The cold night air bit at Soren’s face as he crouched at the edge of the tree line, his eyes fixed on the silhouette of Lord Fischer’s manor.

The guards moved in precise patterns, their routes intersecting at regular intervals.

“We should move now,” Alaric whispered. “There’s a gap in their patrol coming up.”

Soren held up a hand. “Not yet. We need to be sure of their full rotation.”

Alaric huffed, but didn’t argue.

They watched in tense silence as the guards completed another circuit.

Only when Soren was certain of the pattern did he give the signal to move.

Soren crept across the lawn, using every shadow and contour of the land for cover. He led them from one patch of darkness to another, pausing behind a low stone wall as a guard passed nearby.

Alaric grabbed Soren’s arm and pointed. “Look.”

Soren followed his gaze to an open second-storey window.

“That’s our way in.”

“We’re here to scout, not break in tonight.”

“We’ve got the opening now. Let’s go for it.”

Before Soren could protest further, Alaric was scaling the wall.

His fingers found invisible holds in the stonework In seconds, he had reached the window and was slipping inside.

Soren cursed under his breath. He couldn’t leave Alaric alone in there.

He probed the stonework, seeking purchase and found a small ledge, barely wide enough for his toes.

Muscles tensed, he began to climb.

Each movement was slow, deliberate.

Sweat beaded on his brow despite the chill air.

Halfway up, a guard’s voice drifted from around the corner.

Soren froze, clinging to the wall.

Seconds stretched as footsteps approached, then faded.

He resumed his ascent, arms burning with exertion.

The window sill was just out of reach.

He stretched, fingertips grazing the weathered wood.

His hand closed on the sill.

With a silent grunt, he hauled himself up and over, landing softly in a darkened room, heart pounding in his ears.

Alaric’s shadowy form materialized beside him. “We’re in.”

Soren’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, revealing a hallway lined with artwork and furnishings.

“We shouldn’t be in here,” Soren whispered. “We’re not ready for this.”

Alaric grinned. “No one even knows we’re here. Let’s see what we can find.”

Soren eased open the nearest door, wincing at the faint squeak of hinges. Moonlight spilled across fur rugs.

Alaric slipped past him, fingers trailing over silk-upholstered chairs. “Nothing.”

They checked the next room.

And the next.

Soren’s jaw clenched.

Room after room, and still no sign of the ravenglass.

He gestured towards the hallway, ready to move on.

A floorboard groaned beneath Alaric’s foot.

Soren’s breath caught and he pressed himself against the wall, willing the shadows to swallow him whole as Alaric stood rigid.

Seconds crawled by.

Soren strained his ears, certain any moment would bring the thunder of approaching guards. His hand inched towards the dagger at his hip.

The silence stretched on.

When no alarm was raised, Alaric let out a chuckle. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

“Alaric, we need to leave. We’re not prepared for this.”

Alaric turned to face him with a scowl. “We’re already here. We can’t just leave without finding anything. What was the point of coming if we’re not going to take any risks?”

“The point was to scout.” Soren spoke between gritted teeth. “To gather information so we could plan properly. This is reckless.”

“Reckless?”

Soren winced at the volume.

“This is our chance, Soren. The ravenglass could be anywhere in this house. We just need to keep looking.”

Soren opened his mouth to argue further, but a sound from down the hall made them both freeze.

Footsteps, growing closer by the second.

“Hide.” Soren darted towards a nearby door.

He slipped into what appeared to be a study, Alaric closing the door behind them.

Soren’s heart pounded in his skull as he pressed his ear to the wood, listening.

The footsteps passed by, fading down the hall.

Soren let out a shaky breath, turning to face Alaric in the darkness. “Let’s move.”

He slipped out of the study and back into the hallway. He turned to Alaric. “Let’s take this slow.”

But Alaric was moving again, his footsteps growing louder.

Soren inched around the corner.

Moonlight streamed through towering windows, illuminating rows upon rows of bookshelves. Between them, glass cases glinted. “I think we might be in luck.”

