As I watched Callum learn about the Triumdemic, I started to see Callum as a person for the first time, instead of a courier boy with an attitude.

I knew he would whack me once he learned the truth.

I went to visit him on the second day after the princesses died. Why don't you give me some nice big air quotes around that word: died. I’ve got news: they’re not dead. Anyway, there I went, down the alleys that I knew like the back of my hand, to my secret hide-out. Many a night I spent there after my mother died.

I opened the gate and - lo and behold - no Callum. Not even behind the barrel like the first time he’d hid. Where could he be?

All the supplies I’d given him: gone. When my father finds out, he will whack me. Seriously. The most important task he’s given me, and I mess up. Again. There's only one way to go from the bottom, right? Only if you put down the shovel.

I closed the gate and sped to the bakery. “Have any plum pies today?” I asked the man who worked the counter.

“You can get one from the back.” He lifted the hinged countertop and motioned me through. There’s no way he wouldn’t; he’s worked for my father for years.

I ducked under and walked down the narrow hall to the kitchen. A burly man in an apron rolled out dough. We nodded a greeting to each other. He rinsed his hands, rolled back the rug on the floor, and opened the worn trapdoor hidden underneath.

I descended the steps into the cellar. The baker closed the trapdoor and rolled the rug back. In the darkest corner of the back of the cellar, a small, damp tunnel, barely human-sized, leads to The Cave (suspenseful music starts to play at this point). I don’t need any light to navigate the cellar or the tunnel.

A dozen steps later, the tunnel ends at a heavy metal door. I tapped on the door three times, once, then three times again. Well-oiled, it opened noiselessly.

The armed guard nodded at me. “Good day, sir.”

“You, too.”

Below the streets of the poor sector of Egron City, a vast cave system lies. Just as Carrington said, the Triumdemic’s headquarters are located there. The main cave is hundreds of feet long, and columns of stone support the tall ceiling. The Triumdemic has turned many of the smaller, branching caves into conference rooms, barracks, offices or cells. At the very back of the cave is the storehouse. Barrels, crates, hatboxes, whatever goods are sold in, pile up to the ceiling. We even have a section for exotic animals - the nobles buy them like hotcakes. Just yesterday we received a shipment of baby tortoises.

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

The tunnel closest to the storehouse leads to the surface. It’s large enough, smooth enough, and gradual enough that a laden donkey could walk down backwards and blindfolded without any trouble.

I’m impressed by all of it, and I hate all of it. My grandmother founded this business. Originally, she sold ladies’ garments, hairpieces, ordinary stuff like that. She created supply routes and made deals with traders that my father uses to this day.

My father is the one who ruined it. He always wanted more. More profit, more sales, more power, more control. I wanted that, too, until a few months ago. I stood by as he denied the sale of vital medicine to a family who needed it for their toddler. The family didn’t have enough money to buy it outright, at the outrageous price that my father put on it. The father of the child begged for the opportunity to work it off, anything, he said, for his little boy. I don’t know what was wrong with the kid, but I know that my father let him die. All for some opies.

I know I’ve acted like I’m on their side. I’m the one who convinced the princesses to join the Triumdemic in the first place! But it went all wrong. Instead of saying that the princesses were missing, the king said they’d been murdered. By Callum. I suspect my father had something to do with that. He’s really had the king’s ear lately. And with the reports I’ve given on Callum recently, my father knows he’s a threat.

My father told me to persuade the princesses to join. I don’t know why, but I did. But I told them all the right information to stop the Triumdemic. That’s what I talked to Chantelle about in the garden, when Callum found us.

Speaking of Callum, I need to talk to my father. I looked over to my right at the door to his office, where two guards stood. And someone else, further down the hallway, walked across the oval of the cave. He wore normal street clothes and carried a ring of keys. Right toward the cells. Perfectly normal, I supposed. Then I did a double take. Wait - that curly blond hair - that’s Callum!

I can’t let him see me. How did he get in here? Why is no one stopping him? Is he a spy, too? I really need to talk to my father. I hurried to the door, and the guards let me in.

My father sat behind his desk and scribbled on papers, the lines on his forehead smoothed, which is a good sign. He thinks he’s got everything under control. He’s wrong, but I’m determined to make him feel like he’s right. Until everything he knows crumbles right in front of his eyes.

I saluted. “Special report, sir.”

“Ready to receive.” He set aside the papers.

“Target Bloomfield is no longer under our control.”

“Details?” He remained calm. Not a good sign.

“Target Bloomfield has apparently taken it upon himself to save the princesses. He has been visually located by myself within The Cave, sir.”

“Hm. New objective: Apprehend Target Bloomfield by any means possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed. Report back when the objective is completed.”

“Yes, sir.” That’s how he always talks to me. Cold. Clinical. It’s always been that way. I’ve tried my whole life to break that veneer, but it seems that it isn’t a facade, it’s who he is. A man made of ice and steel.

I stepped into The Cave. How am I supposed to do this? Callum will hate me once he finds out who I really am. But if I pretend that I’m the same old Percy, maybe I can get by…