Thorne awoke with a start, the darkness of the room pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. The night was silent, save for the distant creaking of the inn's wooden beams. His body screamed in protest as he tried to sit up, the effects of the poison still lingering in his veins despite the antidote's partial success. Every movement tugged at the fresh wounds, sharp pain radiating from the stab wound in his chest. He gritted his teeth, suppressing a groan as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

  His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for his backpack. He rummaged through it, searching for a health potion that he knew would provide some relief, however temporary. His hands finally closed around the cool glass of a vial, and he uncorked it with a practiced motion. The liquid inside glowed faintly, a soft green hue that promised healing. Thorne brought it to his lips and downed it in one gulp, feeling the potion’s warmth spread through his body, knitting flesh and easing the sharpest edges of the pain. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough to bring him back to full strength. Not yet.

  The task at hand loomed over him like a shadow. Corwin's lifeless body lay crumpled on the floor, reminding him of what happened earlier that night. Thorne rose unsteadily to his feet, his vision blurring for a moment before it cleared. He needed to dispose of the body—quietly, without drawing any attention. The inn was full, even at this late hour, and the slightest noise could alert someone. He couldn’t afford any more complications.

  He crouched beside Corwin’s body, searching the man's clothes for any clues, any sign of who his employer might have been. Thorne’s fingers were quick and efficient, rifling through pockets and feeling for hidden compartments. He found a small pouch of coins—no surprise there—but nothing else that would reveal the identity of Corwin’s benefactor. It was as he had suspected: the only clue he had was the venomous hatred in Corwin’s eyes and the bitter words he had spoken. His suspicions about the employer remained unconfirmed, but they were solidifying into a certainty in the back of his mind.

  With a sigh, Thorne hauled the body up, biting back the pain that flared in his chest with each movement. He couldn’t just leave Corwin here. He dragged the corpse across the room, careful to keep the noise to a minimum. There was a small window at the back of the room, overlooking the alley below.

  The window was barely wide enough to fit the body through, but it was his only option. He pushed it open, wincing as the cool night air hit his face. He glanced down at the alley below, its shadows deep and concealing. Taking a deep breath, Thorne began the laborious task of maneuvering Corwin’s body through the window. Inch by inch, he forced the lifeless form out, his hands slick with sweat and blood.

  Finally, with one last push, Corwin’s body tumbled out of the window, falling into the darkness below. Thorne leaned against the windowsill, his body trembling with exhaustion. He listened for a moment, straining to hear any sound of disturbance, but the alley remained silent, the body swallowed by the shadows.

  But it wasn’t enough. The body could still be found. If someone discovered it, questions would be asked, and those questions would lead back to him. He couldn’t take that risk.

  Thorne wiped his brow, his mind racing as he considered his next move. He needed to get rid of the body for good, somewhere it wouldn’t be easily found. His eyes flicked to the door. The alley was quiet now, but that could change at any moment. He needed to act fast.

  With a groan, Thorne forced himself to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain that flared with each movement. He retrieved his cloak from the chair, wrapping it around himself to conceal the bloodstains on his clothes. He moved with a newfound determination, slipping silently out of the room and into the hallway.

  The inn was quiet, the patrons asleep in their rooms, unaware of the grim task being carried out in their midst. Thorne moved quickly but carefully, making his way down the narrow staircase to the back door. The cool night air greeted him as he stepped outside, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.

  He found Corwin’s body crumpled in the alley, half-hidden by a pile of discarded crates. Thorne gritted his teeth and dragged the body out from the shadows, his muscles burning with the effort. He knew the area well enough—there was an old well not far from here, a relic of the city’s past that had long since fallen into disuse. It was deep, dark, and more importantly, abandoned. It would serve his purpose perfectly.

  The streets were deserted at this hour, the city asleep under the cover of night. Thorne kept to the shadows, his movements careful and deliberate as he dragged Corwin’s body through the winding alleys. Every noise, every flicker of movement in the periphery of his vision made his heart pound, but he couldn’t afford to stop. Not until the body was gone.

  Finally, he reached the well. It was exactly as he remembered—ancient and crumbling, overgrown with weeds and forgotten by the world around it. Thorne paused, catching his breath as he surveyed the dark hole in the ground. He could barely see the bottom, the darkness so complete it seemed to swallow the light whole.

  With a final, heaving effort, Thorne lifted Corwin’s body and shoved it into the well. There was a sickening thud as the body struck the sides of the well on its way down, and then silence. Thorne peered down into the abyss, waiting for any sign that the body hadn’t fallen all the way. But the darkness remained undisturbed.

  He stepped back, wiping his hands on his cloak, trying to rid himself of the sticky feeling of blood and grime. The body was gone, the evidence erased as best as he could manage. For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe, to feel the weight of the night’s events finally begin to lift from his shoulders.

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  His thoughts were a mix of exhaustion and triumph as he leaned against the well, breathing heavily. The act of disposing of the body had drained what little energy he had left. His legs shook beneath him, and he felt the edges of his vision darkening again.

  But he had made it. He quickly returned to the room and cleaned it, removing any trace of the struggle that had taken place. Satisfied that he had covered his tracks, Thorne returned to bed, collapsing onto the mattress with a groan. His body ached for rest, and his mind was too exhausted to protest. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him, to let him recover at least a fraction of his strength before the morning came.