Alaric’s elbow caught a small vase perched on a side table.

Time seemed to slow as Soren watched it topple.

The crash of shattering pottery echoed through the house.

Shouting voices and heavy footfalls broke the silence.

“Damn it.” Soren grabbed Alaric’s arm and yanking him towards the door. “Run!”

He burst out of the library, all pretence of stealth abandoned.

His mind raced as he sprinted down unfamiliar corridors, trying to retrace their steps.

But every turn looked the same.

The shouts grew louder, closer.

The metallic rasp of weapons being drawn.

The pounding of boots.

His lungs burned as he pushed himself harder, faster, desperate to find a way out.

He barrelled down a flight of stairs, almost knocking over at statue at the bottom.

Alaric veered to the left. “This way!”

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They burst through a set of double doors and found themselves in what appeared to be a ballroom.

Moonlight streamed through towering windows, illuminating the vast, empty space.

“There!” Soren spotted a small side door on the far wall. “That might lead outside.”

He sprinted across the polished floor, footsteps echoing in the cavernous room.

Just as they reached the door, it burst open, revealing two guards with swords drawn.

Soren dropped low, sweeping the legs out from under the first guard.

As the man crashed to the floor, Soren rolled, coming up behind the second guard.

A swift strike to the back of the head with the hilt of his dagger, and the guard crumpled.

“Move!”

Soren charged into a walled garden, the cool night air a shock after the stuffy interior of the manor.

His lungs burned as he gulped in great breaths, the chill air searing his throat.

Beside him, Alaric panted, his face slick with sweat.

Shouts rang out behind them.

Soren sprinted across manicured lawns, his boots tearing up chunks of grass.

He ploughed through a bed of jasmine, the delicate scent rising up as he trampled the flowers.

Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig underfoot, sent Soren’s heart racing.

He rounded a corner at breakneck speed, colliding with a stone fountain.

Soren’s eyes darted left and right, seeking any sign of pursuit.

“Which way?” Alaric said.

Soren’s mind raced, recalling the plans they’d studied.

But in the darkness, everything looked different.

“This way.” He veered left down a narrow path lined with towering cypress trees.

The shouts behind them grew louder.

Soren caught snatches of shouted orders, the barking of dogs.

His stomach clenched.

He emerged from the cypress-lined path into a rose garden.

Soren’s foot caught on an exposed root, sending him stumbling forward.

He threw out his hands to break his fall, crying out as thorns dug into his palms.

Alaric hauled him back to his feet.

They needed to find the exit, and fast.

But every turn seemed to lead them deeper into the grounds.

A flicker of torchlight to his right sent Soren diving behind a hedge.

He pressed himself flat against the ground, not daring to breathe as heavy footsteps crunched nearby.

“They can’t have gone far,” a gruff voice said. “Spread out and search every inch.”

Soren exchanged a glance with Alaric.

It was only a matter of time before they were discovered.

As the guards moved away, Soren tapped Alaric’s shoulder and pointed to a gap in the hedge.

He crawled through, emerging onto another winding path.

He shot to his feet and ran, no longer caring about stealth.

Speed was their only hope now.

Soren’s legs burned, his lungs heaving.

He rounded another corner and skidded to a halt.

A towering wall, easily fifteen feet high and topped with iron spikes blocked their path.

They were trapped.

“Up and over.” Alaric darted towards the wall. “I’ll boost you, then you pull me up.”

Soren nodded, backing up a few paces to get a running start.

He sprinted towards Alaric, who had braced himself against the wall, hands cupped.

Soren’s foot found Alaric’s hands, and with a heave, he was airborne.

His fingers scrabbled at the top of the wall, seeking purchase on the smooth stone.

Sharp pain lanced through his hand as one of the iron spikes grazed his palm.

With a final burst of strength, he hauled himself up.

Balancing, Soren reached down, extending his hand. “Hurry!”

But before Alaric could take it, a dark figure burst out of the shadows.

