Ulthar was not taking it well.

  Which was, honestly, a little alarming, because Ulthar took most things suspiciously well. Fire? Exciting. Blows to the head? A valuable learning experience. The time he got launched forty feet by an experimental trebuchet? Would do again.

  But now? Now, he was standing in front of me, arms crossed, jaw clenched, and not saying a word. And for Ulthar, silence was the surest sign of danger.

  I cleared my throat. “So. No news?”

  Ulthar exhaled through his nose. Not quite a growl, but close.

  “Gorthor does not disappear,” he said.

  Which, on the surface, was an objectively true statement. Gorthor did not disappear. Gorthor stood. Gorthor endured. Gorthor was a mountain of an orc who could stop a charging beast with the sheer force of his disappointed stare.

  And yet, Gorthor was gone.

  I nodded. “Yeah, that’s been my general experience too.”

  Ulthar turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Then where is he?”

  And there it was. The question I had been avoiding. Because I didn’t know the answer, and I was really getting sick of not knowing things.

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t know. But I need you to find out.”

  Ulthar straightened slightly. His usual posture was that of a man eternally prepared to charge headfirst into his problems. But now, for the first time, I saw something different. The tension in his shoulders wasn’t the reckless energy of a warrior itching for battle. It was purpose.

  “You knew him,” I continued. “Better than anyone. If anyone can figure out where he went, or why—” I met his gaze. “It’s you.”

  Something in his stance shifted. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was there. The way his hands flexed. The way his breathing steadied. The way something clicked into place.

  For a long moment, he said nothing.

  Then, finally, he gave a slow, deliberate nod.

  “I will find him.”

  Not try. Not maybe.

  I clapped a hand on Ulthar’s shoulder, feeling the solid weight of him beneath my palm.

  “I know you will.”

  Ulthar might have been a bit dim—in the way a particularly stubborn mountain was dim—but he wasn’t a coward. And he wasn’t weak. More importantly, he wasn’t alone anymore. Gorthor had seen to that. Under his guidance, Ulthar had become something more than just another big, angry orc with a strong right hook. He had learned. Not just how to fight, but how to listen, how to lead, how to be more.

  And now, with Gorthor gone… I saw something I hadn’t before.

  Determination.

  Not rage. Not despair. But the kind of quiet, focused resolve that could carve itself into stone and stay there for centuries.

  He would not fail.

  I nodded once. “Go get Krix. I need to talk to him.”

  Ulthar hesitated—just for a fraction of a second, like he was reluctant to turn his back while there were still questions unanswered. Then he grunted and stomped off, his steps heavy with purpose.

  I let out a slow breath.

  That had gone… well?

  Maybe?

  I was still getting used to this whole leadership thing. It had started with necessity, then survival, then—somewhere along the way—people had actually started trusting me. And now, every decision felt like it carried weight. Like it mattered.

  Which was both gratifying and, frankly, terrifying.

  I turned back to Grib, who had been standing beside me the whole time, watching the exchange with the quiet interest of a goblin who was 70% invested in the conversation and 30% waiting to see if there would be snacks.

  “So,” I muttered, rubbing my temple, “how much of that did you actually understand?”

  Grib’s ears twitched thoughtfully. “Gorthor missing. Ulthar go find.”

  I nodded. “That’s the short version, yeah.”

  Grib tilted his head. “And boss put Krix in charge?”

  I let out a breath. “Yeah. For now.”

  Grib’s grin widened. “Ooooh. Krix be so mad.”

  I snorted. “Yeah. I imagine he will.”

  Speak of the tiny, scaley devil—Krix arrived a few moments later, his tail flicking, his slitted golden eyes already narrowed in suspicion.

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  “You summoned,” he said, deadpan.

  I folded my arms. “Yeah. Because I have the unfortunate responsibility of making sure everything doesn’t collapse into total disaster while I’m gone.”

  Krix squinted. “Gone where?”

  “To meet the Chamberlain.”

  Krix’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his posture tightened—subtle, but there. His tail twitched once.

  “And I,” I continued, “am leaving you in charge.”

  Krix blinked. Once. Twice. His tail lashed. “…Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  A pause. Then: “...Why.”

  “Because if adventurers come, I don’t want them dead. I just want them gone. And you’re the only one sneaky and resourceful enough to make sure that happens.”

  His eyes narrowed further, studying me like I was trying to sell him a broken sword. “…You serious?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Krix crossed his arms, tail flicking in quick, irritable beats. “You really think Krix handle this?”

  “I know you can. I also know you’ll complain about it the entire time.”

  Grib snickered.

  Krix let out a slow, drawn-out hiss, which I took as acceptance.

  “Look,” I said, lowering my voice just a fraction. “You won’t be handling it alone. I already spoke with Isen.”

  That got a reaction. Krix’s head snapped up, his pupils narrowing. “The elf?”

  “The elf.”

  His tail flicked, thoughtful. “…You trust him?”

  I hesitated for half a beat. “I’m not sure. But we need food, and Rugar’s been eyeing kobolds like they’re snacks. You and Isen are the best chance we’ve got.”

