Thorne wandered aimlessly alongside Jonah, the cobbled streets of Alvar’s noble quarter echoing under their footsteps. The morning light filtered through the tall, stately buildings, casting long shadows across the half-empty streets. But even the beauty of the noble quarter couldn’t lift the weight of failure that pressed down on his chest. His first outing as a foreign lord had been nothing short of a disaster.

  Every moment of that garden party had been an exercise in patience. No matter what he said or did, the nobles met him with complete indifference. The cold, bored faces of the Alvar aristocrats still lingered in his mind, an unmovable wall he hadn’t been able to break through.

  He had expected excitement, or at least curiosity. In Valewind, nobles had thirsted for anything new or peculiar, constantly on the lookout for foreign dignitaries or bizarre spectacles that could momentarily relieve their boredom. They would create drama for amusement’s sake, feeding off anything that would cause a stir.

  Here, though, the Alvar nobility seemed content in their dull little bubble, completely unaffected by his presence. They were so accustomed to their routines, so at peace with their boredom, that even a visiting foreign lord wasn’t enough to disrupt their placid existence.

  Thorne had been ready to charm, to weave his way into their good graces. But after hours of forced pleasantries and awkward conversations, he had left Lady Rosalind Langston’s estate with nothing. No connections, no new information, not even a glimmer of interest from anyone at the table.

  Nothing.

  "How goes it, Lord Silverbane?" Jonah asked. There was a mocking gleam in his eyes, his voice dripping with exaggerated formality. "Troubles in foreign diplomacy, perhaps?"

  Thorne grunted, refusing to give Jonah the satisfaction of a proper response. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked around the small square they had wandered into. It was quieter than he liked, and it gave him far too much time to reflect on the disaster of the day.

  Jonah turned to him with a mock-horrified expression. “What? People actually managed to resist your charm?” His eyebrows shot up in mock disbelief. "I didn’t think it was possible! The mighty Lord Thorne Silverbane, scorned by nobles? What's the world coming to?"

  Thorne shot Jonah a sideways glance, still keeping his silence, but Jonah was having too much fun to stop. He turned to the shopkeeper, still clutching the steam-puffing ball. “Five coppers for this thing,” he said.

  The shopkeeper’s face flushed with anger. “Five coppers! This here’s an intricate piece of craftsmanshi—”

  Jonah held up a hand. “Please, please. Spare me the sales pitch.” He gave the shopkeeper a sympathetic look. “But, really, five coppers is more than fair.”

  Thorne watched the two argue back and forth, Jonah completely absorbed in his negotiation tactics. He let out a quiet sigh. While Jonah bartered, Thorne took a moment to open his notifications, needing something to distract him from the sting of rejection he had just endured.

  Skill level up: Sculpted Persona!

  Skill level up: Sculpted Persona!

  Skill level up: Tactful Deflection!

  At least the day hadn’t been a complete waste. His skills had improved, if nothing else. Still, the gains felt hollow in the face of the utter disinterest he had encountered. The nobles hadn’t cared who he was, and worse, they had seemed relieved to see him leave.

  "Got it!" Jonah’s voice broke through Thorne’s thoughts, and he turned to see his friend grinning triumphantly, the trinket now in his hand. "A silver and a few coppers," Jonah said, slipping the wooden ball into his pocket with satisfaction.

  Thorne raised an eyebrow. "What are you going to do with that thing?"

  Jonah shrugged, his expression nonchalant. "I don’t know. I was just trying to train my skills. I leveled up both my Silver Tongue and Barter skills though, so I guess it was worth it."

  Thorne couldn’t help but smirk slightly. "Great. You now own a... steaming wooden ball. I’m sure that’ll be incredibly useful."

  Jonah grinned back, clearly unfazed by the sarcasm. "Just wait. One day, this thing will save our lives. You’ll see."

  Thorne nodded, tipping his head toward the street leading out of the square. "Let’s get out of here."

