The scent of sweat and perfume clung to the air, mingling with the lingering warmth of bodies intertwined. Rook lay half-propped up on the bed, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as Liora, Seraphine, and Valesse nestled against him, their skin still flushed from the intensity of their earlier indulgence. The sheets—disheveled and damp with heat—were tangled around their limbs, leaving little to the imagination.
Liora lay draped over his chest, tracing slow, idle circles against his abdomen, her lips pressing soft, possessive kisses to his collarbone.
Seraphine, usually so composed, sighed contentedly against his side, her fair hair spread over the pillows, her fingers lightly gripping his wrist as if anchoring herself to him.
Valesse—the youngest—nipped at his earlobe before pulling back to grin down at him, her eyes flashing with mischief.
"You always wear us out like this," she teased, running a finger down the center of his chest. "One day, you'll be the one who can't move after we're through."
Rook chuckled, his deep, velvety voice reverberating through the quiet room.
"I wouldn't count on it," he murmured, his hand sliding through Liora's messy dark waves, tugging her closer as he placed a slow, lingering kiss against her temple.
In the other room, Davin's voice rang out, sharp and disgruntled.
"You're disgusting, Rook," he muttered through the door, his words tinged with bitterness. "Fucking around with your whores while the city's about to burn."
Rook smirked, but there was a flash of cool amusement in his eyes.
Valesse sighed dramatically, rolling onto her back and stretching like a cat, unfazed by Davin's complaints.
"He's always so moody," she drawled. "He should try letting loose sometime. Might loosen that stick up his ass."
Liora giggled against Rook's chest, and even Seraphine, who usually remained composed, smirked faintly.
But Rook's mind was already shifting—moving away from indulgence and back to reality.
He pulled himself up, untangling himself from the warm bodies beside him. The sheets pooled around his waist as he ran a hand through his tousled black hair streaked with silver, his toned, battle-worn physique catching the dim candlelight.
Liora made a small noise of protest as he moved away, her fingers curling weakly around his wrist.
"Do you have to go so soon?" she murmured, her blue eyes soft with sleep.
Rook exhaled through his nose, pressing one last, lingering kiss to her knuckles.
"You three are the most important things in my life," he said genuinely, his voice quieter than before. "But there's work to do."
Seraphine, ever the understanding one, nodded slowly. "Then go."
Valesse smirked at him, resting her chin in her palm. "Just come back in one piece, Boss. And make sure Davin doesn't bite your head off while you're at it."
Rook chuckled, throwing on his black shirt and belt before shrugging into his long, weathered coat. As he reached for his twin daggers, his expression hardened slightly, his gaze sharpening.
With a final glance at the three women lounging in his bed, he turned and strode toward the door, pushing it open with an easy flick of his wrist.
The other room was dimly lit, illuminated only by a single flickering oil lamp on the rickety wooden table. Davin sat with his arms bound behind him, his dark hair damp from exertion, his lip split from an earlier encounter. His blue-gray eyes narrowed when Rook entered, disdain written plainly across his face.
"Finally done with your little playtime?" Davin sneered, shifting in his seat. "Or do I need to wait until you've had another round before we can talk like men?"
Rook smirked, stepping closer, his boots scuffing against the old wooden floorboards.
"You sound jealous," he said smoothly.
Davin scoffed, tilting his head back. "Hardly. Just sick of sitting here while you waste time screwing around."
Rook leaned against the table, his arms crossed, studying Davin like one might study a caged animal.
"I don't waste time, Davin," he said simply. "Everything I do has a purpose—including the time I spend with my girls. You should try it sometime. Might do wonders for your personality."
Davin gritted his teeth, his shoulders tensing against the restraints.
"Are we going somewhere, or did you just come in here to rub it in my face?"
Rook exhaled, reaching into his coat and pulling out a small dagger, twirling it between his fingers. Then, without warning, he leaned forward and cut through the rope binding Davin's wrists.
Davin blinked in surprise, flexing his fingers as the circulation returned. He rubbed at his wrists, narrowing his eyes at Rook.
"Get up," Rook ordered, his voice casual but firm. "We're going for a little walk."
Davin hesitated for half a second, then stood, rolling his shoulders.
"What's the plan?" he muttered, already knowing he'd be dragged into something whether he liked it or not.
Rook shot him a knowing smirk.
"Simple," he said, adjusting the dagger at his hip. "We're going to take a little tour of the area. See what's happening in the streets. Maybe break a few heads if we feel like it."
Davin snorted, shaking his head.
"You always did love making a mess."
Rook grinned as he stepped toward the door, throwing it open to reveal the misty streets beyond.
The city was alive with tension, the distant sounds of footsteps, whispers, and the occasional gunshot floating through the alleys.
"Come on," Rook said, stepping out into the cool night air. "Let's see how much of this city still belongs to us."
Davin followed, rolling his neck.
Something told him this wasn't just a casual stroll.
