“Sid!” Thorne gasped, his heart hammering as he turned to face the older man. “You nearly scared me half to death!”

Even in the dim light, Sid’s smirk was clear, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “If that scared you, boy, then you’re in for a rough night.”

Thorne exhaled, forcing himself to steady his breathing, though the rush of adrenaline still tingled in his limbs. “What are you doing here? I thought you were still recovering.” As his eyes adjusted, he noticed Sid’s face was pale and tight, and the rogue’s posture was tense, his shoulders sagging as if each breath took effort. Sid was far from his usual self, still weakened by the Gravediggers’ ambush.

Sid’s smirk faded, his face hardening. “I am, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep an eye on things. Someone has to, or do you think I’d leave it to you?” His gaze sharpened as he looked Thorne over, a raised brow showing his disapproval. “I saw you running around with those kids. What’s going on?”

Thorne hesitated, debating how much to say. “Just… helping some friends. There’ve been disappearances, and we’re trying to stay safe,” he said, meeting Sid’s gaze defiantly.

“Disappearances?” Sid’s brow quirked with skepticism, his arms crossing as he tilted his head. “And you think playing hero is going to keep them safe?” There was a bite in his words, as if the very idea was laughable.

Thorne’s fists clenched, his jaw tight. “I have to do something. I can’t just sit back and watch.”

Sid scoffed, shaking his head. “And here I thought you had some sense in you.” He leveled Thorne with a hard stare. “You’re getting involved in things that will bury you, and for what? Stay in your attic and stop playing the savior. You’re risking your life for people who are a waste of it.”

Thorne bit back his anger, feeling the guilt simmer beneath it. Sid doesn’t get it, he thought bitterly. He didn’t know what it was like to see his cousins vanish into thin air, to feel that gnawing certainty that he was to blame for their suffering. If he hadn’t taken that letter, the Gravediggers would have no reason to come after the cousins. He had brought this mess on them, and Sid had no idea how that felt.

But Sid seemed to sense Thorne’s defiance, his expression softening only slightly as he sighed and shook his head. “Listen,” he said, his voice quiet but unyielding. “You keep down this path, it’ll end with you dead in some back alley, and none of those kids will be any safer for it.”

Thorne glared, the anger and frustration hot and searing, but he kept quiet, not wanting to give Sid the satisfaction of arguing. Sid’s eyes flashed with a look of resignation, and he shrugged, as if he’d already given up. “Fine, do what you want. But don’t come crawling back to me when you end up in over your head.”

And with that, Sid turned and melted into the shadows, his presence disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. Thorne stood alone in the empty street, fists clenched, seething. He was furious—furious that Sid got the last word, furious that he couldn’t get the rogue to understand. He’d prove Sid wrong. He’d protect the cousins and find out what was happening, no matter what Sid said.

When he finally slipped into his attic, bolting the door behind him, he let out a long, relieved sigh, feeling the adrenaline ebb. At least he could rest easier knowing that the figure following him all day had been Sid, not some Gravedigger waiting to strike.

*

Thorne jolted awake to the violent pounding on his door. His mind, still hazy from sleep, struggled to catch up with the panic hammering at his senses. Blinking rapidly, he stumbled to the door, heart racing as he wrenched it open. In the faint glow of moonlight seeping into the dark attic, he saw Jonah—pale, bleeding, and clutching the doorframe for support, his face twisted in agony.

“Jonah!” Thorne’s voice cracked as he rushed to his friend’s side, steadying him. “What happened?”

Jonah staggered into the attic, his knees buckling as he collapsed onto the floor. His breaths came out in shallow gasps, blood trickling from a wound on his side. “It’s Ben,” he panted, voice barely audible. “They… they took Ben.”

Thorne felt his heart plunge. “Who took him? What happened?” He tried to keep the tremor from his voice, but dread seeped in.

