The whispers spread through the ballroom like wildfire, a low, creeping buzz that rippled from one corner of the grand hall to the other. Thorne stood amidst it all, the carefully constructed mask of a carefree noble still in place, even as tension coiled tight within him. He could feel the shift in the atmosphere, the way the laughter had dulled and the music now seemed a bit too loud, a bit too bright against the growing undercurrent of unease.

  He’d been at this long enough to recognize the signs—the subtle glances exchanged between nobles, the nervous flick of a fan, the way conversations died abruptly as someone leaned in to murmur a secret. The news was spreading faster than he’d anticipated, and with each passing second, the danger of discovery increased.

  Thorne’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the various groups of nobles as they began to cluster together, their heads bent in hushed conversation. He didn’t need to hear what they were saying to know the subject. Lord Valewyn, the Warden of the West, was dead.

  It was time to leave.

  He turned slightly, his gaze sweeping over the room, searching for Jareth and Rhea. The ballroom was packed, the throng of bodies making it difficult to spot anyone. But he caught a glimpse of Rhea near the entrance, still standing with the other guards, her face set in a mask of stoic professionalism. Good. She was ready.

  Thorne took another sip of his drink, the cool liquid doing little to ease the tension in his chest. He needed to find Jareth, confirm that the last part of their mission had been completed, and then get out before the chaos truly erupted.

  As he moved through the crowd, Thorne kept his expression neutral, his body language relaxed, but his mind was racing. The nobles were beginning to react, their movements becoming more agitated, more purposeful. Some were making their way toward the exits, their curiosity piqued by the sudden shift in the room’s energy.

  A knot of young nobles stood nearby, their conversation halted as one of them—an older, sharp-eyed man—leaned in to speak. His words were too low for Thorne to catch, but the reactions were clear enough. Shock, disbelief, and then a slow, dawning horror.

  Thorne slipped past them, his movements smooth and unhurried, as if he were merely seeking a quieter spot in the bustling room. He had to keep his cover intact, even as the storm of realization broke around him.

  And then, just as he was about to make his way toward the far end of the room, he felt it—a sharp, penetrating gaze that cut through the crowd and settled on him with unnerving precision. Thorne’s breath hitched, and he resisted the urge to look around wildly for the source. Instead, he casually turned his head, scanning the crowd with the same feigned disinterest he’d maintained all night.

  It was the mysterious woman from before.

  She was standing with a group of distinguished nobles, her eyes locked onto him with a look that sent a cold shiver down his spine. Her lips were parted slightly, as if she was about to speak, but she made no move to approach him. Beside her, two men were engaged in a heated conversation, oblivious to the silent exchange happening right beside him.

  Thorne forced a grin, raising his glass in a mock salute. The woman didn’t return the gesture. Instead, she merely tilted her head, her expression unreadable as she continued to watch him. He couldn’t tell if she knew—if she had somehow pieced together the truth about what he’d done. But the intensity of her gaze was enough to make him uneasy.

  He needed to get out of here. Now.

  Thorne moved again, his body protesting with every step. Exhaustion had set in, a deep, bone-weary fatigue that gnawed at him, dragging his every movement as if he were wading through thick mud.

  The night had taken its toll on him, and despite his best efforts to mask his fatigue, the strain was evident in the way his shoulders slumped slightly and his steps lacked their usual precision.

  Thorne’s eyes swept over the crowd, searching for any sign of Jareth. He had been waiting for hours, biding his time and maintaining the facade of a carefree noble. But with each passing minute, the pressure mounted. The city guards had begun to trickle into the ballroom, their armor gleaming white and red—the colors of Valewind. Their presence was a stark contrast to the opulence of the event, a reminder that the situation was rapidly spiraling out of control.

  Time was running out.

  Thorne took a sip of the sparkling liquid in his glass, more to steady his nerves than anything else. The cool liquid slid down his throat, but it did little to soothe the tension coiled tight in his chest. He could feel eyes on him, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Alden’s father had already confronted him earlier, and while Thorne had managed to deflect the man’s accusations, it was clear that others were watching him closely.

