The Chronicles of a Fallen Star

The morning light streamed through the small window, casting soft golden rays over the room as Paola adjusted her cloak, her tail flicking behind her with its usual nervous energy. Poca sat at the edge of the bed, pouting dramatically, her mismatched purple and green eyes fixed on Paola and Yasmin with a playful hint of accusation.

“So,” Poca began, her lips forming an exaggerated pout, “it seems I missed out on some intimate moments last night, non?”

Yasmin, already dressed and leaning casually against the wall, snickered. "Not our fault you snore like a bear in hibernation," she teased, her fiery red hair still slightly tousled from sleep. Her cheeks were as red as her locks, but her posture was relaxed, and there was that usual mischievous grin on her face.

Paola rolled her eyes, adjusting her cloak one last time before standing in front of Poca. “Poca, come on. It wasn’t planned.” She glanced at Yasmin, who gave her a mischievous grin, before turning back to Poca. “But hey, we could always make it up right now if you want.”

Yasmin gasped mockingly. “I didn’t sign up for a morning workout! But… I wouldn’t mind the show.”

Poca’s pout softened into a sly smile, her eyes twinkling as she leaned forward slightly. “Ah, mon amour, I wouldn’t say no to zat… but maybe later, hmm? We have a festival to get ready for, and ze last day is ze most important, non?” She playfully poked Paola in the side, though there was a glint in her eye that promised a raincheck on their offer.

Paola smiled, her golden-flecked eyes softening as she leaned down and kissed Poca’s cheek. “Alright, later then. But I’ll definitely make it up to you.”

Poca grinned, brushing her dark blue hair back with a playful flick. “You’ll ‘ave to, mon cœur. I’m keeping track.”

Yasmin, standing fully dressed by the window with a smirk tugging at her lips, chimed in. “Yeah, Paola, don’t forget the rule about sharing.” She hesitated for a second, her usual confidence faltering as she added, “Though... I mean, that might be a little tricky.”

Paola raised an eyebrow, a grin creeping onto her face. “Oh, tricky, huh? Thought you were tougher than that, Yasmin.”

Yasmin crossed her arms, wings twitching in mock defiance. “Hey, I’m just saying, Poca might fight me for it.”

Poca, still perched on the edge of the bed, fluttered her lashes dramatically. “Oui, I will fight for my turn. You better be ready.”

Yasmin blinked, the teasing bravado giving way to a more genuine laugh. “Well, guess I’d better stay sharp then.”

Paola shook her head, amused at how Yasmin, despite her boldness, still had that awkward hesitation when it came to moments like this. “No fighting needed, I’ll make sure everyone gets their share.”

Poca tilted her head playfully. “Good, because I won’t go easy on either of you.”

Paola chuckled, moving toward the mirror to take one last look at herself before the day began. The banter was light, but there was a strange undercurrent in the air, and the feeling lingered even as they joked. Today was the last day of the festival, and something about it felt... different.

That knot in her stomach wouldn’t go away.

Just as Paola was about to bring it up, a soft, gentle rapping came from the door. All three of them froze for a moment, their playful banter coming to a halt as they exchanged uncertain glances.

Paola’s ears perked up as she straightened, glancing at the door. “Who…?”

Yasmin stepped away from the wall, her wings twitching in mild curiosity. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

Poca raised an eyebrow, but before any of them could speculate further, the door creaked open slowly. Selene stood there, her tall, imposing figure framed by the soft morning light. She looked... tired. Not physically, but as if she was carrying a weight that had drained the energy from her soul.

Paola’s eyes widened, and she threw her arms up, stepping forward. “Selene! Where have you been? We’ve missed you for the whole festival!” Her excitement shifted quickly to concern as she noticed the weary look in Selene’s marbled purple eyes. “But at least you’re back for the last day.”

Selene’s lips tugged into a small, weary smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. “I know... I’m sorry.” Her voice was low, almost cautious. “I’ve been dealing with... things. But we need to talk.”

Paola’s heart sank, the knot in her stomach tightening as Selene’s words settled in the room. Yasmin leaned back against the wall, her casual posture slipping as she crossed her arms, eyes narrowing slightly.

Without another word, Selene moved toward the small table and sat down, her movements slow and deliberate, like someone carrying the weight of the world. Poca, always intuitive to others’ emotions, sat back down on the bed, her playful demeanor fading as she reached out to Paola, who instinctively sat beside her.

