Fifteen wasn’t a bad force for a village the size of Stonebridge. Not an army, but a solid enough number to put up a fight. With Elara and Del included, they made seventeen.

And, of course, there was their secret weapon.

Misty padded at Del’s feet, tail high, golden eyes gleaming in the dimming light. She was well aware of her value—more than just a pet, more than just a cat. She was a presence, a force in her own right.

"Just you be careful, girl," Del murmured, frowning down at her.

She gave a small huff in response, her whiskers twitching as if to say, Don’t be ridiculous.

Of the group, Del only knew Merl, Jake, and Paolo well. The others were faces he’d seen in passing while mixing errands with the investigation. Most were simple men—rough-handed, hardened by labour, but not warriors. Farmers, smiths, hunters—men who could handle themselves in a scrap but weren’t trained soldiers. They wore a patchwork of well-worn leather and mismatched steel—breastplates that didn’t quite fit, vambraces that looked borrowed from a neighbour, the occasional glint of chainmail on those lucky enough to own it.

Two carried bows, the rest wielded a mix of swords, axes, and hunting knives, even a couple of farmers' tools—whatever they had at hand. Merl, as always, stood out. His weapon of choice was a hammer the size of a small tree trunk, and he swung it in lazy arcs, testing the weight before resting it across one broad shoulder. Catching Del’s gaze, he grinned, then strode forward to take point with Paolo.

They moved out.

Del sent Misty ahead, as was their usual pattern, while one of the archers—Lars, if he recalled correctly—melted into the trees. A hunter, one of the best in the village, or so Del had heard. He should make for a good scout, used to moving unseen through undergrowth.

The rest of them fell into line, advancing in pairs down the narrow path, the march slower than Del would have liked but necessary. They weren’t exactly quiet, but they weren’t a herd of stampeding oxen either—just an odd shuffle here, the clink of metal there, the occasional cough or muttered curse as someone caught their foot on an unseen root.

The journey stretched on, the sky above darkening into a deep, bruised blue. Naomi had covered this distance in mere minutes in her astral form, but in the flesh, burdened by gear and caution, it took them the better part of an hour.

Then, the nudge.

A familiar presence brushed against Del’s mind, a warm, steady pulse of intent.

‘Rock hole now.’

Misty.

Del gave Paolo a quick tap on the shoulder and murmured low, “Misty says we’re close. Quarry’s just ahead.”

Paolo gave a sharp nod, raising a hand to call a halt. The group obeyed instantly, adjusting grips, tightening straps, shifting weight. Even the air seemed to still.

"I'm going forward to take a look," Del whispered. "Lars should be up ahead as well—I'll find a vantage point, see what we're dealing with."

Paolo didn’t argue, merely pressed his lips into a grim line and gestured for him to move.

Elara fell in step behind Del as he eased forward. He felt her presence—a steady warmth at his back, a quiet reassurance. When he glanced back, she met his gaze, the flicker of concern in her eyes masked by determination.

Del gave her a small nod. She returned it.

Then they slipped ahead.

The trees thinned abruptly, giving way to the edge of the quarry. What had once been a thriving excavation site was now little more than a scar in the earth, a vast, gaping wound of stone and shadow. The pit yawned before them, cut deep into the hillside, its walls sheer and treacherous. The ground dropped away in jagged layers, a fifty-foot descent to a floor strewn with gravel, broken stone, and the abandoned remnants of past labour.

Del exhaled through his nose. The whole place felt wrong.

Not empty—waiting.

Movement caught his eye.

Lars perched high in a tree to the left, barely more than a shadow against the branches, bow in hand, eyes locked on the quarry floor. He didn’t acknowledge Del, didn’t need to—his focus was absolute.

Del edged closer to the pit’s lip, careful not to dislodge loose rock. The view was worse than he’d hoped.

The walls were near-vertical, dropping away in sheer cliffs, with only a few scattered ledges jutting out at irregular intervals. The quarry had likely once had wooden ladders connecting them, allowing workers to descend in stages, but those were long gone. The only way down now was by climbing—a slow, dangerous descent with no cover and a whole lot of exposed ground.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

At the far end of the pit, partially obscured by shadows, lay the cave mouth. The same entrance Naomi had described. A jagged wound at the base of the rock face, dark and unwelcoming. Their way in.

Del muttered a curse under his breath.

“That,” he said quietly to Elara, “is going to be a total bitch to climb down.”

She didn’t argue.

“We need rope,” he continued. “I have some, but not enough. Head back, see if Paolo and the others packed any.”

Elara hesitated only a moment before nodding.

“On my way.”

Then she was gone, melting into the trees with the same silent efficiency that always managed to surprise him.

Del stayed where he was, watching, listening.

Below, the quarry floor remained still.

Too still.

His gut twisted with unease. Something’s down there. Maybe just the taken villagers. Maybe something else entirely.

Del inhaled slow and deep, steadying himself.

They weren’t just fighting men tonight.

Magic was at play.

And he still had no idea how the fuck they were supposed to fight it.

His gaze swept the quarry floor once more, scanning for movement, anything out of place. And then—he felt it. A weight. A presence.