  He cast a glance toward Rhea, who stood just outside the ballroom with the other bodyguards. Her stoic facade was beginning to crack, her eyes darting left and right as she watched the city guards swarm the room. She was searching for Jareth too, and the tension in her posture told him everything he needed to know—she was as worried as he was.

  Corwin, as always, was missing. Thorne had long since given up trying to keep track of him. The man was like a rat, always slipping through the cracks, surviving no matter what. But it was Jareth’s absence that troubled him the most. They couldn’t leave without completing all their tasks, and Jareth’s return was the last piece of the puzzle.

  But how long could they afford to wait?

  His eyes swept the room one last time before he made his decision. He approached the entrance to the ballroom, moving past a squadron of city guards who passed him by, their hands on the hilts of their swords, their gazes scanning the crowd with sharp intensity.

  Rhea saw him coming and broke away from the other bodyguards, meeting him just outside the entrance.

  “We need to leave soon,” Thorne said in a low voice, his tone tense. “This place is about to explode. If we stay any longer, we’ll be caught in the chaos.”

  Rhea nodded, her expression grim. “I know, but I haven’t seen Jareth since we got here. I don’t like this, Thorne. He should have been back by now.”

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  Thorne clenched his jaw, his mind racing with possibilities. Jareth was a skilled assassin, but something had clearly gone wrong. The question was, how long could they afford to wait for him?

  “What if something’s happened to him?” Rhea continued, her voice edged with worry. “We can’t just leave without knowing.”

  “We can’t stay much longer either,” Thorne replied, his voice hard. “Every minute we stay increases the risk. If we’re caught here, it’s over. We need to make a decision—do we wait, or do we leave?”

  Rhea hesitated, torn between her loyalty to Jareth and the cold logic of their situation. Thorne could see the conflict in her eyes, the uncertainty that mirrored his own. They had come too far, risked too much to fail now. But without Jareth, the mission was incomplete.

  “Give him a little longer,” Rhea said finally, her voice tight with tension. “But not much. If he doesn’t show, we leave. Whether he’s here or not.”

  Thorne nodded, his mind already calculating the risks. They would wait, but only for a short while. If Jareth didn’t return soon, they would have to abandon him and make their escape. It was a harsh reality, but one they couldn’t avoid.

  As they stood there, the tension between them palpable, Thorne’s eyes flicked back to the ballroom. The city guards were becoming more active, moving through the crowd with purpose. The nobles were starting to notice, their conversations growing quieter, their movements more guarded. The whispers were spreading, and it wouldn’t be long before the full truth came to light.

  Thorne felt a surge of frustration. Everything was teetering on the edge, and they were running out of time. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. They had to be ready for anything, and that meant staying focused, staying sharp.

  But even as he stood there, trying to project calm and control, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

  Thorne's heart pounded in his chest as he observed the city guards steadily filling the ballroom. Their armor, gleaming white and red, formed a growing circle around the nobles, creating an impenetrable wall of steel and authority.

  The atmosphere in the grand room shifted from festive to tense as the realization dawned on everyone that they were being contained. Murmurs of confusion spread through the crowd, and it wasn't long before a few nobles attempted to leave. Their paths were promptly blocked by the guards, and one by one, the doors around the room were closed, trapping everyone inside.

  Thorne felt his pulse quicken as the situation grew more precarious. He needed to act quickly before the noose tightened around him and the other recruits.

  His Escape Artist skill flared, highlighting possible escape routes in his mind's eye. He quickly assessed his options, searching for the safest way out. Minutes passed as he analyzed the room, trying to stay calm and focused despite the rising panic around him.

  The ballroom had fallen silent, save for the orchestra playing a subdued tune in the background. Indignant voices from nobles demanding answers echoed off the walls, but the guards remained stoic, unmoving.

  Finally, Thorne found a potential escape route. He spotted a small entrance at the far side of the room where servants were scurrying in and out like ants, though the flow of servants had slowed to a trickle as the tension in the room escalated. A few remaining servants, still holding trays, watched the proceedings with wide, fearful eyes.

  Thorne caught Rhea's gaze across the room and subtly nodded towards the servants' entrance. It took her a moment to understand his signal, but when she did, her expression firmed, and she nodded back.