Yasmin, more cautious now, leaned against the wall again, watching Selene closely. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice still carrying its usual sharpness, though there was a thread of concern in it now.

***

Two days prior, Selene moved through the dimly lit streets of Valarian, her mind heavy with the weight of what she had to do. The distant sounds of the festival echoed faintly in her ears, but she hardly noticed. She was focused, each step deliberate, her mithralite hand flexing unconsciously as she navigated the twisting alleys that led toward the Shadow’s Corner.

The blood oath she had taken with Korran weighed heavily on her, a decision made in haste but with few alternatives. She had felt trapped, cornered, and now that decision threatened to spiral into something she couldn’t control. Korran was a powerful ally, but he was also dangerous. His influence stretched far beyond the slums of Valarian, and while his resources had been useful, Selene had no illusions about where she stood with him.

Her mithralite hand clenched into a fist as she considered her position. Poca had forgiven her, and Paola too, though Selene wasn’t sure she fully deserved it. She had spent so long focused on survival—on hunting down Fallen Stars and claiming what she could—that trusting people again felt foreign, almost dangerous. And yet, here she was, surrounded by people who genuinely cared for her, something she hadn’t had in years. Ayla, Poca, Paola, even Yasmin—they were all formidable in their own ways, yet they made her feel like she could belong somewhere, like she wasn’t just the weapon she’d been molded into.

But none of that would matter if Korran came collecting.

Selene turned a corner, her hand still flexing, and found herself at the entrance to the Thieves' Guild. The building was as unassuming as ever—just another piece of Valarian’s underbelly—but she knew the truth of what lay inside. Two guards stood by the door, eyes cold and assessing as they spotted her. One of them gave her a quick nod of recognition, then knocked on the door in the coded pattern that would grant her entry.

The door swung open, and Selene slipped inside, her heart pounding more from frustration than fear. The interior was dim, lit only by a few oil lamps casting long, flickering shadows across the rough stone walls. She moved with a practiced ease, slipping past the usual suspects—guild members chatting in hushed tones, gamblers seated at low tables, and thieves counting their spoils.

Korran’s office lay at the back, where the real power of the guild resided. As she approached, Selene’s thoughts churned. The moment she had agreed to the blood oath, her life had been tethered to Korran’s whims. She needed to play this carefully, use what she had learned, and make sure the guild stayed out of her way for now.

When she reached Korran’s door, she paused for a moment, steadying herself. There was no turning back now. She knocked once and heard his familiar, deep voice call out from the other side.

“Enter.”

The door creaked open, revealing Korran seated behind his large wooden desk. The room was furnished with an odd mix of practical weapons and luxurious artifacts, a testament to the man’s dual nature—both gladiator and crime lord. His piercing dark eyes locked onto her as she entered, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

“Selene,” Korran said, waving her inside with a casual gesture. “I was wondering when I’d see you again. How have you been?”

Selene didn’t waste time on pleasantries. She moved to stand before his desk, her posture rigid. “We need to talk, Korran. The guild is going to have to wait for any value from the feather.”

Korran leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow arched. “Oh?” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “And here I was, thinking you’d be eager to make good on our little arrangement.”

Selene met his gaze evenly, her voice steady. “I’ll honor my end of the deal. But it’s going to take time. I need the guild off my back until I can make sure everything goes smoothly.”

Korran’s smirk widened slightly, but his eyes held a dangerous glint. “The guild isn’t impatient, Selene. Just as long as we get half of the value when it’s done, we’re all good. Just don’t forget about that blood oath you made.” His tone casual.

Selene swallowed, the weight of his words pressing down on her. She had known what she was getting into when she made the oath, but that didn’t make it any easier. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said, her voice tight. “But I’m not betraying Poca or Paola. I need you to know that.”

Korran chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Oh, I’m sure you won’t,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and menace. “But remember, Selene, loyalty has many forms. And so do betrayals.”

She bristled but held her tongue. There was no point in antagonizing Korran further. She needed his cooperation for now, even if it grated on her every instinct. “I need information about what’s been going on with Lady Marcelline behind the scenes,” she said, changing the subject. “There’s been too much chatter, and I need to know where she stands.”

Korran’s smirk faded, his expression turning more serious. “Lady Marcelline, hmm?” He drummed his fingers on the desk, his dark eyes narrowing. “That’s a tricky one, even for me. She’s well-guarded, and her business dealings are... let’s just say, heavily veiled.”