Jonah shook his head, a wince of pain flickering across his face. “I... I don’t know who they were.” He doubled over, a low groan escaping his lips before he broke into a fit of coughing. Thorne crouched beside him, a hand on Jonah’s back as blood specked the floor between them. “They ambushed us… on our way back,” Jonah stammered, wiping his bloodied mouth. “Attacked me, dragged Ben off before I could… there were too many.” His voice broke as he struggled to regain his breath, looking helplessly at Thorne. “They left me for dead.”

Jonah’s hands clenched as he tried to stand again, his eyes frantic with fear. “We have to find him, Thorne. We have to get him back!”

Thorne gripped Jonah’s shoulders, forcing him to stay put. “Jonah, you need to stay still. You’re hurt—badly. Let me take care of you first.”

“No! We can’t leave Ben with them!” Jonah’s voice cracked as he tried to push Thorne away, desperation flooding his gaze.

Thorne felt his own pulse pounding, fear and frustration building inside him, but he held steady. “Jonah, listen to me!” he said, his voice firm. “I’ll find Ben—I swear it. But you can’t help if you bleed out on my floor. Let me take care of you, alright? You’re no good to anyone like this.”

Jonah’s resistance weakened, his shoulders slumping as he finally gave in, tears of frustration tracing silent paths down his cheeks. “Just… find him, Thorne. Please.”

“I will,” Thorne promised, his voice steady as he moved quickly, grabbing a small bowl of the alchemy paste Ben had prepared for situations just like this. He applied the paste to Jonah’s wounds with quick, practiced hands, and Jonah winced but stayed silent.

“Where did the attack happen?” Thorne asked as he worked, his mind already racing.

“Near the fish market,” Jonah replied, voice barely more than a whisper. “We were just walking, and then… they came out of nowhere.”

Thorne nodded, keeping his movements calm and controlled even as dread clawed at him. “You’re going to be okay, Jonah,” he said quietly, though his own confidence wavered. “Just rest. I’ll handle the rest.”

Jonah gave a weak nod, and before Thorne could ask anything more, his friend’s eyes slid shut, his breathing shallow but steady as he drifted into unconsciousness. Thorne watched him for a moment, feeling a mix of anger and helplessness. Every instinct told him to dash into the night and start searching for Ben, but he knew it’d be useless without a plan.

He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to think. He needed more information. The fish market—he’d start there, track what he could. But his mind stumbled over the next piece: Who would know where the Gravediggers had taken Ben? All he knew was that the Gravediggers’ base lay somewhere across the city, but he didn’t know where. He needed someone who would have the answers.

His thoughts turned to Sid. Thorne gritted his teeth, loathing the idea of admitting he was already tangled up in the mess Sid had warned him about just hours ago. But if Sid knew something, Thorne couldn’t afford to let pride stand in the way. He had to find Ben.

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Decision made, Thorne scanned his attic, grabbing what he had left of his supplies. His eyes landed on the sacks of poison he’d taken from the flying snakes on his last hunt. He wrapped a cloth around them and tied them at his waist before slipping his knives into his belt, feeling the familiar weight ground him.

In a flash, he slipped out the door and into the empty streets. A sense of urgency hummed through him as he darted through the shadows, moving with a quiet but desperate pace. As he approached the fish market, he crouched, engaging his Tracking skill. Jonah’s blood left a faint trail, the droplets catching in the moonlight, but little else pointed to where Ben had been taken.

A swell of frustration gnawed at him. There were no clear clues, no hints he could follow. The trail ended here, dissolving into the darkness of the city beyond. Thorne’s mind buzzed with anger and fear as the truth sank in—he was out of leads. Without more information, there was only one person he could turn to.

Clenching his fists, he felt a reluctant resolve settle over him. He’d have to find Sid.

Thorne sprinted through the city, his breath ragged as he wound through the narrow, empty streets toward his uncle’s house. He barely registered the shadows stretching long in the pale light or the biting chill that sank through his thin shirt—he could only think of Ben. When he arrived, he was met by Arletta, her expression calm and unyielding despite his frantic arrival.

“I need to see Sid,” Thorne demanded, his voice breaking from fear and exhaustion.

