The training hall had become a war room.
Dim candlelight flickered across maps sprawled over the central table. Kael stood over them, jaw tight, brow furrowed as he studied the city's layout. Streets, alleys, sewer routes—every hidden artery of Emberfall that the Cartel might exploit was marked in red. Beside him, Sarai traced potential infiltration points with a piece of charcoal, her movements swift and decisive.
"They'll retreat to the undercity," she said. "The Cartel's base is old, rooted beneath the Forge Quarters. That's where their real strength lies—black-market channels, smuggling routes, weapons caches. And people who owe them everything."
Kael nodded slowly. "Then that's where we strike."
"Not yet." Sarai's voice was calm, but firm. "We don't know enough. If we charge in now, we'll walk into a pit of blades."
He exhaled sharply. The Chains pulsed faintly, responding to his frustration. "So what then? We sit and wait while they regroup?"
"No," she said, meeting his gaze. "We bait them."
Kael raised an eyebrow.
"We've spread word that you're weakened from the last fight," Sarai continued. "Rumors. The Cartel has ears in every tavern. If they think you're vulnerable, they'll push. And when they do… we'll bleed them."
A smile touched Kael's lips—brief and sharp. "You're sure they'll take the bait?"
"They have to," Sarai said. "They can't afford to let you rise. You threaten everything they've built."
Kael's fingers brushed the map, eyes falling on the outer districts—half-burnt neighborhoods, forgotten by the Guild, where the Cartel ruled openly. He could still smell the smoke from the last assault, hear the cries of frightened civilians. This wasn't just strategy. It was personal.
"We draw them into neutral ground," he said, thinking aloud. "Somewhere they can't afford to burn."
"There's an old grain exchange near the Hollow's Edge," Sarai offered. "Abandoned, but central. We plant our people, dig in, let them think you're exposed—and when they strike…"
"We strike harder," Kael finished.
Sarai nodded. "But we need eyes in their network. Someone close to them. Otherwise, the mercenary—whoever that was—will cut through us before we see it coming."
Kael looked up, a thought flickering across his mind. "There's someone who might help."
Sarai's gaze sharpened. "Who?"
"An informant," he said. "Name's Rell. Used to run with the Cartel. He vanished a while ago, but if anyone knows their layout, it's him. He owes me."
"Owes you?" Sarai arched a brow.
Kael didn't answer right away. The memory was bitter—smoke, blood, a night spent dragging Rell's broken body out of a Cartel raid zone. He'd made a choice to save him. Maybe now that choice would pay off.
"I'll find him," Kael said.
"Not alone," Sarai warned.
Kael smirked, already stepping toward the door. "I wasn't planning to. I want them to see me. Let the Cartel know I'm not hiding. I want them nervous."
The chain at his wrist flickered, its weight strangely comforting. Each step forward made its pulse stronger, like it was sensing his intent and responding in kind.
As Kael and Sarai stepped into the streets once more, the city felt different. Tighter. Like something unseen was holding its breath. Whispers had begun to spread—about the boy with the Chains, about the night of the ambush. Rumors, questions, fear. The Cartel had tried to move in the dark, and now, the light was turning toward them.
They passed a pair of young street kids watching from a rooftop—wide-eyed, silent. Kael nodded to them, and they vanished into the shadows. Word would spread fast.
The trap had been set.
And somewhere, in the deeper dark, the Cartel's mercenary was watching. Waiting.