  Krix exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Hmph.”

  “It’s simple,” I said, rubbing my temples. “Keep the floors in order. Chase off adventurers. Don’t start a war. Make sure no one starves.”

  “I have so many better things to do,” he muttered.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “…No, I don’t.” Another sigh. Then: “Fine. But if goes badly, Krix tell you ‘told you so.’”

  “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  Beside me, Grib bounced on the balls of his feet. “Boss taking Grib on adventure?!”

  “Yes.”

  “Will there be shinies?”

  “Probably.”

  Grib vibrated with uncontainable joy. “Grib so ready.”

  Of course he was. I could probably throw him into a dragon’s mouth, and he’d just call it an opportunity.

  Behind us, Krix huffed and crossed his arms again. “Good luck, boss. Don’t let stupid goblin die.”

  Grib beamed, then paused—expression shifting. Carefully, he reached up to his shoulder, plucked the little blue slime from its perch, and held it out to Krix.

  “Here,” Grib said softly. “Take care of slime.”

  Krix blinked, caught off guard. His gaze flicked between Grib’s face and the quivering blob in his hands. Slowly—reluctantly—he reached out and took it. The slime burbled in what I could only assume was mild protest before settling into his grasp.

  Grib grinned. “Slime like head pats.”

  Krix stared at him. “…Why me.”

  “Because Krix grumpy but not bad,” Grib said with absolute sincerity. “Slime need friend.”

  Krix muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “I hate this dungeon,” but he didn’t give the slime back.

  Grib gave him a thumbs-up, then turned to wave at the others gathering nearby. “Goodbye, Krix! Goodbye, Slime!”

  The slime jiggled.

  Krix did not wave back.

  Smart man.

  I clapped Grib on the shoulder before he could get too sentimental. “Alright, let’s go before Krix changes his mind.”

  Grib cackled and scampered after me, still waving enthusiastically over his shoulder like he was leaving for summer camp.

  Krix sighed, adjusted the slime in his arms, and muttered, “Why me” again—quieter this time, like if he said it softly enough, the universe might finally cut him a break.

  From experience, It probably wouldn’t. But it’s nice to dream.

  *****

  *****

  The stairs started rough. Same stone as the sepulcher above—uneven, grudging underfoot, the kind of surface that made it very clear you weren’t welcome.

  Then the stone changed.

  No warning. No seams. Just different.

  I stopped mid-step.

  “…Huh.”

  Grib, already a few paces ahead, turned and tilted his head like I was the one behaving strangely. “Boss? Why stop? We go?”

  I didn’t answer. Just stared.

  The floor beneath me had shifted to marble. Badly aged, half-polished, cracked through in the way skin wrinkles before it splits. One more layer of decay trying to look elegant. The walls too: wooden paneling, dark and glossy in places, faded and warped in others. Expensive once. Now trying too hard to remember how.

  The torchlight didn’t help. It flickered soft and golden, painting long streaks across the floor like it was reluctant to touch anything. The sconces were wrought iron, twisted into shapes that may have once been vines or serpents or something else that had teeth.

  Grib looked around and grinned. “Ooooh. Fancy.”

  Fancy wasn’t the word I’d use. Fancy was for places that tried to impress you. This wasn’t trying. This was just waiting.

  The air felt heavier. Not musty. Used. Like whatever lived here had been breathing for too long without letting anything new in.

  Before us, a corridor stretched out. Wrong in the way dreams are wrong. Long. Narrow. Lined with what might once have been murals. Now, just ghosts of brushstrokes. A feast here, half-gone. A figure there, smiling into empty space. A story abandoned halfway through the telling.

  I had never looked down here before. Not because I wasn’t curious, but because curiosity gets you killed. And because some doors don’t just open. They remember when you knock.

  But now, standing at the edge, I realized something worse.

  This place had been waiting for me.

  Grib wandered a few steps forward, ears twitching. “Boss. Look.”

  I did.

  And the walls moved.

  Not dramatically. Nothing lurched. Just a shimmer, like heat rising off stone. Or memory coming back too fast.

  Figures slipped through the ripple. Tall. Elegant. Dancing.

  They moved through the wood itself in a kind of silent waltz, half-seen and half-forgotten. Gowns twirling, coats sweeping the air, faces smeared at the edges like they’d been painted with too much water and not enough care.

  Then one turned to look at me.

  I froze. I’d never seen a ghost before. Not in person. Not in motion.

  A suited figure, tall and eyeless, stepped through the wall and walked straight through Grib.

  He shivered. Blinked. Then shrugged, unbothered.

  I tightened my grip on my staff.

  They didn’t attack. Didn’t acknowledge us. Just moved. Like we weren’t here. Or didn’t matter.

  And then Lilith appeared.

  Just past the candlelight. Shadows curled around her like pets. She smiled, faint and polished, and stepped forward, all grace and quiet teeth.

  “Welcome to the Fifth Floor,” she said with a low bow. “I see you’re making yourself comfortable.”

  Grib waved cheerfully. “Lady vampire!”

  Lilith’s smile widened.

  I sighed.

  This was going to be a long night.