  *

  The sun was just beginning to rise when Thorne descended the stairs, each step sending a dull throb of pain through his body. He was dressed in simple clothes, a dark cloak covering his face. The days of impersonating a noble were over. Now, they needed to be discreet, to flee the city before their enemies realized what had happened. His movements were stiff, his body still heavy with the lingering effects of the poison, but he forced himself onward.

  He found Jareth and Rhea already downstairs, seated at a corner table in the inn's modest dining area. They were eating breakfast, their faces tense with the unspoken weight of the night's events. Thorne slipped into a chair opposite them, drawing his cloak tighter around him.

  "Morning," Thorne said, his voice hoarse.

  "You're looking like hell," Jareth remarked, his tone bland. He had a plate of food in front of him, but he seemed more interested in pushing it around than eating.

  "Feel like it too," Thorne muttered. His eyes flicked to Rhea, who was staring into her mug of coffee with an unreadable expression. She looked almost angry, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes were constantly moving, scanning the room as if expecting an attack at any moment.

  "We need to move soon," Rhea said, her voice flat. "They'll be looking for us, and we can't stay here much longer."

  Thorne nodded, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at his chest. "We’ll meet the man with the cart just before the gates. We’re his escorts, remember? From there, we’ll head out of the city and rendezvous with Sid."

  Jareth grunted in agreement, though his expression remained grim. "And then what? We just go back like nothing happened?"

  Thorne gave him a look. "What else do you suggest? We've done our part, now it's time to get out before things get worse."

  Rhea’s hand clenched around her mug, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to smash it against the wall. But she took a deep breath and said, "Fine. But if we’re going to do this, we need to move now."

  The three of them finished their meal in silence. The air was thick with unspoken tension, each of them lost in their own thoughts. When they were done, they rose from the table and left the inn, making their way down the city, tier after tier.

  As they descended, the streets grew more crowded, filled with the hustle and bustle of the common folk going about their day. Thorne kept his head down, his hood drawn low, trying to avoid attracting any attention. But despite his efforts to remain inconspicuous, he couldn’t help but glance around, taking in the sights of Valewind one last time.

  For all its opulence, there was something undeniably beautiful about the city. The towering spires, the intricate carvings on the buildings, the way the sunlight filtered through the trees lining the streets—it was a far cry from the rundown, poverty-stricken streets of Alvar. Yet, as Thorne looked around, a peculiar feeling rose up within him. A strange yearning, not for the grandeur of Valewind, but for the gritty familiarity of Alvar. He found himself missing its dirty streets, its hardened people, and even its stark contrasts. Alvar, with all its flaws, was home. And now, more than ever, he wanted to return.

  When they reached the bottom tier, they found the old man with his donkey waiting at the agreed-upon spot. The cart was loaded with barrels this time, the smell of wine wafting from the cracked lids. Jareth and Thorne climbed up onto the cart, settling among the barrels. But Rhea hesitated, her eyes scanning the area with a wary expression.

  "What’s wrong?" Jareth asked, frowning.

  Rhea glanced around again, her hand tightening on the hilt of her sword. "What about Corwin?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Thorne tensed, but kept his face neutral. He hadn’t told them what had happened with Corwin. That was a secret he intended to keep to himself, at least for now...

  "If he hasn't shown up by now, he’s not coming," Thorne said, his voice flat.

  Rhea looked at him, her gaze piercing, as if searching for something in his expression. Thorne met her eyes without flinching, silently daring her to ask the question he knew was gnawing at her mind. Finally, she nodded, her face hardening as she climbed up onto the cart, her weight making it sway slightly.

  As she settled next to him, Thorne couldn’t resist a smirk. "Why so bothered by Corwin’s absence? Didn’t know you two were so close."

  Rhea’s eyes flicked away, a brief flash of something unreadable crossing her face. She muttered, "I don’t care about him," flicking a strand of short blond hair out of her eyes. After a pause, she added, "I’m worried we haven’t completed all the tasks given to us."

  Thorne hummed, clearly not believing her, but he didn’t comment further. The cart began to move, the old man clicking his tongue to urge the donkey forward. They remained silent as they crossed the gate, the way clogged with travelers—farmers heading to their fields, merchants on their way to other cities, and nobles fleeing the turbulence in Valewind after the death of the Warden of the West.

  The presence of the city guards was even more pronounced than when they had entered. The guards checked every passerby thoroughly, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble. The tension in the air was palpable, and Thorne could feel his heart hammering in his chest as they approached the gate.

  But they passed through without incident, the guards barely giving them a second glance. The cart rolled onto the open road, the noise and chaos of the city slowly fading behind them.

  They traveled for miles, the road winding through the countryside, flanked by trees and open fields. Thorne let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. They had made it out. For now, at least, they were safe.

  As they continued down the road, a figure appeared among the trees lining the path. Thorne tensed, but relaxed slightly when he recognized Sid. The man hopped onto the cart with his usual agility, settling among the barrels with a satisfied grin.

  "Miss me?" Sid asked, his eyes glinting with amusement.

  Thorne rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress a small smile. "You have no idea."

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