The door creaked open, and Anya barged in, arms laden with cloth-wrapped bundles, sweat beading at her temples. She kicked the door shut behind her with her boot. "Where's that twitchy little rat who was with you?"
Victor didn't look up from the ledger he was scanning. "Left."
"Already?"
"Got all I needed from her."
Anya dumped the bundles onto the table with a thud, wiping her hands on her trousers. "Hope you didn't pay too much. Half these are useless unless you're trying to give someone nightmares."
Victor finally glanced over, peeling back the layers of cloth to inspect the contents, jagged roots, dried leaves, a few shriveled berries. He hummed. "Close enough."
"Nobody saw you lurking around with all that?"
Anya snorted. "Even if they did, they'd probably assume I'm off to sample something stupid." She pointed at the foul-looking clump. "This is the sort of filth idiots take for a thrill, right up until they realize they've just poisoned themselves."
Victor smirked, lifting a twisted root between thumb and forefinger. "Good." He reached across the table and slid a scrap of parchment toward her. "Took a peek at their stock while you were gone. They bring in the strong stuff, but half of it's brewed in-house."
Anya eyed the writing but didn't touch it. "You know I can't read that."
"Doesn't matter. Point is, no stocks refill for grishas for at least a week. We change plans."
He grabbed a cracked mortar and pestle from the corner, grinding the ingredients into a coarse powder. The smell hit instantly, pungent, acidic, like rotting onions laced with vinegar. Anya recoiled, nose wrinkling. "Gods, that reeks."
Victor didn't stop. "It's not lethal. Just strong enough to make anyone who drinks it wish they'd poured it in their eyes instead. Puke their guts for an hour, no worse than a bad hangover."
"Charming. Still don't see why I need to be the one sneaking it in."
"Most of them know how I look, and I will be occupied in the pit itself for a while." He scooped the mixture into small squares of thin fabric, twisting them into tight pouches. "We dose the main stock and individual bottles. Cover both ends."
Anya crossed her arms. "How big of a role am I playing, exactly?"
Victor flashed her a look. "You're the backbone. Without you, this falls apart before it starts."
She scoffed but didn't argue.
He knotted the last pouch, tossing it into a small leather satchel. "We finish prepping these by tomorrow. Then we move."
Anya picked up a pouch, testing its weight between her fingers. "You really think Grisha's crew will be stupid enough to drink this without sniffing it first?"
Victor wiped his hands clean, his expression dark. "They're fighters, not alchemists. And nothing makes thirsty men dumber than booze."
Victor finished packing the last pouch, fingers twitching from lack of sleep. The smell of the concoction clung to his clothes, sharp enough to make his eyes water. Across the room, Anya was sprawled on the floor with her back against the wall, dagger still in hand, half-asleep, half-ready to gut anyone who got too close.
He nudged her boot with his own. "Up. You're supposed to escort me to Grisha's."
Anya's eyes cracked open, glinting with annoyance. "What time is it?"
"Time you weren't snoring." He tossed her one of the wrapped bundles.
She caught it on reflex, then recoiled like it was a live coal. "Fucking hell!" She nearly flung it across the room before catching herself, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "This is worse than a corpse's asshole."
Victor dumped the remaining pouches into the emptied coin bag, tying it shut. "You'll live."
Anya glared, still crinkling her nose. "First time you've been wrong." She shoved the bundle into her belt pouch after wrapping it twice in spare cloth.
Victor slung the bag over his shoulder. "We're taking a detour first."
The alley snaked behind Grisha's fight pit, stinking of stale piss and rotting refuse. Victor pressed against the damp brick wall, peering around the corner at the two bored guards slouched by the cellar entrance below. The real prize wasn't underground, it was the squat warehouse looming above it, its barred windows dark except for a flicker of lantern light on the second floor.
Anya crouched beside him, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I didn't even know there was a storage here, not even mentioning the underground," she muttered.
Victor jerked his chin toward the black iron drainpipe scaling the warehouse wall. "Three guards inside. That's it."
Anya squinted. "How the shit do you know that?"
"Counting shifts." He slung the poison-laden satchel over his shoulder. "Stay here if you're blinking like a drunk."
She bared her teeth but didn't argue as Victor moved, silent as shadow, to the drainpipe. The rusted metal groaned under his weight, but the guards below were too busy tossing dice to notice.
The air inside the warehouse was thick with dust and the stale tang of old ale. Victor crouched on the rafters, muscles coiled, watching the three guards below. The tallest one was leaning against a barrel, picking at his teeth. The second, a burly man with a scarred jaw, paced a slow circle. The third, young and twitchy, kept glancing at the door like he expected it to explode.
Victor unclipped the satchel of poison pouches from his belt. He let it drop.
The weighted bag struck the pacing guard square in the skull with a solid thunk. The man crumpled without a sound.
The other two barely had time to gape before Victor launched himself from the rafter, the wind whistling past his ears. He landed on the twitchy one first, fingers driving into his eye sockets like twin daggers. The guard screamed, hands flying to his face, Victor used the momentum to shove him face-first into the stone floor. His nose shattered on impact, and his body went limp.
The last guard fumbled for his weapon, but Victor was already moving. A punch to the jaw snapped his head back. Two vicious hooks to the gut doubled him over. A boot to the knee cracked something with a wet pop. The guard howled, but Victor grabbed his hair and smashed his forehead into the nearest crate. Wood splintered. The man sagged, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Victor exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He nudged the nearest guard with his boot, no movement.
"Shit," came a voice from behind.
Anya stood in the doorway, lips parted. She looked from the bodies to him, then back. "Thought you said sneaking."
"Didn't hear me, did they?" He knelt, digging through the first guard's pockets. A key ring jingled in his palm.
She scowled. "That's not how sneaking works."
Anya nudged the unconscious guard with her boot, eyeing the satchel still tangled around his limp arm. "Flowers knocked him out?" She arched a brow.
Victor flipped open the bag's flap and tapped the inner lining, cold metal glinted beneath the fabric. "Lead plates. Can't leave the poison unprotected." He tossed her one of his makeshift pouches. "If I needed a weapon, I'd pick one that hits harder than pollen."
Anya scoffed but stayed silent as Victor strode toward the stacked crates lining the far wall. He cracked the nearest one open. Rows of dark glass bottles gleamed in the lantern light. Without hesitation, he tore open one of his pouches, pinched a shred of the foul mixture between his fingertips, and dropped it into the first bottle. The liquid fizzed faintly before settling.
He jerked his chin at the crate. "Your turn."
Anya grimaced but complied, wrinkling her nose as she sprinkled her own dose into another bottle. "This stuff reeks like a corpse."
Victor didn't pause. "Means it's working."
They moved systematically, poisoning bottles, resealing crates, working in near-silence broken only by the occasional clink of glass. After an hour, Victor surveyed their handiwork. Every third bottle was tainted, scattered randomly through the stock. Enough to hit Grisha's crew hard, but not so obvious someone would notice the pattern.
Victor wiped his hands on his coat and nodded toward the cellar door. "Time to play visitor."
Anya hesitated, glancing back at the unconscious guards. "What if they wake up?"
Victor's smile was thin. "By then, Grisha's boys will be too busy hugging buckets to care."