The guard tackled Alaric with brutal force, driving him to the ground.

Alaric’s head struck the path with a sickening crack.

Soren leapt from the wall, landing in a crouch beside the struggling pair.

The guard had Alaric pinned, one hand on his throat, the other reaching for a weapon at his belt.

Soren moved in silence, covering the short distance in two quick steps. The hilt of his dagger found the pressure point at the base of the guard’s skull.

The guard went rigid for a moment, then collapsed onto Alaric.

“Move!” Soren shoved the unconscious guard.

Alaric groaned, his eyes unfocused as Soren dragged him to his feet.

“Can you climb?”

Alaric nodded. “I think so.”

Soren went first, pulling himself up with trembling arms. He reached down to help Alaric, who struggled to find handholds.

Alaric’s fingers closed around Soren’s wrist.

“There! By the wall!”

Soren hauled upward as Alaric scrambled for purchase, his feet kicking at empty air as the guards closed in.

With a final heave, Soren managed to pull Alaric up beside him.

They balanced atop the wall, chests heaving.

“No time to climb down,” Soren said. “We jump.”

The ground on the other side was hidden in shadow.

Soren gripped Alaric’s shoulder. “On three. One…two…three!”

He leapt into the darkness.

Soren tucked and rolled as he hit the ground, the impact jarring every bone in his body.

Alaric landed with a muffled cry.

As Soren hauled Alaric to his feet, the first drops of rain began to fall.

“This way!” Soren pulled Alaric towards a dense copse of trees.

The rain lashed against their faces, obscuring their vision, and muffling the shouts of their pursuers.

Soren stumbled through the underbrush, branches whipping at his face.

His mind raced, trying to orient himself.

He burst through a line of bushes and spotted the oak tree they’d used to escape during their previous attempt. “The tree! We can use it to get over the fence!”

He sprinted towards the oak, its gnarled branches stretching over the fence.

But as they approached, Soren’s heart sank. The rain had turned the bark slick, its branches swaying in the wind.

Behind him, the shouts of the guards grew closer. Flickering torchlight pierced the gloom.

“I’ll go first.” Soren gripped a low-hanging branch and pulled himself up, muscles straining as he fought against the slippery bark. Each movement was a struggle, the rain-soaked wood threatening to send him crashing to the ground.

He reached a branch that extended over the fence and inched along it, the wood creaking beneath his weight.

With a final effort, he swung himself over the fence, landing hard on the other side.

“Come on!”

Alaric made it halfway up before his foot slipped on a patch of wet moss.

He lost his grip, sliding down the trunk and hitting the ground.

For a moment, Soren hesitated. Every instinct screamed at him to go back, to help his friend. But the guards were so close now, their torchlight illuminating Alaric’s fallen form.

He cursed under his breath. They needed to get back to the Guild, to regroup and tend to their injuries. But more than that, they needed to figure out their next move.

Fischer would be expecting them now, no thanks to Alaric, and their task had just become infinitely more complicated.

With a groan, Alaric stood. He gripped the lowest branch, hauling himself up.

As the first guard reached the base of the tree, Alaric swung himself over the fence. He landed hard, rolling to absorb the impact, and scrambled to his feet.

They’d taken an enormous risk, and for what?

They were no closer to acquiring the ravenglass, and now they’d lost the element of surprise.

Soren’s fists clenched at his sides. He should have insisted they stick to the original plan, should have been more careful.

“Come on.” Soren glared at Alaric. “We need to keep moving.”

Soren raced along the Kusten Road in the rain, putting as much distance between themselves and Fischer’s manor as possible.

Only when the sounds of pursuit had faded entirely did Soren allow them to slow.

Soren rounded on Alaric. “What in the void were you thinking?” He jabbed Alaric’s chest. “We were here to scout, not break in. Now we’ve blown our chance.”

“We had the opportunity, Sor. I thought we could do it.”

“You weren’t thinking. I told you we needed to plan. But you’re a reckless fool. Now the whole thing is ruined.” He shook his head. “I’d be better off without you.”

