The oak door groaned open as Linus entered the study, his boots tapping softly on the stone floor. The fire in the hearth crackled, its heat barely touching the room's palpable tension. Marcus stood by the window, his figure stark against the pale dawn light. He turned at Linus’s approach, his expression was neutral yet expectant.

“Marcus,” Linus said sharply, “I’ve secured support for the orphanage under the Order of Radiant Light. You’ll represent us. Work with Athena, Camila, and Isla—whatever they need, provide it. But…” His look pinned Marcus, his fingers grazing the desk’s edge as if anchoring himself. “Keep a close watch. The orphanage must be more than charity—it’s a pipeline for recruits. Call it training, discipline, and purpose. Make it feel like a gift.”

Marcus’s brow furrowed slightly, but he gave no sign of disagreement. He nodded once, his calm presence grounding Linus’s urgency.

“There’s more,” Linus continued, his tone dropping as he moved around the desk, his fingers trailing lightly over its polished surface. “Athena—watch her closely.”

Marcus tilted his head, his curiosity barely veiled. “You don’t trust her?”

Linus’s eyes narrowed, his voice taking on a reflective quality. “Not trust, no. It’s her timing in Thornfield. The prophecies about the Phoenix Blade. It’s all too convenient. When I met her…” He paused, searching for the right words, “...there was something. What if she’s the Unchanneled Light Mage the blade is said to need? If she is—Marcus, it changes everything.”

Marcus’s calm shifted into something sharper for the first time, his eyes glinting with understanding. “You need me to find out.”

Linus nodded. “Yes. Subtly, thoroughly. We can’t risk missing the truth.”

Marcus inclined his head. “Consider it done.”

Satisfied, Linus straightened, his face hardening again. “There’s another matter. Father Matthias’s death. The rumors about this ‘Cleansing’—they’re spreading like wildfire. I want facts, not stories. Start at Goodman’s Produce. Find out what really happened. Who’s behind it. I need clarity.”

Linus produced two sealed letters from a drawer, handing them to Marcus. “Deliver these to Roderick there. He’ll understand their importance. This is a top priority.”

Marcus tucked the letters into his coat without hesitation. “Should I expect trouble?”

Linus allowed a bitter smile to flicker across his face. “Roderick doesn’t make anything easy. He’ll test you and demand more than usual. Be prepared. But this isn’t negotiable—I need him on our side.”

Marcus’s eyes lingered on Linus for a beat, calculating. Then he gave a curt nod. “Understood.”

The room was silent for a moment except for the crackling of the fire. Linus leaned back against the desk, his arms crossed, watching as Marcus turned to leave. The click of the door shutting behind him left Linus alone with his thoughts.

He exhaled sharply, his mind racing. The weight of unspoken fears pressed heavily against him. If Marcus uncovered the truth, perhaps there was still a chance to turn the tides. But if not…

Linus clenched his fists, staring into the flames. He couldn’t afford to be wrong. Not now. Not ever.

He retrieved the Veilstone Charm from the desk drawer, the cool metal catching the afternoon sunlight. He held it up, studying its intricate design with quiet intensity. “Let’s see what you’ve been hiding,” he muttered, the words heavy with purpose.

Tonight, the charm would come into play. His destination was the inn, the same one where the spies had gathered, and Amy was the key to pulling it off. She’d be his cover, the perfect excuse for his presence. It would look like a simple visit to anyone watching—Mara’s men included. Harmless. Innocent. No one would guess his true intent.

Over the past few days, he’d played his hand well, drawing Amy closer with each carefully chosen gift. The pendant, the scarf, the bracelet—all tokens meant to deepen her attachment, to pull her into his orbit. Tonight, she’d serve her purpose.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, streaking the streets with hues of amber and violet. Linus stood beside the inn's modest carriageway, his coat immaculate, his posture effortless yet commanding. The inn’s door swung open, spilling lamplight into the cool evening air. Amy stepped out, her movements cautious yet graceful. Linus stared at her with a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face.

The burgundy gown he had selected for her fit flawlessly, every seam enhancing her elegance without crossing into ostentation. The neckline skimmed her collarbones, drawing attention to the pendant resting above her heart—one of his carefully chosen gifts.

Her hair, soft waves of chestnut brown, framed her face in an artful and unstudied way. The light touch of blush on her cheeks only deepened the glow of her natural beauty.

