Moonlight bathed the museum’s grand façade in an ethereal glow.

Cool breeze whispered through the night, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea.

Soren shivered, his breath misting in the night. He gave Alaric the nod. “Now.”

As one, they moved from their hiding spot, keeping low and hugging the shadows.

Soren approached the side door they’d identified during their reconnaissance.

His eyes darted about, taking in every detail of their surroundings, the weight of his dagger pushing against his thigh.

Alaric took up position at the corner, his back pressed against the building.

Soren crouched before the door, his fingers already reaching for his tools.

The lockpicks glinted in the moonlight as he selected the ones he needed.

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves.

This was it. All their planning, all their preparation, came down to this moment.

He set to work on the lock.

The tumblers were stubborn, more complex than he’d anticipated.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he worked, his lips moving in a silent mantra. “Steady. Focus. Patience.”

“Sor,” Alaric whispered. “Guards.”

Soren’s hands stilled, his breath catching in his throat.

He glanced up, catching Alaric’s eye. Without a word, they both moved, immersing themselves into the deepest shadows they could find.

Two guards rounded the corner, their lanterns casting bobbing shadows across the ground.

Soren flattened himself against the wall, his body rigid, his breath held. The cool stone pressed against his back, unyielding, as he willed himself to disappear into its shadows.

His heartbeat thundered in his chest, each pulse seeming to echo louder than the guards’ approaching footsteps.

Any moment, he was sure they would hear it, would turn toward him.

A faint itch crept up his throat, sharp and insistent.

The sensation clawed at his focus, growing stronger with every passing second.

Soren clenched his jaw, forcing the urge to cough down, the tension coiling tighter with each shallow breath.

He fought against the sensation with every ounce of willpower.

Tears sprang to his eyes as he held his breath, his lungs burning.

The guards stopped, their voices low, exchanging words Soren couldn’t make out over the relentless pounding in his ears.

His chest tightened, breath locked as black spots flickered at the edges of his vision.

Each second stretched unbearably, the itch in his throat flaring, his body screaming for relief he couldn’t afford.

Finally, the guards moved on, their footsteps fading, their conversation swallowed by the night.

Soren remained still, counting each agonising second before a soft rustle drew his attention.

Alaric’s hand emerged from the shadows, the signal clear. The path was safe—at least for now.

He stumbled out of his hiding place, doubling over as the cough tore its way free. He muffled the sound as best he could in the crook of his arm, every muscle tense as he waited for shouts of alarm, for the guards to come rushing back.

But the night remained still and silent.

A hand gripped Soren’s shoulder, grounding him. “You good?”

Soren nodded, pulling himself upright and swiping at his stinging eyes. “Too close.” His throat still burned from holding back the cough, but he pushed the discomfort aside. “Are we clear?”

Alaric moved away from Soren, looking around. “We’re clear.”

Soren returned to the door.

His hands seemed steadier now, his focus sharpened. He set to work on the lock once more, feeling each tumbler, each mechanism as if it were an extension of himself.

Time seemed to stretch.

Each sound slammed into his ears—the soft scrape of metal on metal, Alaric’s controlled breathing, the distant call of a night bird.

The tumbler clicked.

Soren’s breath caught as he tested the handle.

It turned, the door swinging open on silent hinges.

They were in.

With a nod, they slipped inside, easing the door shut behind them.

Soren stepped into the museum’s grand foyer.

Moonlight streamed through high windows, casting long fingers of silvery light across the marble floor.

The air hung heavy with the scent of old stone and polish.

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As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, shapes began to emerge—a chalice here, a sceptre there.

A suit of armour stood to his left, its empty visor seeming to track his every move.

Soren fought the urge to shrink back, to seek the comfort of the shadows, forcing himself to press on.

He glanced at Alaric.

This was it.

There was no turning back now.

With a slight nod, Soren moved deeper into the museum.

The soft pad of his footsteps resonated in the silence.

He passed through a hall lined with statues, their marble faces impassive in the darkness. Soren couldn’t shake the feeling that these stone eyes were watching him, judging his actions. He quickened his pace, eager to leave their silent scrutiny behind.

As they neared the weapons exhibit, Soren felt his heart rate quicken.

They were close now.

He paused at the entrance to the exhibit, holding up a hand to stop Alaric.

He peered into the room, straining his eyes and ears for any sign of guards.

The dagger was in there.

All they had to do was find it, take it, and get out.

Soren’s breath came in shallow, controlled bursts as he pressed his back against the wall.

Beside him, Alaric’s eyes darted back and forth, scanning the shadows.

As Soren went to move, Alaric’s hand shot out. “Guards.”

Soren nodded.

Alaric tugged Soren’s sleeve. “We need to move.”

But Soren held firm, his eyes narrowing as he assessed their surroundings. “No. We stick to the plan.”

judgment

The ravenglass dagger lay close, its unseen pull gnawing at Soren’s senses.

As they neared the entrance, Soren halted.

Two guards flanked the doorway, their postures relaxed but alert.

He clenched his jaw, gesturing for Alaric to remain still, silent.

Time pressed against him, but facing two armed guards head-on wasn’t an option.

Behind him, Alaric shifted, his boot scuffing a loose tile.

The scrape echoed in the still corridor.

Both guards turned, their eyes locking on the darkness where Soren and Alaric hid.

Soren froze, his breath catching.

He didn’t dare move.

The guards began advancing, boots tapping against the stone floor.

His hand darted into his pocket, fingers fumbling for anything that might help.

Cold metal brushed his skin—a coin.

Without hesitation, he flicked it into a side passage.

The coin struck the floor with a sharp ping, skittering further down the corridor.

The guards paused, their gazes snapping toward the sound.