Selene frowned. “I need to know what she’s planning. Whatever she’s involved in, it’s putting people at risk.”

Korran let out a low hum of thought, his fingers still drumming on the desk. “Even with the guild’s resources, getting reliable information on her isn’t easy. She keeps her cards close to her chest.” He paused, a calculating look crossing his face. “But there’s one way you could get the information you need.”

Selene raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Korran stood, moving around the desk to stand in front of her. He was a tall man, towering over her as he crossed his arms. “You’re going to need to get close to someone in her inner circle. A mission, if you will.”

Selene’s stomach tightened. She had known this was coming, but it didn’t make the reality of it any easier. “Who?”

Korran’s smile returned, but this time it was colder, more dangerous. “There’s a gathering happening at her estate tonight. Nobles, merchants, powerful people. If you can get inside, blend in, and make contact with one of her key advisors—his name is Damion Arcturus—you might be able to find out what she’s up to. But it won’t be easy. You’ll need to move carefully.”

Selene’s mind raced as she processed the information. A gathering at Marcelline’s estate meant heightened security and countless potential risks. But it was also her best chance to get what she needed. She couldn’t afford to let this opportunity slip away.

“And if I get caught?” she asked, her voice steady despite the tension in her gut.

Korran shrugged, his smirk widening once again. “Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? I can get you in, but after that, you’re on your own.”

Selene considered his words carefully. This wasn’t just about the guild anymore—this was about keeping the people she cared about safe. She had come too far to back down now.

“I’ll do it,” she said, her voice firm.

Korran’s dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Good. I’ll make the arrangements.” He turned, walking back to his desk and scribbling something onto a piece of parchment. “This will get you past the first layer of security,” he said, handing her the note. “After that, you’re on your own. Anyone looks to closely at you and you're done.”

Selene took the note, tucking it into her pocket. Her mithralite hand flexed once more, a nervous habit she had yet to shake.

“Remember, Selene,” Korran said, his voice low and dangerous. “The guild has its eye on you. Don’t make any mistakes.”

Without another word, she turned and left the office, her heart pounding in her chest as she made her way back through the twisting corridors of the guild. The cold air hit her as she stepped outside, but it did nothing to cool the fire burning in her veins.

She had a mission now. A dangerous one, but one she couldn’t afford to fail. Lady Marcelline’s plans were becoming clearer by the day, and Selene had to stop them before they spiraled out of control.

As she moved through the crowded streets of Valarian, her thoughts drifted back to Poca, Paola, and the others. She couldn’t let them down. Not again. The stakes were too high, and the danger too real.

Selene left the guild, her boots pressing softly against the cobblestone streets as she made her way back into the night. The note Korran had given her was tucked securely in her coat pocket. Her fingers brushed against it, feeling the faint hum of the jade-tier illusion spell that had been cast onto it. It wasn’t just a piece of paper—this was her pass, a carefully crafted disguise meant to ensure that she could walk into Lady Marcelline’s estate unnoticed. The illusion would shift depending on who looked at it, showing them exactly what they expected to see: a noblewoman, elegant and poised, rather than a demon who was walking into the lion's den. Korran hadn't spared the expenses for her, as he shouldn't.

She couldn’t afford any mistakes tonight.

Marcelline’s estate was several hours outside Valarian, nestled deep within the rolling hills and thick forests that overlooked the city. As Selene made her way through the narrow, winding streets, her mind raced with the task ahead. Infiltration was always a delicate dance, but tonight felt different—more dangerous. She wasn’t just gathering information; she was walking into a place where one wrong move could get her killed. Worse, it could expose the people she cared about.

Her mithralite hand flexed unconsciously at her side as she walked. The weight of the cold, enchanted metal grounding her as the familiar nervous energy churned in her gut.

It was a few hours before dawn when Selene arrived at the outskirts of Lady Marcelline’s sprawling estate. The massive stone walls loomed in the distance, lit by flickering torches that lined the perimeter. Tall iron gates marked the entrance, guarded by soldiers clad in dark, imposing armor. The estate itself was a maze of courtyards, manicured gardens, and towering spires—an opulent display of wealth and power.

Selene slowed her pace, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the note. She took a breath, feeling the subtle pulse of the illusion magic woven into it. The spell would hold as long as no one looked too closely. All she needed was to blend in, to slip past the guards and into the heart of Marcelline’s estate.

