Brunhild looks between Raith and me, her eyes narrowing slightly as if noticing something different. She gives a curt nod, seemingly unsurprised by Raith's appearance. "More fighters, good plan. Beck starts water problems soon. We move now."

As if summoned by her words, the distant sound of rushing water reaches us, followed by shouts of alarm. We hear two pairs of footsteps rushing toward the courtyard. More sounds ring out from deeper in the castle. Guards all heading for the courtyard to investigate.

I hope Beck gets himself out of there before he’s caught, though causing an elemental mishap is hardly grounds for expulsion.

"That's our cue," Mireen says, already moving down the corridor.

I feel Raith's hand brush against mine for the briefest moment. My entire body reacts to the simple touch with tingling heat. Through our tether comes a pulse of reassurance, and beneath it, something deeper that makes my chest tighten. It's still strange to sense emotions that aren't mine, to feel his presence in my mind like an echo of my own thoughts.

Because his emotions are more human, I think I feel them even more clearly than Typhon's.

"You feel his more clearly because he's a barbarian with no ability to mask his thoughts and feelings from you. You will both learn with time," Typhon notes. “And then I will not be subject to every whim and fancy that flows through your meat brain.”

We move quickly through the corridors, our footsteps nearly silent despite our urgent pace. Brunhild takes the lead with her massive frame, moving with surprising stealth for someone her size. She scans each intersection before motioning us forward, her eyes constantly sweeping for any sign of guards.

She splits off to position herself as lookout near the intersection where two hallways meet, her muscular form blending into the shadows with practiced ease. The rest of us continue toward the hidden chamber Mireen discovered earlier—an old storage room behind a false panel in what used to be an armory.

Raith moves with silent grace beside me. I sense flickers of his alertness, his careful assessment of every shadow and corner.

Ambrose signals for silence, pointing ahead. "This is it," he whispers, stopping at a seemingly ordinary wall panel adorned with faded Empire insignias.

He presses a specific pattern—left corner, right corner, center—and with a soft click, the panel slides inward to reveal a narrow doorway. The four of us slip inside, and I nearly collide with Raith's back when he stops abruptly.

"We have company," he says, voice low and dangerous.

The hidden chamber is illuminated by a single lantern, its light glinting off racks of weapons—real steel, sharp and deadly. Daggers, short swords, bows with arrows, and even pieces of full-plate armor. All empire-issued, just as Beck described.

But what stops us cold is the figure standing among them. A figure whose left hand bears a glowing red flame mark.

Serena.