for this kind of patient surveillance.
The second front would be public, a brutal attack led by the hammer she controlled: Magistrate Valerius.
She joined him that evening in his private apartments. She had abandoned the role of the fragile oracle. Tonight, she was the wrathful Pythia, a goddess whose vision had been defiled by the evil she had discovered.
"They are mocking you, Magistrate," she said as she entered, her voice a low growl.
Valerius, who was pouring himself a glass, turned in surprise. "What are you talking about, my dear?"
"Those people from the Eastern Sail. You struck their financial heart, but they are laughing in your face. They think you are just a politician, that your anger is a flash in the pan that will die out. They are continuing their operations through intermediaries, henchmen who manage their dirtiest business."
She approached him, her eyes shining with a dark flame.
"I had another vision. A name appeared to me, whispered by the echoes of corruption. It is the name of their executioner, their debt collector, the man who silences witnesses. A man named Viktor."
The name, spoken by her, seemed laden with a supernatural weight.
"As long as this man is free, your investigation will go nowhere. He is the guardian of their darkest secrets. Find him. Break him. And their entire empire will collapse."
Valerius was hesitant. Launching an investigation into a company was one thing. Launching a manhunt for a likely dangerous individual, a lieutenant in a criminal organization, was another. It was an escalation.
"This is risky, Catherine. This is declaring open war."
"That is what I have been trying to make you understand from the beginning," she replied, her voice becoming a sensual whisper. She pressed herself against him. "This is not an investigation. It is a war. And in a war, a king must be ruthless."
She kissed him, and the kiss was an invasion, a takeover. She felt him respond, his surprise melting into desire. She undressed him with a calculated urgency, their bodies ending up on the thick rugs of the chamber.
This time, the act was different. It was not consolation, nor a simple reward. It was a transfusion of will.
She straddled him, dominating him, her movements powerful and assured. She looked him in the eye as she took him, her body taut, every muscle defined beneath her moist skin.
She was the goddess of war, the lover and the general, and she was offering him communion with her power. She did not moan with pleasure, but growled with defiance, forcing him to draw on his own reserves of strength, to be her equal, her champion.
"They will fear you," she panted, her hair falling across his face.
"They will fear the man who sleeps with a storm."
His orgasm was a violent spasm, a total surrender not only of his body, but of his will. He was hers. Completely.
In the quiet that followed, as he still breathed heavily, she whispered in his ear, her voice sweet venom:
"Give the order, my lord. Declare this man, Viktor, an enemy of the city. Launch a manhunt. Offer a reward. Put all your guards on his trail. Show them that nothing and no one can hide from your fury."
The next day, that is exactly what he did.
The city awoke in shock. Posters were plastered on every street corner, bearing the composite sketch of a man named Viktor, declared an enemy of the state and wanted for conspiracy against the magistracy.
An astronomical reward was offered for any information leading to his capture.
Catherine, from her library, felt the vibration of the city change. She had turned her shadow war into a public affair. She had forced The Rook to react on two fronts at once: on one side, an official manhunt that was putting pressure on his entire network; on the other, the clandestine surveillance of her own spies who were looking for the same thing.
A few days later, a new note from Madame Lin arrived. It was short.
"The Crow has a nest. A tavern in the tanners' district, The One-Eyed Goblin. He drinks there every night, alone. His weakness: he bets on the dog fights in the back room. He always loses. He owes money to everyone."
Catherine read the note, a thin smile on her lips. Her human network had been faster than the Magistrate's guard.
She had her target.
She knew where to find him. And above all, she knew his sin. Not the Wrath of his supposed master, but a weakness far more common and far more aisy to exploit. Avarice.
She looked at the name on the note. Viktor. Then she looked at the purse of gold she had left. She was going to have to pay another visit to Doctor Thorne. But this time, the contract would not be for a kidnapping. It would be for a much more subtle manipulation.