Alaric fell silent as tension thrummed between them.

The rain fell in heavy sheets, lashing against Soren’s face as he trudged down the muddy road leading back to Welttor. Each step was a battle, his boots squelching in the mire, threatening to pull him down.

Beside him, Alaric walked in silence, his hood pulled low over his face.

The city’s lights flickered in the distance, barely visible through the storm.

Soren’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

His jaw ached from the tension, teeth grinding together as he recalled the night’s events. Each misstep, each error in judgement, gnawed at him.

He glanced at Alaric, taking in his friend’s rigid posture, the tense set of his shoulders. He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, anything, to bridge the chasm that had opened between them.

But the words wouldn’t come.

What could he say that wouldn’t just make things worse?

As they neared the outskirts of Welttor, Soren felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him.

He was tired, so tired.

Tired of fighting, tired of failing, tired of feeling like every step forward came with two steps back.

“Alaric.”

Alaric didn’t turn, didn’t slow his pace.

“Alaric, we need to talk about this.”

Alaric stopped walking but didn’t turn around. “What’s there to talk about, Soren? You’ve made your feelings quite clear.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Fair?” He whirled around, his eyes blazing. “You want to talk about fair? Was it fair when you said you’d be better off without me? Was it fair when you called me a reckless fool?”

Soren had no answer.

They stood there, glaring at each other, the rain pouring down around them.

The silence stretched between them and Alaric started walking again, leaving Soren standing in the rain.

Soren and Alaric trudged through the Guild headquarters’ entrance, their sodden clothes leaving trails of water along the floor.

The warmth of the interior did little to thaw the chill that had settled into Soren bones.

Soren trailed Alaric through the dim corridors.

Neither Soren nor Alaric spoke, their gazes fixed straight ahead as they climbed the stairs to their shared quarters.

Soren entered first, peeling off his drenched cloak and hanging it on a hook. Water dripped from the hem, forming a small puddle on the floor.

Alaric followed, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

He moved to his side of the room, his back to Soren as he began to strip off his wet clothes.

Soren’s fingers fumbled with the laces of his tunic, the wet leather stubbornly refusing to cooperate.

He yanked harder, nearly tearing the fabric in his haste to be free of the clinging, cold garment.

As he struggled, he caught sight of Alaric from the corner of his eye methodically removing his own clothes, his movements stiff and mechanical. A large bruise bloomed on Alaric’s side.

For a moment, Soren felt a pang of concern. He opened his mouth to speak. But the memory of Alaric’s recklessness, of the disaster they’d barely escaped, stopped him short.

He clenched his jaw and turned away, focusing on unlacing his waterlogged boots.

The rain continued to lash against the window, its steady rhythm a counterpoint to the silence in the room.

Soren pried off his boots, grimacing as he set them near the fireplace, hoping they’d dry by morning.

Alaric, now dressed in dry sleep clothes, moved towards his bed.

He paused for a moment, as if about to say something, but then seemed to think better of it.

Without a word, he crawled under the covers, turning his back to Soren.

Soren watched him for a moment. Part of him wanted to break the silence, to clear the air between them.

But he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

Instead, he sighed and finished changing into his night clothes.

As he slipped into his bed, Soren’s mind began to race.

The failed mission at Fischer’s manor played out behind his closed eyelids, each mistake and misstep magnified in hindsight.

They’d been so close—if only Alaric had listened, if only they’d stuck to the plan, if only, if only…

But recriminations wouldn’t change what had happened.

He needed to move forward, to find another way to get the ravenglass.

But how?

Fischer would be on high alert now.

And what would they tell Raz?

How could they explain their failure?

Soren turned onto his side, facing the wall.

In the other bed, Alaric’s breathing had already evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep.

How could he rest so easily after everything that had happened?

Soren shook his head, sighing once more.

He closed his eyes, forcing his breath to slow, willing sleep to come.

Tomorrow they'd begin again.