Watching.

His eyes flicked left, catching movement by a weathered boulder near the cave mouth. Golden eyes gleamed back at him, unblinking. Misty.

Del stiffened. His mind tripped over itself, scrambling for an answer, but there wasn’t one. He hadn’t seen her climb down. No one had. And yet there she was, perfectly at ease, tucked into shadow, watching the cave with an intensity that sent a ripple of unease down his spine.

‘How the hell did she get down there?’

Stupid question. Trying to figure out how she did half the things she did was an exercise in futility. The damn cat moved like shadow and air—where she wanted, when she wanted.

Still, the sight of her so far ahead sent a ripple of unease through him.

Del forced himself to refocus, scanning the area with renewed scrutiny. The pit looked undisturbed—nothing but an abandoned quarry, nature slowly reclaiming its hold. The stone walls bore old scars from pickaxes, weeds clawed through cracks in the gravel, and the faint scent of damp rock lingered in the cooling air. If there was a threat here, it was doing a damn good job of hiding.

Turning from the ledge, he pulled his rope from his pack, securing one end around a sturdy tree trunk. The knots came automatically, muscle memory from another lifetime kicking in.

‘Bloody rope climbing,’ he groused, gritting his teeth as he worked. ‘Last time I did this was in school gym class… I was shit at it then, and I’ll probably fall and break my damned neck now.’

The thought didn’t improve his mood.

He was just finishing when movement caught his eye. Elara was returning, Paolo and the rest of the group on her heels.

Muted whispers rippled through the men as they peered over the edge, assessing the descent. The mix of expressions was telling—some brimming with quiet bravado, others tight with nerves. No one relished the idea of dangling from a rope with only jagged rock beneath them.

Then, Merl strode forward, took one look at Del’s rope, and let out a slow, theatrical sigh.

The big man shook his head in dismay, then wordlessly dropped his pack, reached inside, and pulled out—

Del blinked. Stared. Then laughed. A short, incredulous breath of sound.

A bloody ladder.

Right then, in that moment, he could have kissed the bastard.

“Merl,” he said, voice thick with gratitude. “You beautiful, magnificent bastard.”

Merl chuckled, already securing the ladder to the tree.

“You told us it was a quarry,” he said with a smirk, looping thick knots with practiced ease. “What the bloody hell did you think I’d bring? Sandwiches?”

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the ladder tumbling down the rock face.

The wooden rungs clattered against stone, the noise sharp in the still air.

Across the quarry, Misty’s head snapped up at the sound. Her ears twitched, her back arched in a languid stretch. Then, with the same unsettling patience, she settled again, her gaze never straying from the cave mouth.

That wasn’t normal.

Del didn’t like it.

“Alright,” Paolo said quietly. “Let’s get down there.”

One by one, they descended.

The ladder creaked ominously under shifting weight, but it held firm, thick rope taut against the tree. Del went down last, every muscle coiled with tension, waiting for the moment something—anything—lurched from the dark below.

Nothing did.

At the bottom, the group gathered in a tight huddle, boots crunching softly against gravel. Above, Lars remained in his tree, bow in hand, scanning the quarry from his vantage point.

Del took a steadying breath.

“Alright,” he murmured, his voice carrying just enough to be heard. “We don’t know exactly what to expect inside, but Naomi described a tunnel leading to a cavern. A few hours ago, Vita and Emily were near a fire pit.”

Silence stretched, the weight of those words settling over them.

He met their gazes, making sure each man was listening.

“We don’t know how many people are inside, if this bastard is working alone, or what tricks he has up his sleeve. The only things we do know are that he wears a black cloak and uses Listwort.”

Jake let out a low exhale. “Not exactly a lot to go on.”

“No,” Paolo agreed, voice steely, “but those are our people in there, and we are here to get them back.”

No argument.

Del nodded and crouched beside Misty, brushing a hand over her sleek fur.

‘Can you hear or smell anything?’

She was silent for a moment, her whiskers twitching. Then, a slow pulse of thought rippled back to him.

‘Smoke. People. Strange sleep thing. No noise.’

The villagers were still there. The Listwort was still in the air. But beyond that—nothing.

The cave mouth loomed ahead, dark and gaping.

And the quarry was silent.

Not just quiet—wrongly quiet.

No distant skitter of loose rock. No murmur of shifting bodies from inside. No rustling breeze through the brush. The kind of silence that didn’t feel natural. The kind that pressed against the eardrums, stretching too tight.

Del’s gut twisted.

He relayed Misty’s message to the group. “They’re still in there. The Listwort’s strong, and there’s smoke, but no movement. No voices.”

No guards? No sounds of shifting, murmuring captives? That wasn’t right.

His skin prickled.

He turned to Misty.

‘Stay safe, girl. No risks, you hear me?’

A faint huff of indignation brushed his mind.

Del huffed right back. Too bloody brave for her own good.

Still, as she slunk toward the cave, disappearing like a wisp of shadow into the black, he couldn’t help but watch with a strange, quiet awe.

For all their weapons, for all their numbers—he couldn’t help feeling she was the most dangerous thing moving toward that cave.