  They walked side by side, leaving the more pristine streets of the noble quarter behind. The further they ventured, the more the streets began to lose their sheen. Cobblestones gave way to dirtier roads, and the buildings, though still grand, looked a little more weathered. The stark difference between the rich and the rest of Alvar was becoming more obvious with every step they took.

  "Did you find anything interesting from the servants?" Thorne asked, his hands sliding into his pockets. A slight chill had crept into the air, a reminder that autumn was on its way.

  Jonah sighed, his expression turning disappointed. "Nah, they were boring. Looked like they were about to collapse from exhaustion. None of them were in the mood to talk."

  Thorne narrowed his eyes. "But?"

  Jonah hesitated, then shrugged. "My new skill—Gold’s Whisper—flared up when I was talking to one of the servants. No idea why. How could a servant help me get rich?"

  Thorne gave a half-smile but didn’t respond immediately. He had been hoping Jonah would have overheard some juicy tidbit, something that could help them worm their way into the good graces of the nobles. But it seemed they had both come away empty-handed. Everyone had bid him goodbye as if they were hoping it was the last time they’d see him. The thought stung more than he cared to admit.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Well, not everyone.

  There had been a young woman at the far end of the table. She hadn’t spoken much, and the others had barely acknowledged her presence, but Thorne had noticed the way her eyes kept flicking toward him. She was curious, fascinated even, but too shy—or perhaps too restrained by the rigid formality of the gathering—to approach him directly.

  Nobles could be so transparent. She hadn’t been able to hide her interest, and that had piqued his. He hadn’t caught her name, and she had barely interacted with anyone, but maybe... maybe she could be useful. If she was curious enough about him, perhaps he could use that to his advantage.

  She could be his way into Alvar’s inner circle, just like Alden had been in Valewind.

  He just hoped she wouldn’t end up like Alden.

  Thorne’s pace slowed, and Jonah stopped, turning to look at him with curiosity. "What is it?"

  Thorne shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "Nothing," he muttered. "You go ahead. I’m heading back to Uncle’s to change. I can’t walk around in these clothes all day. They’re too eye-catching."

  Jonah glanced down at Thorne’s outfit, a spark of envy flashing in his eyes before he nodded. "See you at the tavern then," he said, turning and heading off in the opposite direction.

  Thorne watched him disappear around a corner before letting out a long sigh. He turned down a shadowy side street, slipping out of the main road, away from the prying eyes of Alvar’s citizens. The narrow alley was quiet, the buildings tall and close, casting long shadows that offered a welcome reprieve from the open streets. He leaned against the cold stone wall, waiting.

  Thorne waited, the chill of the alley seeping into his bones as he leaned against the rough stone wall. He kept his breathing steady, eyes half-closed but senses sharp, listening for the sound of footsteps. His patience paid off when he heard the faintest scuff of boots on stone, followed by a soft thud as someone dropped from the rooftop opposite him.

  Rielle.

  She landed lightly, barely making a sound, her form emerging from the shadows in her familiar black light armor. The white spiral of the Lost Ones was stitched into her cloak, a stark reminder of the world they had both come from. Her hood was drawn up, but a few loose red strands of hair escaped the tight ponytail she always wore. The bow slung across her shoulder was a familiar sight, but her expression—cold, unreadable—was something Thorne had grown tired of.

  He stepped forward, his voice hard. "Why are you here?"

  Rielle’s green eyes met his, her face devoid of emotion, as if she were staring at a stranger. "I hadn’t seen you for days. People in the guild are talking. They think you’re not coming back."

  Thorne’s jaw tightened. The words hung in the air, confirming what he had suspected—that the guild was watching him more closely than he had realized. And yet, there was no fear. He had made his choice. Leaving was inevitable, and despite their whispers, they weren’t going to stop him.

  “I’m not,” Thorne said simply, his voice cold. “I’m not going back.”

  Rielle’s face barely shifted, but her lips parted slightly, and her voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if she hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “Really?”

  The soft word hit Thorne harder than he expected. For a moment, he saw something in her eyes—something raw, unguarded. But it was fleeting, and soon the cold mask she always wore returned.