They exchanged a look before heading off to investigate, their footsteps receding into the distance.

Soren exhaled, the tension in his chest easing as he motioned for Alaric to follow.

The dagger waited, and the path was clear.

“Quick thinking.”

Soren nodded. “Come on, we don’t have much time.”

Soren slipped into the weapons exhibit, his steps light.

The gloom pressed in around him, shadows stretching across walls lined with ancient relics.

At the room’s centre, the ravenglass dagger rested in a glass case, its blade swallowing the faint light, a void that seemed alive.

Two guards lingered nearby, their movements unhurried as they paced the exhibit.

Soren scanned the space, his mind racing through possibilities. Angles, timing, distractions—all calculated in rapid succession.

His gaze flicked to Alaric, then to an adjoining room filled with pottery.

He gave a slight nod.

Alaric returned the signal, slipping away without a sound.

Soren crouched behind a plinth, his breath shallow as he counted the seconds.

The guards maintained their slow patrol, their boots soft against the polished floor.

A sudden crash shattered the silence.

The sharp sound of pottery breaking rang through the museum.

Both guards spun toward the noise, muttering before rushing to investigate the commotion.

Their footsteps receded, leaving the weapons exhibit deserted.

Soren moved, his body flowing through the shadows toward the dagger case.

His fingers closed around his lockpicks, already working the mechanism as he knelt before the display.

The world narrowed to the lock—the faint clicks of tumblers, the tension in the picks, the steady rhythm of his breath.

Nothing else mattered.

The lock fought him at every turn, its mechanism a maze of stubborn pins and hidden traps.

Soren’s hands moved with precision, his focus absolute.

Each tumbler felt like a riddle, demanding careful attention, every motion deliberate.

This wasn’t an ordinary lock. Its aged, intricate design defied his usual techniques, forcing him to adapt on the fly.

Sweat trickled down his temple as the seconds stretched by.

“Hurry,” Alaric whispered from the shadows, his voice low but urgent.

The words jarred Soren, but he didn’t look up. “I’m working. This isn’t some door latch. One mistake, and we’re starting over.”

His fingers trembled, tension seeping into his muscles. He couldn’t rush.

Rushing meant failure.

A shout broke through the stillness, sharp and commanding.

Soren froze for a heartbeat.

Then a shrill whistle cut through the museum, followed by the unmistakable thud of boots and the snarling bark of dogs.

“Soren!” Alaric’s voice rose, panic creeping in. “We need to go. Now!”

Soren swore under his breath, his fingers still on the lock.

He was so close.

Another second. Another turn.

But time was gone.

With a growl, he slapped the case and rose to his feet.

“Run!” Alaric shouted, already retreating.

Soren spun and bolted, the sound of pursuit growing louder behind him.

The museum’s halls flared to life as gas lamps ignited, flooding every corner in harsh light.

The protective cloak of darkness vanished, leaving Soren and Alaric exposed.

Soren’s mind raced as they sprinted through the exhibits.

He’d memorised every corridor, every room, but now, with the sound of boots and snarling dogs closing in, every step felt precarious, each turn a gamble.

Rounding a corner, Soren nearly crashed into a pedestal holding ancient pottery.

Alaric didn’t slow. He snatched a vase mid-stride and hurled it behind them.

The crash echoed, shards scattering across the floor.

“Don’t do that!” Soren snapped. “That’s history!”

Alaric shot him a look. “We’ll be history if they catch us! This way.”

Alaric veered down a side corridor, weaving through the exhibits as the pounding footsteps and growls grew louder.

Display cases offered only brief cover, their glass surfaces reflecting the chaos.

Ahead, Soren spotted the maintenance door.

Freedom was close, but the dogs were gaining.

He pushed harder, legs burning, lungs screaming for air.

Reaching the door, he yanked it open and shoved Alaric through.

A heartbeat later, he followed, slamming the door shut just as their pursuers came into view.

“We keep moving,” Soren said.

The shouts and barks echoed behind them as they sprinted into the night, the city’s streets offering their only hope.

Welttor’s alleys blurred around them as Soren led the way, darting through shadowed passages and slipping between buildings.

Each twist and turn mirrored the lessons drilled into him by Raz.

Still, the dogs persisted, their growls and claws scraping closer.

“No choice. Up.” Soren grabbed a low-hanging drainpipe and pulled himself up, scrambling onto the roof.

Alaric followed.

Soren ran, leaping from rooftop to rooftop.

The tiles, damp with evening dew, threatened his footing, but he pressed on, the sounds of pursuit fading with each leap, the city falling quiet beneath them.

At the end of a row of terraced houses, Soren slowed, his lungs burning, legs trembling.

He dropped to one knee, gulping air.

Alaric collapsed beside him, gasping.

“I think we lost them,” Alaric said.

Soren nodded, his chest heaving too hard for words. His gaze fixed on the horizon, jaw tight.

They’d failed.

The dagger was still locked away, untouchable behind glass.

All their planning, all their preparation, had come to nothing.

“We were so close,” Soren said. “A few more seconds, and—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Alaric cut in, pushing himself upright. “We’re alive. That’s what counts. We can try again.”

But Soren barely heard him.

His thoughts churned, questioning every decision, every misstep.

There had to be a way to make the plan work.

Failure wasn’t an option.

“We’ll need to adjust the timing. A bigger distraction next time. And the dogs—there has to be a way to neutralise them.”

Alaric frowned. “Sor, we barely got out. If something had gone wrong—”

“It didn’t. And it won’t.” Soren’s voice hardened. “We have to try again. We don’t have a choice.”

Alaric stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “You’re too damn stubborn, you know that?”

Soren said nothing, his focus already fixed on the next attempt.

There would be no room for error next time.