Chapter 8 The Breach

The first explosion wasn't loud. It was deep.

A muffled thud beneath the eastern tower, followed by a tremor that ran through Kaerinth's foundation like a pulse. The second blast shattered windows. Screams rose. Alarms followed.

Emily was already out of bed when Ruth burst in.

The lower cell block, Ruth said, breathless. It's under attack.

Emily didn't ask who.

She already knew.

They descended into chaos.

Smoke poured from the eastern wing. Soldiers shouted orders, dragging the wounded from collapsed halls. The corridor leading to Raphael's cell was half-caved in, but still standing.

Elizabeth met them at the threshold, bruised but upright.

This was no rebellion, she growled. Someone from the inside triggered it.

Emily's voice was steel. "Where is he?"

Elizabeth nodded grimly. "Alive. Still in chains. But the breach was meant to reach him. Not kill."

Emily pushed forward, heart pounding.

He was still there.

Raphael sat against the far wall of his cell, cuffed, blood on his temple. Rubble littered the floor. His lip was split again, but he smiled when he saw her.

I was wondering how long it would take you.

She didn't speak.

Looks like someone else wants me dead, he said.

Or free, she replied coldly.

Raphael tilted his head. Same thing, really.

Emily stepped closer to the bars. Did you know this was coming?

If I did, he said calmly, don't you think I'd be gone?

Behind her, Ruth arrived with two guards. We need to move him. The integrity of this wing won't hold.

No, Emily said. He stays.

He'll die, Ruth warned.

Not yet, Emily said. We need to know who ordered the hit.

Raphael's eyes gleamed. And you think I'll tell you?

She leaned in. "I think you want to survive more than you want to win."

Their eyes locked.

And for a moment, she saw it again that flicker of something deeper. Not fear. Not rage.

Recognition.

Later, Ivy stood alone at the archive gates, watching smoke rise through the courtyard. She held a small piece of paper in her gloved hand. A name written in tight, slanted script:

Mark Eldrin.

She folded it and slipped it into her sleeve.

The game had changed.

And she was no longer just playing for Emily.