Arletta arched a brow, her gaze steady. “Uncle isn’t here.”

“I don’t care about Uncle!” Thorne shot back, his fists clenched. “Where’s Sid?”

Arletta nodded once, her face a mask of casual disinterest, and led him down the narrow, dim corridor to a small chamber. Thorne burst into the room, finding Sid sitting on a low stool, sharpening his knives in quiet concentration. The rogue looked up, frowning as he took in Thorne’s wild expression.

“What’s going on, boy?” Sid asked, his tone sharp and wary.

Thorne’s words came out in a jumbled rush, nearly tripping over themselves in his desperation. “It’s Ben—they took Ben! Jonah’s hurt… They were attacked, I think they were the Gravediggers, but I need your help to find him.”

Sid’s expression didn’t change as he listened, his face impassive, betraying none of the shock or urgency that churned inside Thorne. When Thorne finished, Sid shook his head, his expression hard.

“Go home, Thorne.”

Thorne blinked, disbelief flashing across his face. “What? No! I need your help to find him!”

Sid’s gaze turned cold, his voice unyielding. “You’re being stupid, boy. Friends make you weak. They’re nothing but a burden. They’re only going to get you killed.”

The words stung, and Thorne felt frustration and anger bubbling inside him. “I don’t care!” he shouted, his fists trembling. “I promised Jonah I’d find him, and I will—with or without you.”

Sid scoffed, his eyes narrowing in a mocking glare. “Stupid and stubborn. You’ll be dead the second you get near the Gravediggers, if you even find them. You don’t know where their hideout is or what you’re up against.”

Thorne’s eyes blazed with determination, his jaw set. “Then tell me. Just help me get close enough to find them.”

Sid’s gaze held his for a long moment, his face unreadable, and for a split second, Thorne thought he saw a flicker of hesitation. But then Sid’s gaze hardened, and he sighed, a cold finality in his tone. “Even I don’t know exactly where their base is, I heard whispers they are holed up somewhere in the Old District.”

Thorne felt his heart drop. “Then come with me. Help me rescue Ben.”

But Sid shook his head, cutting him off with an iron tone. “No. I’m not wasting my time on your fool’s errand. If you had any sense, you’d stay out of this yourself. Besides, the boy’s probably dead already.”

Thorne’s frustration boiled over, a painful lump forming in his throat. “You can’t just leave him to die!”

Sid’s expression remained unmoved, his voice sharp. “The Gravediggers are Uncle’s business, not yours, and definitely not mine.”

Tears of frustration stung Thorne’s eyes, his fists clenched at his sides. Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the room, ignoring Arletta’s scolding tone and barely glancing at Matilda, who looked after him with troubled eyes. He left Uncle’s house, rage and despair tangling in his chest as he stepped back into the cold, silent night.

He wouldn’t help. Sid wouldn’t help. Thorne could feel his breathing quicken as the helplessness settled like a stone in his gut. But even as his thoughts raced, he refused to let the despair take hold. If Sid wouldn’t help him, he’d find another way. There had to be a way.

Then it hit him. The cousins.

Most of Uncle’s orphans didn’t have specific tasks like Jonah and Ben, who worked as lookouts. The others drifted through the city streets, listening, gathering scraps of information, trading secrets with the hawkers and merchants, and selling what they knew to Uncle’s informants for a few coppers. If anyone had overheard a thing about the Gravediggers or knew where they skulked around in the Old District, it’d be the cousins.

A spark of hope flared in his chest, and he turned, slipping into the shadows and heading toward the slums.

Without a second thought, Thorne took off running, his breaths coming in sharp gasps. A notification flickered in his vision, announcing his Running skill had leveled up, but he didn’t slow down or even acknowledge it. Ben’s life was hanging in the balance. He tore through the dim, narrow alleys, skidding into the sewer entrance and plunging into its depths. The rancid stench hit him, thick as a wall, and he forced down the bile rising in his throat, pushing through the filth and scurrying rats, his steps echoing off the damp stone walls.