*
The night air was thick with mist and tension, the chill of it clinging to their skin like the ghosts of old sins. The distant murmur of the city, punctuated by laughter and the occasional drunken shout, reminded them both that the Festival of the New Year was nearly upon them.
Two hours.
In just two hours, the city of Oryn-Vel would either be basking in revelry or drowning in chaos.
Rook and Davin walked in unspoken truce, their boots scuffing against the uneven cobblestones, the gaslight lanterns casting long, wavering shadows along the alley walls.
For a while, neither of them spoke, letting the city breathe around them. The air smelled of damp stone, distant spices, and burning oil, the scent of a city teetering on the edge of something irreversible.
It was Davin who broke the silence first.
"Feels like we were just kids when we started running these streets," he muttered, tucking his hands into the folds of his coat. "Guess we kinda were."
Rook let out a quiet chuckle, his blue gaze shifting as he glanced at his old friend.
"Not much older than the street rats I used to pickpocket before Braelan Marrow took us in," he mused. "Back then, we thought we'd rule this place one day."
Davin snorted. "Braelan had us believing we were kings before we could even swing a sword right."
A pause.
For a moment, both of them were fifteen again—under the command of Braelan Marrow, one of the highest-ranking members of the Syndicate that sometimes contested even Luthias Varrel. The man had been cruel but fair, drilling into them the necessity of strength, ruthlessness, and loyalty.
He'd been the one to teach Rook how to fight with daggers, how to get in and out of a place without a whisper, how to turn enemies into allies—or corpses, depending on the need.
For Davin, Braelan had been more than just a mentor—he'd been a lifeline. Someone who saw potential in him when no one else had.
"He always said we were the best of the lot," Rook murmured. "Said we'd either be his legacy or the ones who put him in the ground."
Davin huffed out a bitter laugh. "Guess it was neither. Killed by that Silas Roake bastard. What a way to go..."
They both fell silent again.
Then, Rook turned his gaze to Davin, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
"So," he said, voice quieter now. "Why'd you lie?"
Davin exhaled sharply through his nose. He didn't ask what Rook meant—he already knew.
Rook was asking about the years of deception, the way Davin had claimed he was out of the Syndicate, claimed he had left that life behind… when in reality, he had still been working in the shadows.
Davin ran a hand through his hair, tilting his head up to the sky where the glow of festival lanterns hung over the city like tiny, flickering stars.
"Because I didn't know how to walk away," he admitted at last. "Not really."
Rook watched him, his usual smirk nowhere to be found.
"I told myself I was done," Davin continued. "Told myself I'd just keep an ear to the ground, make sure I wasn't getting caught up in anything big. But deep down, I think I wanted to be needed. I wanted to have a place in it, even if I wasn't at the front lines."
His voice was raw, unguarded—a rare thing.
"I kept telling myself I was just looking out for you," he said. "But maybe I was just looking for an excuse to still be part of it all."
Rook sighed, dragging a hand over his face. "And here I thought you just liked playing double agent for the fun of it."
Davin smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Not all of us get our kicks from chaos, Rook."
A beat.
Then, Davin tilted his head, studying him. "What about you?"
Rook arched a brow. "What about me?"
"You sold me out," Davin said, not accusing, just stating a fact. "Told Ishmael about me. Then gave me a warning before they came for me. Why?"
Rook didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he pulled a coin from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers, letting the motion center his thoughts.
"I had to make a choice," he admitted at last. "You were lying to me. To all of us. I needed to know where you stood, and if it came down to it… I needed you to pay for it."
Davin tensed, just slightly.
"But," Rook continued, flipping the coin into the air and catching it between his knuckles, "I also needed to give you a chance. Because despite everything, you were still my brother."
Davin let out a slow breath, something unreadable crossing his face.
"Guess that makes us even," he muttered.
For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of the years between them settling into silence.
Then, without a word, Davin held out his hand.
Rook glanced at it. Then grinned, shaking his head before grasping Davin's forearm in a firm shake.
"One day, we're gonna stop trying to kill each other," Rook mused.
Davin smirked. "That day's not today."
Suddenly—a noise in the distance.
Their hands broke apart as their instincts sharpened.
The sound of boots against stone, moving with purpose. Too many to be just another drunk crowd.
Rook's eyes narrowed, and with a silent exchange of looks, both he and Davin broke into motion.
With ease built from years of practice, they scaled the side of a low building, moving in near-perfect tandem until they crouched atop the roof.
Below them, in the murky half-light of the alleyways, a band of Syndicate operatives was moving through their district. Rook counted at least twenty.
And they weren't merchants or low-level thieves.
They were killers.
Armed, organized, and moving toward something with purpose.
Davin exhaled, voice barely above a whisper. "Guess we picked a hell of a night to make amends." He curled his fingers and his hands lit up with sunlight.
Rook grunted, unsheathing one of his daggers.
"Let's make sure we live long enough to celebrate it, then."