"I ran."

  "Elaborate."

  "Was sniffing around for divination traces when I felt a weird mana surge—next thing I knew, I’d practically tripped over a bunch of hooded Elves."

  Lysska arched a brow. "Interesting. So… Elves were behind whatever went down in Veilwoods."

  Hoh. Those creepy woods actually had a name?

  "Veilwoods?"

  Lysska gave me a flat look. "Did Vyra not warn you before you wandered in there?"

  I frowned, glancing at Vyra. The aforementioned gremlin suddenly found the ceiling's cobweb rafters fascinating, fingers braiding her raven hair into guilty plaits.

  "Warned me about what?"

  Lysska pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is exactly why I don’t trust her with responsibilities. The forest, genius. She was supposed to warn you about that."

  "I… might need you to be a little more specific."

  Lysska exhaled sharply. "Lower district folks know this like they know their own names, but somehow, I’m not shocked that a middle-district brat like you is clueless. So let me spell it out—do not, and I repeat, do not go near that forest. Especially not alone. That copse isn't some overgrown park—it's Varkaigrad's rotten tooth. There’s a reason it’s been abandoned for centuries and yet still sits untouched within city walls. The iron palisade isn't civic decoration."

  A creeping dread curled in my gut. I had literally performed a ritual in there and flung open the gates to the abyss.

  Still. "And that reason is…? Vyra only mentioned it was abandoned inside the city walls. I noticed the eerie lack of people, sure, but why haven’t I ever heard of Veilwoods before?"

  Lysska shook her head. "You live in a city of millions. Veilwoods is just a local ghost story—a small grove compared to the sprawl of Varkaigrad. Especially now, since the mist hasn’t rolled out of it in nearly a decade. But even now, mothers in the lower district still whisper to their kids: Sleep, or the Veilwoods fog will come and take you away."

  I didn’t like where this was going.

  "This little patch of trees goes back before Varkaigrad even existed," Lysska continued. "Back when sects ruled the wilds of Fenrath. The ancestors blessed the land, and that grove was a place where the Parda—the fabric of reality—ran thin. It sprouted all kinds of strange, twisted flora.

  "But when the clans united to build this fortress-city, they ran into a problem. The old walls were small, but as Varkaigrad grew, its engineers hit an obstacle—the sacred grove lay right in the path of the Eastern Wall. No one dared cut it down. Fear of ancestor’s wrath kept it untouched, so the city simply built around it."

  "Doesn’t exactly scream death trap to me," I muttered.

  Lysska’s smile was humorless. "Ah, but things change. Once, a ruling faction decided they didn’t care about curses and tried to clear the forest. The stories say that when loggers stepped into Veilwoods, they triggered something. The trees bled black sap. Tools rusted to dust overnight. Workers disappeared into the mist. One by one, their entire sect followed.

  "After that, no one dared touch it. It became an urban legend—when the Veilwoods fog rolls in, you stay out. Because once you step inside? You never step back out."

  A cold shudder ran down my spine. "If the Parda is weak there, that sure as hell sounds like a gateway to one of the Seven Realms."

  Lysska sighed. "Would love to give you a clear answer, but I don’t have one."

  Alice chimed in immediately. She was telling the truth.

  "Over the centuries, rogue alchemists, treasure hunters, even Council-sanctioned teams tried to uncover what exactly had been triggered in that forest. Every single attempt failed—one way or another. And that was without the abducting mist being present.

  "Enchanted weapons warped or malfunctioned, sometimes fusing with the vines, sometimes turning into feral creatures entirely. It was like the whole place functioned like a dungeon. And then there was the ecosystem—trees sprouting in hours, wildlife mutating overnight. While it’s been relatively dormant lately, no one dares to go poking around in there. Fear of the unknown is a powerful deterrent."

  "So, technically, it’s safe to enter right now," Lysska said, her gaze cutting toward Vyra.

  Vyra flinched.

