"W-why... why would I say that to someone working for mind mages?"

The words tumbled out of my lips, hanging in the air like a collar tightening around my throat. That daring retort could have cost me dearly. My pulse hammered in my ears, my heart a wild thing caged in my chest. Even as I soothed my thoughts with [Indomitable Will], the weave barely kept the panic at bay. Sweat slicked my hands, and my stomach twisted into painful knots.

Yet, I had to ask. I had to hear it. I wanted - no, needed - this man, Bastian Ward, to dismiss the gnawing fear clawing at my mind, to tell me I was wrong. That somewhere out there, she wasn't waiting. The mind mage bitch. The Cognizant. Mir-something.

'Please, just say you don't know what I'm talking about.'

"Interesting. You seem to be more aware of your situation than I expected," Ward replied with unsettling calm, the hint of amusement in his voice free of malice.

My breath hitched. He didn't deny it.

A fresh wave of dread surged through me, threatening to choke me, yet I had to push further, had to know.

"Is it her?" The question slipped from my lips, betraying the fear I had tried to conceal.

"Oh. Who might you be referring to, Miss Grey?"

'Was that a smile playing on his lips? Was he mocking me?'

The air grew heavier, colder somehow, as if the very walls were listening, waiting.

'Was he playing dumb now, or...? Was there more than one mind mage in the city?'

"T-the... the Cognizant?" I stammered, the word twisting on my tongue like a curse.

"Hold on, Ward. The woman is a Cognizant?" The sharp voice that broke the silence wasn't Ward's but Master Fire Mage Harcon's. "You said..."

"I said what I had to so you wouldn't freak out. But, honestly, Harcon, does it matter if the mind mage is a mere Cerebrant, a Cognitum, or even a Cogniarch? Let me answer for you: no, it doesn't."

"The fuck it does!" Harcon snapped, his voice sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "If she's a Cognizant, she can make thralls out of half the people in this room in the blink of an eye!"

"A bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?" Ward replied smoothly, but there was no denying the cold truth behind Harcon's words. She could. "Maybe the reason she was so adamant about me working with Arlo and his crew. Oh, don't give me that look. We both know you wouldn't care if they ended up mind-fucked. You, though - I could use someone of your talent."

"NO! Harcon is working for me!" The little fat slave trader, my 'master', barked. His voice cracked, betraying his own fear of becoming a thrall. "He has a debt to repay to me."

"A debt I'm more than willing to pay," Ward countered coolly, as if he were bartering for livestock. "No strings attached - other than working for me, naturally. Same deal for you, Branwen," Ward added, casting a glance at the bruiser woman standing to his left, keeping an eye out over Elira and Vara. She said nothing, her silence more ominous than any protest could have been.

The room grew unbearably still, thick with tension and unspoken threats of death - or worse - should they refuse.

Finally, Ward shrugged, unfazed by the silence. "Plenty of time to mull it over once we're out of Castiana."

'Out of Castiana?' My heart sank.

"Speaking of, shouldn't we already know more about the situation at the Southwest Gate, Draven?"

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Draven, the shadow thief, perched on the back of the couch, grunted and nodded. "We should."

"And?"

"We don't."

"Well, thanks for stating the obvious." A crack formed in Ward's calm, but he pressed on. "Like you said, not everything's going to plan. As such, it's better if we stop bickering over a small detail like whether our client is Cognizant when we all knew..."

"I didn't, Mr. Ward," piped up Tate, the workhand, raising his hand. "Pretty sure Mr. Rutledge forgot to mention it."

"Did he now?" Ward arched a brow at the slave trader, who shifted uncomfortably, sweat beading on his temple. "... Anyway,” the leader of the Shadowbreaker Company resumed, “we all knew what we were getting into when we agreed to work for a mind mage."

Well, I had no idea about the other mind mages, but if the one they were dealing with was truly the shoelace bitch, the flurry of grunts and nods that swept through those present was a wholly inadequate response. That bitch was crazy... and powerful. 'She is dangerous, truly dangerous.' I thought, a shiver running through my body at the thought of having her in my head again.

"Yeah, we can kiss the Empire goodbye - unless we wish to end up behind bars." Ward checked his timepiece and then locked eyes with me. "Your appointment with Deckard's coming up, Miss Grey. A somewhat unfortunate choice of instructor, if you ask me. If it were anyone else, this would've played out far more… civilized."

He likely expected a reaction, something - anything - but all he got was disappointment. I shrugged, not really having much to say. For starters, I didn't pick Deckard as my INSTRUCTOR. That was all Lieutenant Blaine, acting under Captain Rayden's orders - or so I assumed. And secondly: 'What the fuck were they babbling about? Me, his apprentice? I've never even met the guy, much less agreed to anything.'

Not that I hadn't the faintest clue what was going on.

The mind mages were in a bind. The longer I roamed free, the greater the chance someone - the Empire - would catch wind of my 'talents.' As such, it was only a matter of time before they made their move. Rayden just wasn't going to let them make it on their terms. She had to force their hand, and her way of doing that? Throwing me into the mix with Deckard. Clever, really. Worked like a charm. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder - what kind of man was Deckard that half the people lit up at his name, while the rest looked ready to crap themselves?

Ward's voice intruded on my thoughts again, sharp and a bit more urgent now. "Apologies, Miss Grey, you won't be making the meeting," he said, throwing a glance at the shadow thief who had been lurking in the corner, half-swallowed by the dim light. "What's the situation? Has he come out of Fallen's Cry yet?"

"Not yet. If he's meant to be at City Hall by nine, though..."

Ward cursed under his breath, his mask of control slipping. "I get it; we can't wait. What about the Southwest Gate?"

"Nothing. If I had to make a guess..."

"The gate's a bust!" The swordstress, who had been guarding the entrance until now, burst through the doorway, dragging a bloodied man with her.

[Master Fighter: ₪ sigils]

Weaker than Ward, Harcon, and the others, the guy was no pushover. Tall, well-built, and handsome - if you could ignore the blood - his eyes carried a glint that chilled me to the bone. Something deeply unnatural lurked in them.

"Out with it! What happened?" Ward snapped, his usual calm crumbling. "What's the situation?"

"Diversion failed. Mistress was unable to secure the gate."

""Mistress?"" The word echoed through the group, and in the silence that followed, a cold shiver crawled down my spine. It wasn't just me who shuddered at the affectionate tone with which he addressed that shoelace bitch.

"She made him a fucking thrall. I told you this would happen..." the fire mage’s voice tightened, strained with frustration.

"Not the time, Harcon," Ward growled, his gaze drilling into the thrall. "What about my men? The rest?"

"They're holding their ground, for now. However, Mistress says the way west is no longer feasible. She will meet you at..."

"I know."

"She expects you to show up with the girl."

"Of course she does."

"Otherwise..."

"Rhea." Without a word more, the swordstress moved like a shadow, her blade flashing in the dim light. The man's throat opened in a spray of blood, but no sound escaped his lips, just a soft gurgle as he crumpled to the ground. I should've felt relief, but all I could feel was the tightening grip of fear - an unseen noose drawing tighter. That could soon be me, a dog wagging her tail at the feet of my new mistress.

"Tits. Ward, that was one of your men."

"No, Harcon. That was her thrall. You said so yourself." Ward's voice cut like cold steel, though a trace of sorrow seeped through. "Don't give me that look. This is better." He shifted, shaking it off. "What are you waiting for? Put the three on the wagon. We're moving for the Esulmor Gate."