The ledgers were still warm from the Serpents' hands when we reached the safehouse.
Mira tossed the satchel onto the table, scattering droplets from the night rain. "Names. Dates. Enough to burn their whole network if we move fast."
Loran leaned in from his chair by the hearth, one brow raised. Even half-asleep, the man could smell leverage. "Then move quietly. A fire this size will burn you too, Kael."
I didn't answer. My pulse was still a war drum in my ears. Every heartbeat felt like an echo of steel clashing in the dark, of Serpent blades flashing in the warehouse basement.
I should've noticed it then — the faint vibration in the floorboards. The creak that wasn't from any of us.
The window exploded inward.
A shadow spun through the opening, shards of glass scattering like stars. She landed in a crouch, rainwater dripping off black silk armor. Twin hooked daggers caught the candlelight, their curved edges glistening with something that hissed when it touched the wood.
Her eyes swept the room, sharp and deliberate, before settling on me.
Silra the Dancer.
I'd heard the name whispered in the underworld — always in the same breath as poison, elegance, and perfectly staged deaths. A D-rank Serpent assassin whose kills were as graceful as they were final.
She smiled as though she'd stepped onto a stage.
"You've been reading things that don't belong to you."
Loran rose slowly, his expression a mask, but I saw his hand drift under the table — to a crossbow, no doubt. Mira shifted toward the corner, dagger half-hidden.
I didn't move. "The Serpents must be desperate, sending their best to die."
Her smile sharpened. "Best? Oh, you flatter me. Veynar was the best. Until you painted the streets with his blood."
She didn't wait for me to answer. Her body blurred, closing the distance in three liquid steps. The first hook cut for my throat, the second for my ribs. I met both with a sweep of my blade, the clash ringing through the room like struck glass.
She didn't resist the block — she flowed away, spinning into another strike from my blind side. Poison traced silver arcs in the air, each swing meant to herd me into the next cut.
Her footwork was infuriating. Too fast to pin, too precise to guess wrong. Every movement seemed to carry two intentions — one to distract, the other to kill.
My ribs sang with pain as a kick caught me off-balance. My shoulder burned — a shallow slice, but enough for the venom to sting.
"Stay back!" I barked to the others, letting my Soul Resonance flare, light racing down the steel like liquid fire.
Silra's eyes widened. "So it's true. You do shine when cornered."
The poison was already clawing at my senses — vision tunneling, breaths growing shallow. I had seconds before the edge dulled.
I pressed forward, breaking her rhythm. Two feints high, then a real cut low. She caught it, twisting under my blade, but I followed, pinning one hook between my sword and gauntlet. A twist — bone popped in her wrist.
She hissed but turned the pain into momentum, spinning to kick my knee. I let the force carry me back a step, then lunged in with a downward arc, Resonance roaring through the strike.
Her remaining dagger snapped from the impact, clattering to the floor. For the first time, her mask of confidence cracked.
I didn't give her the chance to recover. My blade drove through silk, through muscle, through the stillness in her eyes.
She staggered back into the rain spilling through the broken window, a red flower blooming on her chest.
"They'll… send worse…"
I wrenched my sword free. "Let them."
She collapsed, her body twisting into a final pose almost too perfect to be unplanned.
The room was silent except for the steady patter of rain. Mira's breath came fast, her fingers tight on the satchel. "Still here. Untouched."
Loran moved to the shutters, peering into the alley before slamming them closed. "That one wasn't meant to kill you. She was meant to measure you."
I looked down at Silra's lifeless eyes and the poison still steaming from her blades. A scout. A warning.
I knelt and pried open a pouch at her waist. Inside was a small, wax-sealed envelope — black, stamped with the coiled serpent emblem. The wax was fresh.
Breaking it revealed a scrap of parchment, the handwriting elegant, the words few:
East Ward — Wharf tunnels. Crate sealed with Council crest. Deliver before dawn.
The same crest I'd seen in the basement.
My fingers curled around the note until the paper crumpled. So this wasn't just the Serpents. Someone on the Council was feeding them directly.
I rose, sliding my sword back into its sheath. "We're not waiting for dawn. We move now."
Mira stared. "Kael, you're poisoned. You need—"
"I need answers," I said, stepping over Silra's body toward the door.
Because if the Council was in this deep… then the one who had ordered my death might already know I was still breathing.
And if that was true, they wouldn't stop at sending D-rank dancers.
They'd send nightmares.