  "You're not even going to come for the last trial?" she asked, her voice hardening. "Vance and Rhea have been asking about you. They're... worried."

  Thorne let out a humorless laugh, the sound echoing softly in the narrow alley. “Worried?” He looked away, the smirk on his face hiding the bitterness that simmered beneath the surface. They’re worried because they didn’t manage to kill me.

  “Why now?” she asked, her voice softer, quieter. “Why leave now?”

  Thorne didn’t answer at first. He turned his gaze toward the ground, feeling the weight of her question. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about leaving before—he had. For years, the idea of walking away from the guild had been in the back of his mind, but he had been tied there by Uncle’s commands.

  But now? Now he had a chance to break free.

  Free from all the pain, the horror and the betrayals.

  “I thought you’d understand,” Thorne said, his voice low. He wasn’t even sure if he believed it, but the words came out before he could stop them. “I thought you, of all people, would know why.”

  Rielle frowned, her eyes narrowing as she took a step closer. “Understand what, exactly? That you’d trade all of this for... that?” She gestured to his noble attire, her disdain clear. “You think parading around in fancy clothes and playing noble makes you safer? Makes you better than this?”

  Thorne’s eyes flashed with anger. "It's not about being better," he snapped. "It’s about surviving. You think I want to be a part of their world? I’ve spent my whole life doing whatever it takes to stay alive. This is no different."

  Rielle shook her head, her frustration evident. “Is that what you think this is? Another way to survive? You’ve been surviving your entire life, Thorne. But this—" she glanced at his clothes again, her tone bitter "—this isn’t survival. It’s something else.”

  Thorne felt a sharp sting in his chest, but he forced himself to stand taller, to push the emotions down. "And what do you think it is?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

  She met his gaze, her green eyes bright with a mix of anger and something else—something deeper. “You’re running,” she said, her words cutting through the silence like a blade. “You think you’re getting out, but you’re just running from everything you’ve been.”

  Thorne’s breath hitched slightly, the accusation landing harder than he’d expected. Running? Was that what she thought this was? No—he wasn’t running. He was surviving, adapting, just like he always had.

  “I’m not running from anything,” he growled. “I’m doing what I have to. I’m playing their game so I can win.”

  “Win?” Rielle’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “And what exactly do you win? Their approval? Their respect? These people—they’ll never see you as one of them. You’ll always be an outsider to them.”

  Thorne clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "I don’t need their approval. I don’t need anyone’s approval."

  "Don’t you?" Rielle asked softly, her eyes searching his face for something. "Don’t you, though? You’ve been fighting your whole life for a place in this world, but I’ve never seen you fight this hard to get away from the one thing that’s kept you alive."

  The words stung, the truth behind them cutting deeper than Thorne wanted to admit. He could feel her gaze on him, probing, waiting for him to respond. For a brief moment, he wanted to tell her everything—to explain why he couldn’t stay, why this life wasn’t enough for him anymore. But the wall between them was too high, built on years of secrets and betrayals.

  “I’ll be back for the last trial,” Thorne said finally, his voice cold, distant. “But after that, I’m done. Once I become a full member, I’m leaving. For good.”

  Rielle stood there, her posture rigid, her eyes locked on his. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then stopped, something flickering in her gaze that Thorne couldn’t quite read.

  When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, almost resigned. “You think this will make you free?”

  Thorne’s chest tightened at the question, but he didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Instead, he stared at her, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them like a noose tightening around his neck.

  Rielle’s lips pressed into a thin line as she stepped back, her fingers brushing against the bow on her shoulder. "Maybe you’re right,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Maybe you will be free. But you’ll be alone.”

  Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel and disappeared into the shadows of the alley, leaving Thorne standing in the cold, her final words lingering like a bitter aftertaste.

  He stared at the spot where she had stood, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him like a heavy cloak. Free. Alone. The words echoed in his mind, taunting him. He had been alone before, many times. But this time, it felt different.

  This time, it felt like a choice.

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