The guards at the gate barely spared her a glance as she approached. As they inspected the note, the illusion did its work—one guard saw a noblewoman from a powerful house, the other saw a wealthy guest with the proper credentials. With a curt nod, they allowed her entry.

Once inside the gates, Selene moved swiftly through the outer courtyards, keeping her head low and her steps deliberate. The estate was alive with activity, servants rushing to and fro, nobles gathered in small clusters, talking in hushed voices. The air was thick with tension—an undercurrent of unease that crackled just beneath the surface of the lavish surroundings.

Selene’s heart raced as she wove her way through the crowds, her eyes scanning the faces around her. She couldn’t afford to linger too long in one place. She had to find Damion Arcturus, one of Lady Marcelline’s key advisors, and get the information she needed. Every step felt heavy with the weight of what she was risking.

The magic that cloaked her was powerful, but it wasn’t perfect. She could feel the eyes of the other nobles, their gazes brushing over her as they accepted her presence without question. But she knew it wouldn’t last forever. If anyone looked too closely, if anyone suspected...

She pushed the thought away and focused on the task at hand. Damion was known for being arrogant, always eager to show off his power and influence. He would likely be in one of the private chambers, away from the main gathering. Selene slipped through a side corridor, her movements quick and fluid as she made her way deeper into the estate.

Finally, she found him.

Selene stepped into the dimly lit room, the faint glow from the oil lamps casting long shadows along the stone walls. Her footsteps were soft, almost imperceptible, as she moved forward with the practiced ease of someone who had spent years slipping in and out of places unnoticed. The game of espionage was one she knew well—a life she had lived before the chaos of the Fallen Stars turned her world upside down.

It felt like a lifetime ago, those days of subtle whispers, shadowy meetings, and careful disguises. Back then, her life had been simpler, though no less dangerous. Every job had been a puzzle, and she had relished the challenge of piecing together secrets without ever drawing too much attention. She was good at playing roles, slipping into identities like a second skin, and now, all those skills had brought her here, to this moment.

Damion Arcturus stood at a large wooden table in the center of the room, his back to her as he studied a map spread out before him. He hadn’t yet noticed her, which was a testament to her ability to blend into the background, even in a room as quiet as this. His long, dark hair was pulled back into a tight knot, and his deep blue velvet coat glinted in the lamplight, the silver embroidery along its edges catching her eye.

He looked the same as ever—smug, self-assured, like a man who believed he held all the cards.

Selene adjusted her cloak, ensuring that her mithralite hand remained hidden beneath the folds of fabric, then stepped forward into the room. She let the door close softly behind her, the sound barely audible.

“Damion Arcturus,” she said, her voice low, casual, almost bored.

Damion didn’t react right away, his posture remaining relaxed as he traced a line along the map with one gloved finger. “You’re late,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “Though I’m not surprised. Timing was never your strong suit.”

Selene allowed herself a small smirk, playing along. It was all part of the act. “Traffic,” she replied smoothly, stepping closer to him. She moved as though she belonged there, her movements deliberate and confident, just like the person Damion was expecting to meet. "Roads are always so crowded during festivals."

Damion turned then, his sharp green eyes locking onto her as a slow smile spread across his face. He studied her, and she could see him trying to reconcile her with the person he thought she was. He’d worked with plenty of spies and informants before, but Selene knew that someone like him rarely paid attention to the details, as long as the results were what he expected.

His gaze lingered on her face, then drifted to her hands. She tucked the mithralite one deeper into her cloak, careful to keep her expression neutral.

“You’ve come to discuss our Lady Marcelline, I presume?” he said, his voice smooth, with just the faintest hint of arrogance.

“Isn’t that why I’m here?” Selene stepped closer, her hand still resting lightly on the hilt of her dagger beneath her cloak. She wouldn’t need it, not yet, but it was always better to be ready. Her eyes flicked briefly to the map on the table before returning to Damion. "Seems like things are moving fast.”

Damion chuckled softly, turning back to the map with a casual wave of his hand. “Faster than most people realize. But Marcelline has it all under control. She's always been good at keeping her cards close, ensuring that by the time anyone knows what’s happening, it's already too late.”

Selene nodded, keeping her expression neutral as she moved closer to the table, standing next to him now. The map was filled with strategic markings, routes in and out of Valarian, symbols she recognized from her years of intelligence work. This was no small operation.