As he approached the cousins’ hideout, he burst into the round chamber with a yell, startling the group of kids who had been huddled together, speaking in hushed tones. They jumped, faces pale with fright, but Thorne barely noticed. He bent over, clutching his side as he struggled to catch his breath. He tried to speak once, twice, but his voice failed him. When he could finally force words out, he looked up, his eyes filled with desperation.

“Ben’s been taken,” Thorne gasped, each word ragged. “Jonah’s hurt… bad. I need to find the Gravediggers’ hideout in the Old District. Does anyone here know anything?”

Silence fell as the cousins exchanged tense, fearful glances. The dim light cast eerie shadows across their faces, accentuating the worry etched on each one. Finally, Rafe, ever the one to challenge Thorne, stepped forward with a frown, his arms crossed defiantly.

“And why should we help you? You’re just going to drag us all into danger,” Rafe sneered.

Thorne glared back, feeling a surge of anger rise. “Because if we don’t help each other, who will?” He shot a hard look around the room. “Do any of you honestly think Uncle’s going to lift a finger for us? We’re all we’ve got, and we need to stick together.”

Rafe scoffed, rolling his eyes. “And what makes you think you can do anything against the Gravediggers? You’re just a kid, same as the rest of us.”

Thorne straightened, meeting Rafe’s challenge with burning determination. “Maybe, but Ben’s still alive—I’m sure of it. If the Gravediggers didn’t kill him, it’s because they need something from him. And as long as he’s breathing, we have to try.”

Rafe opened his mouth to fire back, but another cousin, a younger girl with wide eyes and clenched fists, interrupted him. “Thorne’s right. We can’t just sit here and do nothing. Ben’s one of us.”

Darius, tall and imposing, stepped forward, placing a hand on Thorne’s shoulder. “He’s got guts, that’s for sure. If he’s going out there, we should back him up.”

Rafe’s scowl deepened, but he held his tongue, muttering something under his breath. He crossed his arms and gave a halfhearted shrug. “Fine. But where exactly do we even start?”

A slender girl with sharp eyes, Eliza, raised her hand, her voice trembling but resolute. “I’ve… I’ve heard whispers about the Gravediggers in the Old District. It’s full of abandoned elven ruins from when the elves still controlled the city. Most of the buildings were torn down ages ago, but a few remain, half-hidden in the overgrowth. I’ve been there a few times, and it feels… different. Like the magic lingers in the stones. It’s dangerous and eerie, but it’s where they’d go if they wanted a place no one would dare to enter.”

Eliza’s voice carried a mix of fear and awe, her gaze distant as though recalling something haunting. Rafe snorted, rolling his eyes at her dramatics, but for once, he didn’t comment.

Darius nodded, looking at Eliza thoughtfully. “Could you find anyone there who might know more?”

She bit her lip, hesitant but nodded. “I… I have a friend who sometimes works around there. He might know something. I can ask.”

Another boy stepped forward, looking hesitant. “There’s… there’s a man I know who used to be part of a gang. He’s talked about the Gravediggers before. He might have information.”

Darius looked between them, the tension in his face melting into quiet resolve. He turned to Rafe. “Rafe, go with him. See what you can find out.”

Rafe grumbled but nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But this better be worth it,” he muttered, casting a wary look at Thorne.

Darius then looked back to Eliza. “I’ll go with you, and you two,” he said, gesturing to a pair of younger boys hovering nervously in the corner, “are coming along. Safety in numbers.”

He turned to Thorne, his eyes unwavering. “And you—you’ll wait here until we know more?”

Thorne swallowed hard, feeling a surge of gratitude toward the group. “Thank you, all of you. Let’s meet at the fish market in an hour and share what we find.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll see if I can learn anything myself.”

The cousins nodded, expressions a mix of fear and resolve as they headed toward the door. One by one, they filed out, disappearing into the shadows. Thorne watched them go, a fierce determination settling in his chest. He’d find Ben. He had to. And with the cousins’ help, he knew they stood a chance.