She paused on the threshold, her hands brushing nervously against the folds of her skirt. When her eyes finally met his, there was an unguarded warmth, tempered by a flicker of uncertainty. It was that hesitation, Linus noted, that would keep her pliant, eager for his approval.

“Amy,” Linus said, his voice smooth, tinged with quiet authority. He extended his hand, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You look exquisite.”

Her cheeks flushed a deeper rose as she stepped forward, her fingers brushing against his. “My Lord,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to say… This gown, it’s—it’s more than I could ever—”

“No need for gratitude,” Linus cut in smoothly, his hand firm but gentle as he guided her toward the waiting carriage. “A flower deserves sunlight, does it not? It would be a crime to let you wither unseen.”

Amy’s gaze dropped, her blush deepening. A shy smile played on her lips as she allowed him to help her inside, settling into the plush interior of the carriage. Linus followed as the door clicked shut behind them. The carriage lurched forward, the wheels' gentle rhythm blending with the inn's muffled hum behind them.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted. Their proximity felt charged. Dim light played across her features as Linus watched her closely, his countenance unreadable except for the light curl of his mouth.

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“You seemed surprised to see me,” he said at last, his voice low and conversational. It held no accusation, only the smooth glide of curiosity.

Amy’s fingers twisted together in her lap. “I wasn’t expecting… you, my Lord. I thought—” She paused, biting her lip, searching for the right words. “I thought you might have more pressing matters than spending the evening here.”

Linus’s smile widened, his voice lowering to a gentle warmth. “Pressing matters, yes. But sometimes, the most important work happens in the quietest moments. In unexpected places.”

Her eyes met his briefly, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” he said, leaning back into the carriage seat, his eyes never leaving hers. “In time.”

The inn crouched at the edge of the dim street, its lanterns casting uneasy shadows that flickered and danced in the encroaching darkness. Where once laughter and clamor spilled from its doors, tonight, an oppressive silence seemed to press outward, warning anyone who dared to enter. The few who had risked staying behind kept their heads low, their hushed murmurs barely audible.

Linus paused just short of the entrance, his sharp gaze sweeping the street with practiced ease. The absence of Thornfield’s usual bustle spoke louder than any shout. A faint wind stirred the air, but it carried no sounds of approaching footsteps or idle chatter. Whatever had happened here had left a scar deep enough to keep the boldest drinkers at bay.

Beside him, Amy’s hand clung to his arm, her grip just shy of trembling. He glanced down at her, his expression softening into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ready?” he asked, his voice calm, soothing—a mask of reassurance she couldn’t quite believe.

Amy swallowed hard and nodded, her gaze darting toward the inn. “Yes.”

They ascended the stone steps together, with Amy’s footsteps a half-beat behind his. The heavy wooden door groaned on its hinges as Linus pushed it open, and they stepped into the dimly lit room beyond.

Inside, the inn felt hollow. The faint scent of spiced ale and wood smoke lingered, but it was distant, like a memory. A handful of patrons sat hunched at scattered tables, their eyes fixed on their drinks, their words muffled beneath the weight of unease. A fire burned low in the hearth, but its warmth seemed reluctant to stretch beyond its bounds.

Behind the bar, the innkeeper polished a glass with slow, methodical strokes. He looked up as Linus and Amy entered, his stare lingering a moment too long on Linus before dropping back to his work. His shoulders were tight, his movements overly deliberate, as if rehearsed.

Amy leaned closer to Linus, her voice barely audible. “It feels... different here,” she murmured, her tone tinged with unease.

Linus placed his hand lightly over hers, his grip steady. “Nothing to worry about,” he said with quiet confidence, though his eyes flicked toward the cloaked figure seated near the bar and the faint footsteps above. Each detail is locked into his mind like pieces of a puzzle.

He guided Amy to a corner table, selecting a seat that gave him the best vantage of the room. She settled across from him, her gaze darting nervously to the patrons and then back to the bar. “It’s too quiet,” she whispered.

Linus offered her a smile though his mind stayed alert. “Quiet can be a gift,” he replied. “Sometimes, it’s exactly what we need.”

The innkeeper approached their table, his steps slow and cautious. “Good evening, my Lord,” he said, his tone polite but strained. “It’s been some time since you’ve graced us.”

“Wine for the lady,” Linus said smoothly, gesturing toward Amy, “and something stronger for me.” His smile was easy, his voice light, but his gaze was sharp, unwavering. “It’s been a long day.”

