After two days.
The silence of the abandoned textile mill was broken only by the rhythmic dripping of water and the ragged, shallow breathing of a man barely holding onto consciousness.
Elias Corvus lay slumped against the rusting iron of a massive loom, the machine casting long, skeletal shadows in the twilight. His field jacket was gone, cut away to reveal a torso wrapped in strips of cloth torn from his own shirt. The bandages were dark and stiff with dried blood. He had stitched the gunshot wound in his side himself, using a heated needle and fishing line found in a forgotten maintenance locker. The pain had been white-hot, a blinding supernova that had nearly sent him into shock, but he had done it. He had survived the crash, the chase, and the surgery.
Now, fever was the enemy. He shivered uncontrollably, sweat slicking his pale skin. He checked his revolver—two rounds left. He checked his watch—the glass was cracked, the hands frozen. He was blind to the world outside. He didn't know if Seraphina was alive. He didn't know if the Vultures were closing in. He only knew that he couldn't move, and the secrets in the Crow's Nest—the map of the conspiracy, the photo of his father—were sitting unguarded in the heart of the city. He closed his eyes, the darkness pulling him down. Burn it, his mind whispered. Someone has to burn it.
Seraphina emerged from the fugue state of her own mind as she crossed the Iron Bridge back into Aethelburg. For forty-eight hours, she had hidden in the ruins of the alchemical plant, wrestling with the ghost of Goshawk. Your war is a footnote. The words had cut deeper than any blade. She had almost walked away. Almost.
But as she stepped onto the cobblestones of the district, the city slapped her awake.
Every lamppost, every wall, every shop window was plastered with a new face. She tore a poster down, her eyes widening in horror. It was a Cogwork "High Priority" warrant.
WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE.ELIAS CORVUS. FOR TREASON, MURDER, AND CONSPIRACY.BOUNTY: 50,000 COGS.
The world tilted. They weren't just hunting the Wraith anymore. They had burned Elias's cover. He was gone, likely dead or deep underground. And if they knew who he was...
The Crow's Nest.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. The clock tower. It held everything. The investigation board, the stolen files, the connection to her, and the proof that Aran Corvus was Goshawk. If Thorne or the Vultures got inside, they wouldn't just find Elias; they would find her. They would find the path to his father.
She looked up at the distant skyline. Dark, heavy smoke was already beginning to puff from the exhaust pipes of Cogwork steam-carriages. They were moving.
"Not today," she hissed.
She didn't run; she launched herself. She scrambled up a drainpipe, hitting the slate roof of a tenement building, and began to sprint. This wasn't stealth. This was a race. She vaulted over alleyways, her boots skidding on slick tiles, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Below her, the sirens began to wail, a dissonant chorus announcing the hunt.
She saw them as she crested the final rise overlooking the plaza. Three armored Cogwork transports were screeching to a halt at the base of the Clock Tower. A squad of elite agents, clad in heavy breach-armor and wielding battering rams, were already swarming the entrance.
She was too late to sneak in. She had to stop them from the outside.
Seraphina pulled a heavy scarf over her face, leaving only her fierce eyes visible. She didn't have weapons for a siege, only her knives and her rage. She dove from the rooftop, sliding down a telegraph wire and crashing onto the balcony above the tower's entrance.
"Get back!" she screamed, her voice distorted by the fabric.
The agents looked up, startled. "Hostile above! Take her down!"
She dropped into their midst like a stone. She wasn't fighting to win; she was fighting to buy time, praying for a miracle, praying she could get to the fuel lines to ignite the tower before they breached the door. She spun, a whirlwind of kicks and strikes. She shattered the visor of one agent, swept the legs of another. But these weren't street thugs. These were Thorne's personal guard.
A rifle butt slammed into her ribs, stealing her breath. She staggered, slashing out with her knife, sparking against heavy armor. Another blow caught her in the back of the knee, sending her crashing to the pavement.
"Hold her!" the squad leader roared. "Secure the target!"
Three agents descended on her instantly, their weight crushing. She thrashed, biting, kicking, a wild animal caught in a trap, but the sheer strength of their numbers was overwhelming. They pinned her arms to the cold stone, pressing her face into the dirt.
"Let's see who's protecting the traitor," a rough voice growled above her.
Seraphina squeezed her eyes shut, her heart hammering against the pavement. She felt rough, gloved fingers grab the edge of her scarf.
"No..." she whispered.
The fingers tightened. With a sharp, violent tug, the mask was ripped away.
The air on her skin felt freezing cold. She looked up, dazed and defeated, staring directly into the shocked eyes of the squad leader. The man froze, the mask dangling from his hand, as recognition slowly, terrifyingly, dawned on his face.
The secret was out.