“And the threat?” she asked, her tone carefully measured. “You’re confident it’s already been handled?”

Damion gave her a sidelong glance, his smirk widening. “A threat, yes. But a small one. The riot that’s been planned... well, let's just say it’s a nuisance at best. Marcelline has more resources than people give her credit for. It’s already been taken care of.”

Selene fought to keep her pulse steady. She had to play this carefully, one wrong question and the whole thing could unravel. She leaned in, her voice dropping as though she was sharing in his confidence. “And who exactly thought they could pull this off? You know I like to keep tabs on anyone foolish enough to challenge her.”

Damion’s eyes flickered with amusement. He enjoyed this, toying with the details, savoring his role in the game. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Let’s just say some of the old families still hold grudges. They thought they could stir up enough trouble to shake things up, maybe even overthrow her.”

“Overthrow?” Selene echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Bold. And foolish.”

“Very,” he agreed, turning to face her fully now, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “But Marcelline has already taken measures to ensure they’ll regret it.”

Selene smiled, trying to keep the conversation light, her tone conspiratorial. “I imagine you’ve had a hand in that?”

“Oh, I’ve done more than that,” Damion said, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. “I’ve fleshed out their entire operation. By the time the masquerade is over, they’ll be lucky if they can show their faces in Valarian again.”

Selene’s heart raced, though she kept her expression calm. This was bigger than she thought. Whatever this riot was, it wasn’t just some petty rebellion—it was part of something far more dangerous.

She had to press him further, but she had to do it delicately. “And you’re sure everything’s in place? You’ve taken care of all the loose ends?”

Damion’s smile faltered, just slightly. His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, he really looked at her—closely. “Of course,” he said, though the confidence in his voice had dimmed just a bit. “Everything’s been handled. There’s no one left to stand in her way.”

Selene nodded, trying to keep the conversation moving. “Good. I was worried for a moment there. Marcelline can be... demanding when things don’t go her way.”

Damion’s gaze lingered on her, and she could see the doubt beginning to creep in. He tilted his head slightly, studying her face with more scrutiny than before. “You know, I don’t recall you being quite this... cautious,” he said, his voice taking on a more suspicious tone. "Last time we met, you were much more... direct."

Selene cursed inwardly. She’d pushed too far.

Damion’s eyes locked onto hers, and in an instant, the mask of arrogance fell away, replaced by cold suspicion. His smirk faded, and his hand twitched toward the sword at his side.

“You’re not—” he started, but Selene was already moving.

In one swift motion, she grabbed the dagger from beneath her cloak and pressed it to his throat, her eyes hard and cold as she leaned in close. “Scream, and you’ll never leave this room,” she whispered, her voice low and dangerous.

Damion’s eyes widened, the color draining from his face as the reality of the situation sank in. His breath hitched, and he froze, his hand stopping just short of his sword.

“What do you want?” he rasped, fear finally slipping into his voice.

“Details. Now,” Selene hissed, the blade pressing just enough to make him wince.

For a moment, Damion hesitated, his eyes darting toward the door, but the sharpness of the blade against his skin made him rethink his options. “The riot... it’s going to happen regardless of what Marcelline thinks,” he whispered, his voice shaky but still laced with a sliver of defiance. “There are others—ones she can’t control. They’re planning something big at the masquerade. That’s all I know.”

Selene’s mind raced. This was worse than she’d thought. But before she could press him for more, she heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching—heavy, armored footsteps.

Damion’s eyes flicked toward the door, his smirk returning despite the blade at his throat. “Looks like your time’s up,” he said, his voice trembling slightly but still smug.

Selene cursed under her breath and yanked the dagger away from his throat. She didn’t have time to waste.

She bolted for the window, throwing it open just as the door behind her burst open. The cold night air rushed in as she leaped out, landing in a crouch on the ground below. The impact jolted through her legs, but she pushed through the pain and sprinted toward the tree line.

“Find her!” a guard shouted from behind, their voices quickly growing louder as they realized what had happened.

Selene sprinted toward the edge of the estate, her heart pounding in her chest as she heard the sound of horses being saddled. The chase was on. She sprinted through the garden, her breath sharp and rapid as the shouts of the guards filled the air behind her. The gate was still a ways off, but the trees at the edge of the estate were just ahead. If she could reach them, she might have a chance to slip into the forest, disappear, and make her way back to Valarian undetected.

