I feel out of the loop. I've never even heard of these people, though the conversation is making my blood run cold and my throat tighten. Two elite assassins sent into the Crucible? Killers ordered to murder us if it looks like we’re going to succeed? "So they're what, some kind of secret military?"

Raith nods. "Specialized teams for operations too sensitive or too brutal for regular military. Assassinations. Sabotage. Elimination of undesirable elements." His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second. "The windborne specifically excel at stealth. Whoever is behind this doesn't want anyone to know they were ever here."

"Empire's invisible hand," Ambrose adds, his academic tone belied by the tremor in his voice. "I found references to them in ancient military texts—they specialize in air magic manipulation that allows them to move with unnatural speed and stealth. Methods of killing that leave almost no trace."

My attention turns back to Serena. "Why should we believe any of this? You're admitting you want us dead, but we're supposed to just... what? Trust you?"

Serena's expression hardens, her eyes flashing with barely contained anger. "I want to win fairly. That's what Empire stands for—honor in combat, victory through strength and strategy. Not... this." She gestures to the weapons with clear disdain, her perfect features contorted with genuine disgust. "Sneaking elite killers into a school competition? Magical blackouts to hide evidence? That's not Empire. That's cowardice, and I won't be a part of it. You don’t need to trust a thing. But I’ll know I gave you enough information to make the fight fair. I’ll know my honor isn’t stained when I kill you myself."

Through our tether, I feel Raith's skepticism, but also a grudging respect for Serena's apparent principles. His own code might differ from hers, but he recognizes conviction when he sees it.

I study her face, looking for deception but finding only disgust and what might be genuine concern. The perfect fire affinity with her flawless features and deadly grace, suddenly showing a moral line she won't cross. It's unexpected enough to make me wonder if this is all an elaborate trap.

"Are you expecting us to thank you, now?" I ask. "Because it's not happening."

She laughs, the sound sharp and mirthless. "Hardly. When the Crucible begins, I'll still be hunting you with the others. But I'll do it honorably, with skill against skill, magic against magic. The only thanks I need is for you to be living when I find you." Her orange eyes meet mine with unflinching intensity.

"What does Malakai think of your pursuit of honor?" Raith asks.