Smoke clung to Kael's clothes long after they left the broker's den.
It crawled into his hair, his skin, his lungs. Every breath tasted like ash and old paper. He welcomed it. The smell meant the ledgers were burning. The names were turning to smoke. The past was becoming harder to trace.
Still, he did not relax.
Not when the presence inside him felt heavier than ever.
They moved through the underdistricts in silence, slipping between collapsed buildings and narrow alleys where moonlight barely reached. Ryn led the way, her steps confident, her posture loose but alert. Boros brought up the rear, hammer resting against his shoulder. Ise stayed close to Kael, glancing at him when he thought no one noticed.
They reached the ruined tenement again just as the first distant shouts echoed from above.
Too late.
But not late enough.
Ryn barred the door and motioned Kael toward the back room. "Sit," she said. "Before you fall."
Kael did not argue. The moment he lowered himself onto the broken chair, his legs began to shake. The adrenaline drained away, leaving exhaustion in its wake. His shoulder throbbed, the pain sharper now that his body had stopped running.
Ise knelt and checked the binding. "You tore it open again," he muttered.
Kael watched his hands work, methodical and careful. "It held long enough."
Ise glanced up. "Most people would be dead."
Kael did not answer.
Ryn crouched across from him, elbows on her knees. Firelight danced across her scar. "You didn't just kill Soren," she said quietly. "You cut him out."
"Yes."
She exhaled through her nose. "That's worse."
Boros snorted. "Or better."
Ryn shot him a look. "Better for us. Worse for anyone who depended on him staying in place."
Kael closed his eyes for a moment.
When he had touched Soren, he had felt it clearly. Not just the man, but the structure around him. Small. Corrupt. Holding weight it was never meant to carry.
Removing him had not collapsed the city.
But it had shifted something.
"I didn't plan to burn everything," Kael said. "Just enough."
Ryn nodded slowly. "Fire never stays small."
A knock echoed faintly through the building.
All four of them froze.
Another knock followed, sharper this time.
"Underfolk," a voice called from outside. "Open up."
Boros's grip tightened on his hammer. Ise went pale.
Ryn met Kael's eyes. "This is what comes after," she said. "They test the cracks."
Kael stood.
His legs felt weak, but the presence steadied him, anchoring him in a way that was becoming disturbingly familiar.
"I'll handle it," he said.
Ryn hesitated, then nodded. "Do not kill unless you have to."
Kael walked to the door.
The knock came again, impatient now.
He unbarred it and stepped aside.
Two men stood outside, cloaked and hooded. Not guards. No city colors. One carried a lantern. The other carried nothing at all.
"Evening," the lantern bearer said, eyes flicking past Kael into the room. "We're looking for someone."
Kael leaned against the doorframe. "This isn't a good night for visitors."
The second man smiled faintly. "We heard."
The presence stirred, alert but restrained. Kael could see the lines now, faint threads of weight trailing from both men. Not strong. Not sanctioned.
Messengers.
Scavengers of opportunity.
"You burned a broker," the lantern bearer said. "That leaves a hole."
Kael met his gaze. "Holes close."
"Sometimes," the man agreed. "Sometimes something crawls into them first."
Ryn appeared behind Kael, knife visible at her side. "Say what you came to say."
The man nodded. "Fine. The upper districts are confused. Records went missing. Routes broke. People are looking for someone to blame."
His eyes returned to Kael. "Some people think it was you."
Kael felt the weight shift again.
Just a little.
"And," Kael said, "what do you think."
The man smiled wider. "I think you're dangerous. And I think dangerous people need options."
The second man finally spoke. "There are others like Soren," he said. "Not just brokers. Clerks. Fixers. Quiet men holding ugly little pieces of the city together."
The lantern bearer raised it slightly. "You could keep burning them."
Kael studied them.
This was how it started. Not with thrones or crowns, but with whispers. With people who saw advantage in chaos.
"What do you want," Kael asked.
"A demonstration," the man said. "Something small. Something public enough to send a message."
Kael shook his head. "I don't work for free."
The lantern bearer laughed softly. "No. You work for leverage."
He reached into his cloak and produced a folded scrap of parchment, placing it carefully on the threshold.
"A name," he said. "An address. Someone who should not be there anymore."
Ryn tensed. "This is a trap."
"Everything is," the man replied easily. "That's the point."
Kael looked down at the parchment.
The presence pulsed.
Not hunger.
Recognition.
He picked it up.
"I'll decide," Kael said.
The two men stepped back.
"We'll listen," the lantern bearer replied. "Everyone is listening now."
They disappeared into the dark.
Kael closed the door slowly and turned.
Ryn stared at the parchment in his hand. "You're attracting vultures."
Kael nodded. "Good."
Boros frowned. "That doesn't sound good."
"It is," Kael said quietly. "They circle because something died."
He unfolded the parchment.
A name he did not recognize.
An address in the mid districts.
Above the underfolk. Below the nobles.
A place where lines crossed.
Kael felt the weight settle again, heavier than before.
He had burned something rotten.
Now the city was offering him tinder.