The thunder of hooves grew louder as the mounted guards closed in. She pushed herself harder, her legs burning, but the gap between her and the riders was shrinking. The pounding rhythm of hooves sent a surge of adrenaline through her, urging her onward. She could see the first of the trees now—so close, just a few more strides.

But before she could reach the cover of the woods, a shadow moved in her peripheral vision. The next thing she knew, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, and she was slammed to the ground with a grunt. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs as she hit the dirt, gasping for breath.

“Got you,” a voice growled above her.

Selene’s vision blurred for a moment, but she quickly shook it off. A guard had tackled her, pinning her to the ground. His weight pressed down on her, the metallic smell of his armor mixing with the earth. She gritted her teeth, twisting her body beneath him, trying to get free.

The guard's grip was firm as he reached for his blade, but Selene was faster. In one fluid motion, she jammed her mithralite hand between them and delivered a sharp elbow to his ribs, knocking the air out of him. He grunted in pain, loosening his hold for a split second—just long enough for her to wriggle free and roll to her feet.

He lunged at her, but she sidestepped, bringing her fist down hard on the back of his neck. The guard stumbled forward, momentarily dazed, giving her the chance to pull the dagger from her belt. She didn't want to kill him—not unless it was absolutely necessary.

As the guard spun around, drawing his sword, Selene raised her hands in a defensive stance, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, her voice low and calm. “But you’re not stopping me.”

He lunged at her again, slashing with his sword, but she was ready. Selene parried the blow with her mithralite arm, the sound of metal clashing ringing out as sparks flew. She followed up with a quick slash of her own, cutting the strap of his scabbard. The sword slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a dull thud.

The guard's eyes widened as Selene advanced on him, moving like a shadow in the night. He swung a wild punch, but she easily dodged it, stepping in close and slamming the hilt of her dagger against his jaw. He staggered back, blood dripping from his split lip, and fell to his knees.

“Stay down,” she growled, breathing heavily.

But just as she turned to make a break for the tree line, she saw the other guards closing in fast—three of them, all on horseback, charging through the garden like a pack of hunting wolves.

Selene’s heart raced. She didn’t have time to run. She needed to get out of there, now.

Without a second thought, she turned back to the dazed guard on the ground. His horse, a sleek black stallion, was standing a few feet away, pawing at the dirt anxiously.

“Sorry about this,” Selene muttered under her breath.

She sprinted toward the horse, grabbing its reins and swinging herself up into the saddle in one swift motion. The horse reared slightly, startled by the sudden movement, but Selene held firm, calming it with a steady hand on its neck.

The other guards were nearly upon her, their swords raised, shouts echoing through the night air.

"Get back here!" one of them yelled, spurring his horse forward.

Selene pulled the reins, turning the horse sharply toward the gate. She kicked her heels into its sides, and the stallion shot forward with a burst of speed. The wind whipped through her hair as she rode, the estate flashing past in a blur of dark shapes and flickering torches.

The gate loomed ahead, and Selene’s heart pounded in her chest. If it was locked, she'd be trapped. But just as she approached, the gate began to swing open—likely more guards coming to investigate the commotion. It was now or never.

She urged the horse faster, leaning low against its neck as they galloped through the gate just as it opened wide enough for them to pass. Behind her, the other guards shouted in frustration, their horses skidding to a halt.

Selene didn't look back.

Once she was free of the estate, she guided the horse down the winding road, its hooves thundering against the dirt path as she made her way back toward Valarian. The trees closed in around her, and the dense forest offered some cover, but she knew she couldn’t slow down. The guards would be searching for her, and it wouldn’t take them long to send word to the city.

As the adrenaline began to wear off, Selene allowed herself a moment to breathe. Her heart still raced, her muscles burning from the exertion, but she had done it. She had escaped with the information she needed, though not as cleanly as she had hoped.

The threat to Lady Marcelline was real—something big was coming, and soon. She hadn’t gotten the full details, but Damion’s arrogance had told her enough. A riot was being planned, something that could destabilize the city, and it was all set to unfold at the masquerade.

Selene gritted her teeth, urging the horse faster. She had to get back to the others. There was no telling how much time they had left, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to come crashing down.

The wind howled through the trees, and the path ahead twisted and turned, but Selene kept her eyes forward, her thoughts racing as fast as the horse beneath her.