  Thorne began making his way slowly towards the entrance, blending into the crowd of nobles as best as he could. He kept his movements deliberate, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. The crowd thinned the closer he got to the side of the room where the city guards stood watch, their eyes scanning the crowd with suspicion.

  For a moment, he hesitated, unsure how to slip through the wall of guards without drawing attention. But then his eyes landed on a servant standing frozen just outside the perimeter, his hand still raised with a tray of drinks.

  Thorne stumbled out of the throng of nobles, flagging the servant down. "You, servant!" he slurred, letting his Acting skill make him appear thoroughly drunk. The servant’s eyes were glued to the crowd in front of him, oblivious to Thorne’s approach. The guards, however, noticed Thorne's movement and shifted closer to each other, closing the gap between them.

  "You stupid servant! Come here, you heathen!" Thorne's words were barely coherent, pitched low enough so that only the guards could hear him, not the servant. He continued stumbling towards the guards, his eyes clouded as he faked a misstep and almost fell, clutching one of the guard's gauntlets for support. He looked up at the guard with faked appreciation. "Thank you, my good man, I seem to have lost my balance. How unseemly of me."

  Thorne tried to move through the guards, but they blocked his path. "I'm afraid you cannot pass," the guard said, his voice bland and emotionless.

  Thorne looked at the guard with a beseeching expression. "Please, just one drink. There," he pointed at the servant, "I'll get a glass and come right back." Seeing the guard's impassive face beneath his helmet, Thorne scrambled to come up with another way to manipulate him.

  His face crumpled, and his eyes misted over. "It's not every day you lose both your fiancée and your fortune in the same day," he said, his voice tinged with bitter despair. His Acting and Deception skills made him appear like a broken man, his shoulders slumped, and his posture defeated.

  "The moment I lost my father, the vultures came in, taking everything my family had! I’m left with nothing! Nothing!" He clutched the guard's hand tightly, his voice trembling. "I bet I won't even be invited to the next party. This is my last outing among society. Please... I need... I need to forget..."

  A notification popped up in his vision.

  Skill level up: Acting!

  Skill level up: Acting!

  Thorne couldn't help but think, Well, if I don’t make it as an assassin, I can always take up acting as a profession.

  The guard hesitated, clearly moved by Thorne's defeated expression, and then nodded. "Take a drink and come back immediately," the guard said.

  Thorne nodded eagerly. "You’re a good man," he slurred, patting the guard on his armored shoulder as he passed by. He swayed as he moved towards the servant, surprising the man by taking a glass from the tray.

  The servant, absorbed in the tension of the room, barely reacted to Thorne’s presence. He took a sip and noticed the guard was still watching him, so he stalled for time, tipping the glass back and draining its contents.

  He felt a brief wave of dizziness as the alcohol hit his system, but he forced himself to stay sharp. He picked up a second glass, taking a smaller sip this time, all the while keeping an eye on the guards.

  Finally, the guard who had been watching him looked away, distracted by a group of nobles demanding answers.

  Thorne didn’t waste any time. He darted among the remaining servants clustered near the entrance and, with one last glance back at the ballroom, slipped through the door into a dimly lit corridor. He closed the door behind him, letting out a sigh of relief.

  The corridor was simple, lacking the decorations and extravagant displays of wealth that adorned the main hallways. Thorne walked down the corridor, letting his Escape Artist skill guide him. But as he moved, he heard a voice ahead.

  "My lord..." a servant called out, holding a tray of appetizers. "You must be lost. Let me show you the way back to the ballroom."

  Thorne returned the servant's smile, but his mind was already calculating. When the servant drew closer, Thorne reached out, taking the tray from him. "Let me get that for you," he said smoothly.

  The servant blinked in confusion, just as Thorne's other hand struck, delivering a precise blow to the back of the man's head. The servant crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

  Thorne worked quickly, undressing the man and slipping into the servant's clothes. They were a bit tight, but they would do. He dragged the unconscious servant into a small storage room, hiding him behind some crates. Then he ruffled his own hair, making it look wild and unkempt, and picked up the tray of appetizers.

  With the tray balanced on one hand, Thorne continued down the corridor, blending in with the other servants who scurried about their tasks. He kept his head down, moving with purpose.

  Now, all he needed to do was wait for Rhea.

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