Adrian had dealt with the Bishop problem—for now. The man wouldn't stay down forever, but the blow to his head and the damage to his futuristic armor would buy Adrian some time. And right now, time was everything.
His thoughts shifted sharply to Helen.
If Nova Roma still had any foothold in London, Helen would be the next obvious target. She was his only known associate. His anchor. His weakness. They would exploit that.
Without hesitation, Adrian slipped into the shadows of the city, cutting through alleyways and narrow lanes. The London fog curled low and thick, muffling the city's heartbeat as he moved with calculated urgency.
As he neared the familiar row of tenements where Helen lived, something tugged at his instincts. His Seer intuition stirred, like the distant echo of an unspoken warning. He stopped a block away, ducking into the mouth of a narrow alley, and scanned the street with sharpened awareness.
No footsteps behind him. No glint of a scope. No spell residue clinging to the bricks.
But the silence was too perfect. Too clean.
He circled the surrounding blocks, taking his time. Pausing beneath flickering lamplight, eyes narrowing at the rooftops. If there were sentries waiting for him, they were well-hidden or cloaked. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that this peace was a façade. A staged stillness.
Only once he was certain—absolutely certain—did he approach her door.
He knocked once. No response.
Quietly, he turned the knob and stepped inside, gently shutting the door behind him.
The house greeted him with stillness. No sound. No motion.
Too quiet.
His boots creaked softly against the floorboards, each step louder than it should've been in the heavy silence. The air inside felt thick, like the moment before a thunderstorm. His voice came low and cautious: "Helen?"
No answer.
He moved through the rooms with quiet precision, scanning for any signs of a struggle. But nothing seemed out of place. A coat still hung by the door. Her boots were aligned neatly near the stairs. A half-finished cup of tea rested on the kitchen table, its surface long gone cold.
She hadn't left of her own accord.
That much was certain.
The knot in his chest tightened as he ascended the stairs. His senses were sharp now—blade-edge focused. At the top, he stepped into her room and approached the tall mirror that stood near the wardrobe. He knelt before it.
Time for answers.
Placing a hand on the cool surface, he closed his eyes. His voice was low, steady, reverent:
"I pray thee… the Fool.Dominator of Fate.Master of Sefirah Castle.Keeper of Mysteries.Please… show me the location of Helen."
The mirror responded. The surface darkened, then shimmered like rippling water. The image that formed was blurred at first—shadows behind a veil. But then it cleared.
A port. Somewhere near the docks. Fog thick on the water. Rusted shipping containers stacked like tombs. Steel stairs. Cold light. And in the center of it all—Helen.
She sat bound to a chair. Her hair was messy, a small cut blooming red near her cheek, but her eyes held fire.
She was still alive.
Surrounding her were five figures dressed in the unmistakable uniform of Nova Roma's special operations unit. They were armed and alert. And worse—they weren't trying to hide.
They wanted him to find them.
The message was clear.
Adrian's jaw clenched. He memorized the surroundings, the angle of the walls, the layout of the containers.
He didn't have much time.
He rose quickly and moved to the corner of the room. Sliding the dresser aside, he exposed a hollow in the wall behind it. There, tucked into the shadows, was a plain, unmarked shoebox. Dust had collected on its surface. But he knew exactly what lay inside.
He pulled it out and lifted the lid.
Inside, wrapped in a worn, oil-stained cloth, was a pistol.
The same gun he had used to kill Mike.
His fingers paused above it, uncertain for a breath. The memory of that night surged—blood, screams, betrayal—but he didn't flinch. Not anymore.
That was a different version of him.
He unwrapped the cloth.
Back then, the gun had been his last resort. A desperate act to survive.
But tonight… tonight it was a weapon of purpose.
He checked the chamber. Loaded.
He wouldn't let Helen pay the price for his secrets.
He wouldn't let Nova Roma decide his fate.
He wouldn't let the Fool's gift be wasted.
He slid the pistol into his coat pocket and exhaled.
"I'm coming, Helen. Just hold on."