  "A few warnings about things to watch out for would have been precious," Lysska finished dryly.

  The whole account left a gnawing unease in my gut. Enchantments twisting into horrors. A mist that abducts people. A place where reality itself is thin.

  Oh, Thalador. And I just opened a gate to the abyss there.

  What if I triggered something new?

  I hated unpredictable places like this. But what was done, was done. No changing that now. I’d need to tell Lotte about this—maybe she’d be able to shed some light on it. I still suspected she was one of the ancestors the people of Vraal’Kor worshipped.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  For now, I reassured Lysska. "I didn’t pick up on anything unusual while I was in there. No extra clues from Greg’s remains either."

  She nodded. "Alright."

  "But—though it’s unrelated—remember the night you took me to Gilded Fang? The underground black market?"

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah? What about it?"

  "Something happened on my way back to the Alchemy Tower."

  I went on to describe the strange Drakkari woman—how she had been limping, how I’d fallen for the weird mind charm she had active. Then I laid out my suspicions: that she might’ve been that Elf in disguise, the one who got attacked in Gilded Fang.

  Lysska listened intently, brows furrowing as she jotted down notes.

  "Give me a quick description."

  "Six feet even. Limp favoring the left, but the ankle bruise displayed textbook counter-pressure mottling. Obsidian scales polished to mirror sheen—aristocratic vanity. And her pheromone cocktail..." My tongue clicked. "Overcompensating bergamot top notes masking... fermented marrowroot. A Zolvathi interrogation perfume."

  Vyra choked. "You memorized her scent profile?"

  Well, with my Intelligence stat as high as it was, recalling every detail from our encounter was effortless. So I just smirked at her.

  "Wasn’t sure what she was up to," I admitted. "She seemed dangerous, so I didn’t follow her. Planned to tell you the next day, but you weren’t around. And, well… I didn’t tell Quickpaw for obvious reasons."

  "You did good." Lysska’s smirk was sharp. "This might be what we need to catch that bastard. And considering you haven’t officially joined the gang yet, you’re already proving more useful than half the idiots I deal with."

  She flicked a glance at Vyra, who pouted.

  "I think she’s just getting lucky," Vyra grumbled. "First the Elf disguised as some drop-dead gorgeous Drakkari woman, then those guys at Greg’s house, then the forest incident…" She trailed off, frowning. "Wait. That all happened in two days?"

  She huffed. "I just wish my life was half as interesting as hers."

  Oh, you really wouldn’t.

  Alice was right. I was attracting chaos at an alarming rate. Even my luck had a streak of dragging me into the most insane situations.

  I just shook my head. Lysska’s gaze had gone unfocused—probably peering through her crows right now.

  "So," I exhaled, "what now?"

  "Leave the next part to me," Lysska said, her pupils flickering at a breakneck pace as she scanned through her crows. "I'll see if I can track down any trace of that Elf. In the meantime, we move out tomorrow. With Iron gone, his gang is as good as dead. We raid their base at night."

  Her focus snapped back to me. "You're still not an official member, but that’s your call. You passed the test. Join whenever you want. But even if you don’t, you're welcome to join the attack. After all, I’m certain there’s some information you’d love to wring out of Thibault. Should you choose to dance with jackals, your truth-serums would prove... instrumental."

  Her lips curled into a knowing smile. "Black Market stock can't match Alchemy Tower-grade veridicum."

  I frowned, keeping my expression neutral, but inside, I was grinning.

  This was exactly what I wanted.

  A chance to take down Iron’s remnants. Last time, I had been alone. But now? Now, I had the backing of a ruthless, well-known gang. More than that, I’d get valuable intel for Gwen and finally track down any trace of that Thing.

  The stars had aligned.

  But I kept my voice even. "What time tomorrow?"

  "Nightfall. We hit them hard."

  "I’ll let you know. My situation at the Alchemy Tower is… complicated."

  "Take your time."

