Stick's eyes darted to Shadis, scanning him anxiously for any signs of worsening injury. His hands hovered uselessly, torn between wanting to intervene and not knowing what to do. The light of a candle flickered in the dim room with the lowered blinds. The faint smell of pumpkin soup lingered, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and sweat. Nearby, PP stood with a rare look of calm, his arms folded. He caught Stick's eye and gave a reassuring nod, indicating that the worst was over.

  Stick let out a relieved breath. “Shadis! You're awake!”

  “I've been awake for quite a while,” Shadis replied.

  His tone was clipped, his disapproval unmistakable.

  “How long?” Stick pressed.

  “Long enough.”

  Before Stick could respond, Shadis pushed himself upright without warning, his face tightening in pain as he ignored the strain on his battered body.

  “What are you—?” Stick began, but Shadis cut him off with a formal bow.

  “Lady Priscilla. It is an honor seeing you again.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Stick heard behind him.

  Stick turned sharply to see Priscilla entering the room. Her measured, graceful steps seemed out of place amid the suffocating atmosphere. She had left the baby in the bedroom, her hands now folded neatly in front of her. Despite the muffled crying from behind the door, her expression was calm, composed. Her gaze swept over Shadis, pausing briefly on the bruises on his ribs before moving on to Becket.

  “My love, I—” Becket began, rising slightly from his seat, but Priscilla silenced him with a gentle smile.

  “We will talk later,” she said softly.

  Becket hesitated, then nodded, sinking back into his chair with a resigned sigh.

  “Are you well, Sir Moore?” Priscilla asked, turning back to Shadis.

  Her voice was warm, but there was a trace of concern beneath her poised exterior.

  “It is nothing to worry about,” Shadis replied, his posture stiff despite his obvious discomfort. “I thank you for your concern.”

  Stick, his worry bubbling over, stepped forward. “Shadis, please lie down!”

  “I said it's nothing to worry about,” Shadis replied sharply, his tone brooking no argument.

  Priscilla's voice softened, but it carried a firm weight. “Sir Moore, please.”

  Shadis hesitated, then relented with a curt nod. “If you insist.”

  He lowered himself stiffly to the ground, his movements deliberate, as if every motion was a battle against pain. Priscilla knelt beside him, her skirts pooling on the stone floor. Her expression softened as she met his eyes.

  “Now, please, tell me about the twins. What happened?”

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  Shadis' eyes widened, alarm flickering in his expression. “The twins?”

  His gaze swept the room, lingering on each man as if searching for hidden answers. “What's going on? What happened to the lords?”

  With a heavy heart, Stick stepped forward, recounting the grim report Nakamura had shared earlier. As he finished, his voice faltered.

  “I'm sorry. The plan failed.”

  Shadis buried his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling slightly. The room fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by the distant, muffled cries of the baby.

  “They were out of the slave camp?” Priscilla asked gently, her voice almost a whisper.

  “Yes,” Stick said. “But it couldn't have been more than a few days.”

  “That's good,” she said, her calm tone catching him off guard.

  Stick frowned, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “What? Didn't you hear? They were caught again!”

  “If they stopped at Pridtur,” Priscilla replied, her voice unwavering, “they might have had a good night's sleep. There's a lovely inn there with warm beds and real feather mattresses. That must count for something after all these years, even if it was just one night.”

  Stick stared at her, grappling with her perspective. “I appreciate your optimism, but people died for their escape. They died for nothing.”

  “No.” Shadis lifted his head. “Not for nothing.”

  Stick turned to him, his full attention drawn. “What are you saying?”

  Shadis locked eyes with him. “Mr. Arslan, how much of the Carnifex dungeon did you see when you rescued me?”

  Stick blinked, the abrupt shift in topic catching him off guard. “PP and I were locked up in the deepest part of the prison. Why?”

  Priscilla's brow furrowed slightly. “You were imprisoned? Why?”

  Stick scratched his head, avoiding her gaze. “It's kind of a long story.”

  Shadis ignored the aside and turned to Nakamura, his bewilderment evident. “Is that true?”

  “Yes,” Nakamura confirmed with a stiff nod. “I heard them myself.”

  “Splendid,” Shadis said, his expression brightening with a spark of excitement. “Was there anyone else imprisoned there?”

  Stick tilted his head. “What does that have to do with the dead Goblin Hunters?”

  “Everything, Mr. Arslan,” Shadis said. “Now answer me—were you alone in there?”

  Stick hesitated, glancing at Nakamura before replying. “Well, no. PP was there with me.”

  Shadis' head snapped toward PP, his expression triumphant. “Splendid! Splendid indeed!”

  “Explain yourself!” Stick demanded.

  “If you had a very dangerous enemy, dangerous enough to tear down the walls of your castle, where would you put him?”

  Perplexed, Stick replied, “Deep underground, maybe? I don't know.”

  “Yes!” Shadis exclaimed. “I saw every cell in that dungeon when they dragged me inside. Every cell except yours. Deep underground.”

  Stick stared, waiting for Shadis to connect the dots.

  “I can say with utmost confidence that Lord Alastair is not inside the capital of Carnifex.”

  “Lord Blitz? He's alive?” Priscilla asked, her voice trembling with restrained hope.

  “Of course he is!” Shadis declared. “And it is now our responsibility to find him. That's what Mr. Michael Barnes and Mr. Patrick Smith died for.”

  Stick felt a flicker of hope ignite in the storm of his mind.

  But Priscilla wasn't finished. “And the twins? They still need you to protect them, Sir Frost.”

  “I have full confidence in Sir Frost’s abilities. That youngling has more power than you think.”

  Stick let out a weak chuckle. Cadmun? Young?

  “And how will you do that?” Nakamura asked skeptically.

  Shadis turned to him, his intensity unrelenting. “You will help us.”

  “Me?” Nakamura asked, flustered.

  “We’d be in shackles already if you weren’t on the run too, right?” Shadis deduced.

  “Yes, but—no, I—why would I help you?” Nakamura stammered.

  “Because you’ve helped us before,” Stick interjected.

  “That was before they raised the alarm,” Nakamura argued. “Moving a big group now is impossible. I’m better off alone.”

  “And what happens after you get out of the city?” Shadis probed.

  Nakamura hesitated, searching for an argument he didn’t have.

  “You know the capital,” Shadis said. “We know the wilderness. You’ll need us as much as we need you.”

  “I… I can take care of myself,” Nakamura said weakly, his conviction faltering.

  Stick spoke with pride. “The men of Blitz Estate have faced harsh winters and harsher famines. You’ll want them out there.”

  Nakamura’s resolve crumbled. “Where would we even go?”

  Becket, silent until now, leaned forward. “I might have an idea.”

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