Page 41 of The First Scar
"This way. Try to keep up."
I trailed behind him, Serenya at my side. The stronghold's corridors twisted and branched like the roots of some massive, buried thing—stone worn smooth by decades of rebel feet, torches guttering in brackets that looked older than the realm itself.
"So." Brannick glanced back over his shoulder. "Sleep well?"
"Like the dead," I said flatly. "Which I nearly was. Thanks for asking."
"Funny. Maxx said you looked peaceful. Almost sweet, even."
I was going to kill that bastard. Slowly. With the dullest knife I could find.
Brannick's almost-smile stretched into a full grin. "Relax, little flame. He's like that with everyone. It's his love language."
"His love language is a death wish."
"Yeah." Brannick laughed—a warm, genuine sound that bounced off the stone. "That's about right."
We rounded a final corner, and the corridor opened into a wider chamber. Kaelen stood at the same rough-hewn table from before, maps spread under his hands, his eyes lifting to meet mine as we entered.
The decor never changed—maps and candles and the same grim faces you'd find in every rebel hole from here to the coast. You'd think someone would at least bring a chair with a cushion.
Maxx was already there. Sprawled in a chair with his boots propped on the table's edge, tossing a knife and catching it without looking. He winked when I entered. I ignored him.
Brannick stood beside a female I didn't recognize—sharp-featured, with a thick scarf that covered her neck despite the warmth of the cavern. A crossbow hung at her hip like an extension of her arm. Beside her, a barrel-chested male adjusted her harness strap, fingers brushing her shoulder in a touch so casual it had to be habit. The female—Ryla, I'd learn later—didn't acknowledge him. Didn't need to. They moved like two halves of the same breath. Must be nice. Having someone who knew where your straps needed tightening without being told.
Kaelen waited at the head of the table, pale eyes tracking my entrance.
"Good. You're here." He didn't wait for pleasantries. His hand dipped into his coat and emerged holding a small, dark amulet—smooth stone, river-worn, threaded on a leather cord. "Put this on."
I didn't move. "What is it?"
"A dampener. For your Unravel." He set it on the table between us and waited. "Too many here prefer their secrets unexamined. Your truth-sense makes them... twitchy."
My mouth pressed thin. The Unravel was the only thing that had kept me alive in a city built on lies. And he wanted me to muffle it. Walk into a mission half-blind because his rebels couldn't stomach being seen.
But Velish's face flashed behind my eyes. The crack of her body hitting the ground.
I took the amulet. The stone sat cool and heavy in my palm, a collar disguised as a bargaining chip.
Kaelen turned to the map, finger tracing a jagged line along the city's edge.
"The Ruined-City. There's a watchtower on the eastern wall, abandoned since the last Veil surge. Inside is a glyph-key—one of two we need to reach the Codex vault." His eyes lifted to mine. "This is your first task. Retrieve it."
"Retrieve it forwhatpurpose.”
Kaelen didn't bristle at my tone. He just looked at me the way one might regard a child who'd interrupted an important conversation—with patience that somehow felt more condescending than anger.
"The Codex," he said, "is a living ledger and is how the Crown knows who to cage."
He let that land before continuing, his voice unhurried, each word placed with surgical precision.
"Every Shadowmarked soul in the realm is catalogued in its pages. Names. Locations. Families. It updates nightly and automatically, feeding Enforcer patrol writs, dictating which doors get kicked in before dawn." He tapped the map. "The Sortings exist to catch what the Codex misses—hidden marks, forged identities, anyone who slipped through before it could log them."
My stomach clenched. I knew those doors. I'd heard them splinter at four in the morning—wood screaming before the people inside could. I'd watched a mother shove her son through a window while Enforcers read his name off a writ like it was a grocery list. He was nine. She never came back.
The Codex wasn't a book. It was a hook sunk into a thousand backs.
And this smug bastard was telling me we couldrip it out.