  Finally, some of the chaos was beginning to make sense. But I had more to prepare for. Viera’s birthday was the day after tomorrow—I’d need to account for that, too.

  "What about those missing children?" I asked. "Did you find them?"

  Lysska’s expression darkened. "No. I had eyes in the sewers, though—that’s how I knew Brana was down there. She lost consciousness. Had to step in and save her."

  That was unexpected.

  "At least now I know the Elven cultists are involved. But I couldn’t track them any further. And as much as I’d love to keep searching, the sewers are crawling with Iron Pact Enforcers right now. We’ll have to wait and see if they dig up anything useful."

  Huh. If Iron Pact was going after the cultists, then at least something was working in my favor.

  Lysska finished up her notes, and I took my leave. Tomorrow’s raid needed preparation. And then there was Viera birthday.

  Outside, I glanced up at the moon, its light still tinged with those strange rainbow hues in my vision.

  I still had time.

  In a puddle beside me, a grinning badger’s face flickered for a split second before vanishing.

  Belle was still watching.

  I looked up toward the Upper District.

  I knew where Viera lived. I had never been there myself—mainly because of the thing lurking there. That grotesque, clown-like creature, the one stalking the shadows of the district.

  Sneaking in through the shadow dimension would be dangerous.

  But now?

  Now, I had a reason.

  And I didn’t need sleep anyway.

  A quick discussion with Alice sealed the decision.

  "Maybe it’s a good idea, Mistress. Even if we can’t act right away, it’ll help us set expectations for that day. Divination is useful for predicting danger, but unreliable at best. Exploring firsthand might be the better option."

  And just like that, the plan was set.

  Viera lived somewhere near Talon Row—one of the most expensive streets in the Upper District, famous for its luxury shops. I clapped my hands together.

  Finally, some sneaking around.

  And this time, I wasn’t alone. Alice and Belle were with me. That only made it more exciting.

  I made my way toward the main market in the Warren, planning to hitch a ride back to the Alchemy Tower before heading out to the Upper District on my own.

  That’s when my air-sense twanged.

  A blur. A whisper of compressed air.

  Instincts screamed. I pivoted, muscles coiling—

  Too slow.

  White-hot venom bloomed in my shoulder. My claws unsheathed on reflex, gouging furrows in the cobbles as I scanned the rooftops. A crossbow bolt quivered in my flesh—not barbed, but hollow. An injector.

  What the fuck?

  "Are you alright, Mistress?!" Alice’s alarm rang in my mind.

  I groaned, yanking the bolt out. "I’m fine."

  My Macro-Trophic Sac flooded my veins with icy clarity, neutralizing the cocktail. No tremors. No weakness. Just the metallic aftertaste of thwarted ambush.

  My gaze snapped around. The street was nearly empty at this hour. My mask still covered my face.

  Who the fuck just shot me?

  Shifting lenses clicked into place, enhancing my vision. There—on a rooftop behind me. A shadow. But the moment I locked onto it, it vanished.

  I crushed the bolt. Viscous fluid oozed between my fingers: iridescent, reeking of fermented duskbloom. Not lethal. Restraining.

  Ah.

  The puzzle pieces clicked.

  This wasn’t a poison.

  It was a suppressant. A paralytic.

  This wasn’t assassination.

  It was an invitation.

  A grin slit my face—the expression of a trapdoor spider sensing vibrations. Collapsing theatrically, I clutched my temple and wheezed. Come closer. Let’s negotiate.

  Three heartbeats slithered into my air-sense radius. Boots, muffled against cobblestone.

  In a nearby puddle, Belle’s reflection rippled, her maid’s cap askew over badger fangs. Squee! ‘Filth!’

  "Don’t reveal yourself. I can handle these losers," I whispered, eyes wide, limbs slack.

  My tongue ran over the edge of a molar—where my own special paralytic was hidden.

  An alchemist dragon was far more dangerous than a normal one.

  Finally.

  Something worth dissecting.

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