Lord Rowe sat hunched over his desk, light spilling across the report laid open before him.
The ink was still fresh from his scribes, but it told him nothing he had not already confirmed with his own eyes.
He had bent over Bruno’s corpse himself, and examined the ruined veins and warped flesh.
It was undeniable. It was the same taint. The same wretched signature as Juniper’s.
Whoever was behind it had not just struck once. They’d struck again, right under his nose.
His rage burned cold in his chest, and he clenched his fists, reading through the report.
Luckily, this time, there was more.
The few witnesses they found in the aftermath spoke of a young man in a dark leather cloak who had fought and killed Bruno.
Some claimed he fought like a seasoned warrior, and others said he was a mage, and used powerful spells.
Either way, it meant a new player had entered the board, and whether ally or enemy, he had trespassed into Rowe’s hunt.
A firm knock rattled the door. "Enter," Rowe said.
Garret stepped inside.
"My lord, we’ve received a tip." He carried a folded letter in one hand, the wax seal already broken.
"I think you’ll want to see this." He placed it on the desk, his face grim.
Rowe flipped it open. The handwriting was hurried but legible.
And it contained more information than he’d been able to find since the death of his daughter.
It spoke of a man named Snake who was behind the transformations.
And according to the letter, he would move again tonight. At an underground ring.
It also said the man in the leather cloak will also be there. A chance for him to catch all the major players at the same time.
Checkmate in one move.
Tucked into the envelope were several tokens, stamped with the crude sigil of the fighting pits.
Rowe’s jaw tightened as he traced the paper edges. An anonymous letter.
A baited hook, perhaps. But bait mattered little.
If this... Snake was truly behind this, then tonight, he would have a body in his grasp. Along with answers.
He rose abruptly, the chair scraping across the stone floor.
"Mobilize our best," Rowe ordered. "No recruits. No half-trained pups."
"I want my strongest warriors in plain clothes, spread through that crowd before the first bell sounds."
Garret bowed. "Undercover, my lord?"
"Yes," Rowe snapped. "No insignias, no cloaks of authority. We cannot spook the prey. If they think we are watching, they scatter."
"And most importantly, I want a blockade rising the moment we begin operations. Nobody teleports or walks in or out without going through us first. Understood?"
"Yes, my Lord." Garret saluted.
"Good. Tonight, we have a chance that we cannot let slip away." He gripped the tokens, knuckles whitening.
"The cloaked man, Snake, whoever else slithers from the dark, they are all mine. One way or another, we’ll drag the truth into the light."
Garret gave a sharp nod. "It will be done."
When the door shut behind him, Rowe stood alone in the silence.
His eyes burned as they landed on Juniper’s name scribbled across another report buried beneath the pile.
His daughter’s blood cried out still, and there were already whispers of demons walking in human skins around Camelot.
Tonight, he swore, there would be no more whispers. Tonight, someone would break beneath his hand.
Rowe slid the tokens into his cloak and blew out the lamp.
The hunt had shifted to the pits, and he would be there when the monster revealed its face.
[][][][][]
Othello’s lab smelled faintly of ozone and a faint undercurrent of something metallic.
The man himself was bent over a shallow tray, his hands steady as he threaded a filament through a tiny crystalline membrane.
There was the sound of flapping wings, and something phases through the walls, throwing a shadow across the work.
A crow landed on a nearby table with a soft caw.
Its feathers were as dark as ink, with one eye glinting with a soft blue light.
It cocked its head, waiting in silence until Othello had straightened and wiped his fingers on a rag.
"Speak," Othello said, voice soft.
The crow’s beak clicked. "They’ve been tipped. The Investigation Authority was given a letter. Tonight’s ring. The next transformation."
"Who could that be?" Othello’s mouth twitched into something like a smile. "The leather cloak?"
"No. Someone else." The crow hopped a few steps, ruffling its wings. "But the man in the dark cloak will be there too."
Othello nodded as he pushed back from the bench and circled the bird, hands clasped behind his back. "Where exactly will Snake be?"
"Nearby," the crow said. "As usual, on the periphery, watching the change. Gathering data. He doesn’t know Rowe’s men are coming. Or the cloaked man."
Othello laughed at what he heard.
This was one of the things he lived for. The perfect swing of cause and effect.
But what he loved more was the data.
It would be a live trial. A chance to gather as much data as he needed all at once.
"So Snake is blind to this?" Othello asked, pacing between shelves stacked with labeled horrors.
He stopped before a jar of something pale and breathing faintly. "Excellent."
The crow dipped its head.
Othello’s fingers found a stopper on the jar and turned it absentmindedly, listening to the soft clink within.
"Very well. We shall do nothing," he murmured.
"Let Rowe’s dogs charge into the dark. Let Snake perform and panic. Let the cloak appear."
"If there is chaos, there will be variables to measure. If they uncover him, it’ll be even better. Panic provides behavior. Panic is honest."
He picked up a vial and rolled it between his palms, imagining the scene in his mind���s eye.
All the data points, reactions, and failure modes.
The crow cocked its head. "And the anonymous tip? Shall I—"
"Yes." Othello’s voice hardened into something cold. "Find the source of the letter. Trace it. Bring me the sender’s name."
"I am curious who this player might be, and that curiosity is best entertained face to face."
The bird’s eye flashed. "At once."
Othello watched the crow take flight, and a few seconds later, returned to his work.
"This’ll be fun."