The innkeeper nodded stiffly, retreating toward the bar. Linus turned back to Amy, his expression softening just enough. “You look stunning tonight,” he said, his voice low and warm.

Amy flushed, ducking her head, but her eyes betrayed her unease. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice faint. Her gaze flicked toward the room again, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

Linus leaned forward, taking her hand in his, his touch steady and reassuring. “Tonight is for you,” he said gently, his voice firm yet kind. “Let’s enjoy it. Whatever’s on your mind can wait until tomorrow.”

Amy hesitated, then gave a slight nod, her fingers relaxing in his grasp. “All right.”

The innkeeper returned, placing a goblet of wine before Amy and a glass of amber liquid before Linus. He offered a brief, awkward bow before retreating once more. Linus poured the wine for Amy and lifted his glass, “To a lovely evening,” he said, his tone rich and inviting.

Amy hesitated, her eyes searching his face, then smiled faintly. “To a lovely evening,” she echoed. Their glasses met with a soft chime, and Amy’s tension seemed to ease briefly.

The wine was a slow seduction, unwinding Amy’s careful composure as their conversation deepened. Linus spoke with a fluidity that belied any effort, each question subtly coaxing, each answer pulling her further from her guarded shell. Her initial responses were clipped and cautious, and her eyes flickered away whenever she felt the weight of his attention lingering too long. But Linus was patient. He unraveled her silence with an attentiveness that bordered on reverence, as though her every word held untold secrets.

The edge of Amy’s wariness softened with the wine. Her laughter began to peek through the cracks, unbidden but welcome. Linus’s remarks were sharp but never cutting, each one tailored to draw her into the moment. The shy glances she cast his way grew bolder, lingering just a heartbeat longer each time.

At a lull, she set her fork down, her cheeks flushed with more than just the drink. “I heard about the mines,” she said, her voice steady despite the faint quiver of nerves beneath it. “What you did... it was incredible. Everyone’s been talking about it.”

Linus inclined his head, his smile soft but warm. “You don’t think about it in the moment,” he replied intimately. “When it’s your turn to act, you act. That’s all.” He held her gaze just long enough to let the words settle before adding, “But tonight isn’t about that. It’s about here. About you.”

Her blush deepened, and she looked down, the corner of her lips curving upward in a bashful smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” she admitted, the words soft, vulnerable. “This is... it’s nice.”

He reached for his glass, his fingers brushing hers briefly where her hand rested on the table. “It’s better than nice,” he said smoothly. “But the night doesn’t have to end here. I’d like to take this somewhere quieter. Somewhere we can talk. Just us.”

Amy blinked, the suggestion catching her off guard. Her eyes darted to his, then away again before she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that.”

When the last of the wine was gone, Linus rose, extending a hand to her. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice laced with unspoken promise.

Amy hesitated, her fingers shaking as they found his. A slight stumble betrayed her when she stood, and Linus caught her with practiced ease, his hand steady at her arm. “Steady,” he murmured smoothly. I’ve got you.”

She looked up at him, her expression open, her trust unmistakable. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

The stairs groaned underfoot, and the silence between them was heavy with unspoken tension. At the door, Linus hesitated, glancing at her before turning the handle. Candlelight flickered inside, casting soft shadows on the walls. Amy hovered just inside, her uncertainty clear in the clasping of her hands. Her gaze darted between him and the room.

Linus moved closer, his eyes never leaving hers. He raised a hand, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “Amy,” he said, with intent. “Do you trust me?”

Her breath caught, her answer delayed only by the moment it took for her gaze to steady. “I do,” she whispered.

His smile was slow as he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that was more question than demand. She responded hesitantly at first, then with growing certainty, her hands finding his shoulders and clutching his coat. When they pulled apart, she was breathless, her expression a mixture of wonder and apprehension.

Linus gently insisted on leading her to the bed, his hand light at her waist. She sat down, her wide eyes fixed on him, her trust implicit. He reached for her again, this time trailing his fingers along the line of her neck, his touch both soft and unrelenting. “Trust me,” he murmured again, his voice like a tether binding her to him.

Amy’s eyes fluttered shut, her breath uneven as she leaned into him, her uncertainty fading into something unspoken.

Linus smiled as he observed her give in, her trust flowing freely. She was everything he wanted—pliant, open, and entirely his.