The orphanage kitchen had long since gone quiet.
The last pot of soup sat cooling on the stove, the faint smell of pork and herbs drifting through the empty room. Lantern light flickered softly against the wooden walls.
Martha stood by the doorway, arms folded tightly across her chest.
Her eyes kept drifting toward the street outside.
It was late.
Too late.
Those children should have been back hours ago.
Tomas never wasted an opportunity to return quickly if food was involved, and Lyra was responsible enough not to wander the city at night.
Yet the door remained closed.
The wind outside carried the distant sounds of the city settling into night—faint footsteps, a dog barking somewhere far away, the creak of a wagon wheel.
But not the voices she was waiting for.
Martha exhaled slowly.
Something felt wrong.
Not a clear thought.
Just a tight knot twisting inside her chest.
A feeling she had learned long ago not to ignore.
She turned toward the dining room.
A few younger children were still awake, whispering quietly around the long table.
When they saw her expression, they fell silent.
"Listen carefully," Martha said, her voice firm.
The children straightened immediately.
"I need to step out for a while."
A boy near the table blinked nervously. "Is something wrong?"
Martha hesitated.
Then shook her head.
"Nothing for you to worry about."
She pointed toward the older children.
"You three. Make sure the younger ones go to bed."
"Yes, Miss Martha," they answered.
"No one leaves the building," she continued. "Bolt the door after I go."
The children nodded.
Martha grabbed her cloak from the wall.
Her steps were already moving faster.
The moment she stepped outside, the cold night air hit her face.
Lanterns glowed along the street, casting long shadows across the cobblestones.
She didn't waste another second.
A passing horse carriage rattled along the road.
Martha stepped into the street and raised her hand.
"Driver!"
The carriage slowed with a creak of wheels.
The driver leaned down from his seat.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"City Watch headquarters," Martha said immediately as she climbed inside.
"Fast."
The carriage lurched forward.
Hooves struck the stone road in sharp rhythm as the vehicle rolled into the night.
Martha sat rigidly inside, fingers clasped tightly together.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the dark window beside her.
Three children had left the orphanage hours ago.
And something deep in her bones told her—
They were in danger.
————
Pain.
That was the first thing Arin felt.
A deep, burning pain crawling through his body.
His chest felt heavy.
His right arm felt like it had been crushed beneath a hammer.
Slowly…
His eyes opened.
Dim yellow light flickered above him.
For a moment the world blurred.
Then shapes began to form.
Stone floor.
Iron bars.
A ceiling of dark wooden beams.
Arin blinked again.
Someone was sitting beside him.
Lyra.
Her head was lowered slightly, strands of hair falling across her face. Tear tracks had dried along her cheeks, leaving faint pale lines against her skin.
Her eyes were red.
She looked like she had been crying for a long time.
On the other side sat Tomas.
His back leaned against the cold stone wall, arms resting on his knees.
His jaw was clenched.
And the anger in his eyes burned hotter than any flame.
Arin shifted slightly.
The movement sent a spike of pain through his arm.
"Ghh—!"
A groan escaped his throat.
Lyra's head snapped up immediately.
"Arin!"
Tomas turned sharply.
"You're awake."
Arin tried to sit up.
The moment he moved his right arm—
White-hot pain shot through his body.
He gasped.
Lyra quickly slid closer, supporting his shoulder.
"Careful," she said softly.
Tomas grabbed his other side, helping him sit upright.
"Your arm is broken," Tomas muttered grimly.
Arin sucked in a slow breath, trying to steady himself.
The cold stone floor beneath him confirmed what his eyes had already begun to understand.
This was a cell.
Iron bars sealed the front.
Beyond them stretched a large open room.
Arin lifted his gaze.
Two lanterns hung from the wooden beams above, bathing the space in dull yellow light.
Wooden crates were stacked against the far wall.
A rough table stood nearby.
And sitting comfortably on a couch opposite the cell—
Was the man.
The boss.
One leg rested casually over the other.
His reddish hair glowed faintly under the lantern light.
His eyes were already watching them.
Beside him stood Vesk, hands folded behind his back like a guard.
At the table nearby, Gratt and Ludo sat eating.
Gratt was stuffing food into his mouth loudly.
Ludo leaned back in his chair, lazily chewing as he watched the prisoners.
The moment Arin fully sat up—
Every gaze in the room shifted toward him.
The boss smiled slightly.
Like a man watching a trapped animal finally wake up.
The man watched them for a moment longer.
Then he reached into his coat.
Something glinted in the lantern light.
Arin's breath caught.
His glove.
The rune glove.
The man turned it slowly in his hand, studying the intricate rune circle drawn across the leather palm.
"Hm."
His thumb traced the faded ink lines.
"This is… interesting."
Arin's jaw tightened.
The man tilted his head slightly.
"I've seen enchanted tools before," he continued casually. "But this design…"
His eyes lifted toward Arin.
"It's not often one gets to see such rune artifacts."
He held the glove up between two fingers.
"Where did you get this artifact, boy?"
Silence.
Arin met his gaze without blinking.
"I have nothing to say to you."
For a moment the room went quiet.
Then the man laughed.
Not angrily.
Not cruelly.
Just amused.
A deep, relaxed laugh that echoed across the room.
"Hahaha…"
He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
"Well," he said calmly, slipping the glove back into his coat, "no matter."
"I'll take very good care of it."
Across the room, Gratt suddenly leaned forward from the table, grease shining on his fingers as he stuffed another piece of meat into his mouth.
"Boss," he said happily through a mouthful of food.
"This was a great haul tonight."
Ludo leaned back in his chair, curious.
Gratt wiped his mouth with the back of his arm.
"So tell us…"
He grinned.
"How much do you think we'll earn from these three?"
At that question, both men at the table looked toward their leader.
Even Vesk shifted slightly where he stood near the couch.
They were waiting.
The boss barely glanced at them.
"Don't worry about it."
His voice was calm.
"You'll receive your share."
Gratt's grin widened.
The man continued casually.
"After all… the nobles pay very well."
His eyes drifted slowly toward Lyra.
A thin smile spread across his face.
"Especially for little girls."
The words hung in the air like poison.
Lyra's fingers trembled.
Tomas' fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.
The boss stood up.
The movement was slow.
Deliberate.
Immediately, Gratt and Ludo pushed their chairs back and stood as well.
Vesk straightened beside the couch.
The boss glanced toward him.
Just a small look.
But Vesk understood immediately.
The boss turned toward the table.
"Gratt."
"Ludo."
"We're heading out to the docks."
Gratt frowned slightly.
"At this hour?"
The man adjusted his coat.
"Just a precaution."
His gaze moved toward the dark window.
"City Watch boats sometimes patrol the lake and river routes at night."
Ludo scratched his chin.
"You think they're already looking for them?"
The boss shrugged slightly.
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps not."
"But I prefer certainty."
He stepped toward the door.
"We'll circle the river and check the patrol routes."
His eyes flicked briefly toward the prisoners.
"We'll return before dawn."
"Three… maybe four hours."
Gratt nodded.
"Got it."
The boss looked back at them one last time.
"While we're gone…"
His voice sharpened slightly.
"Keep an eye on the children."
Ludo chuckled.
"They're behind iron bars."
He kicked the heavy lock hanging on the cell door.
The metal clanked loudly.
"They're not going anywhere."
The boss gave a small, approving nod.
"Good."
He turned and walked toward the exit.
Vesk followed immediately behind him.
The door opened.
Cold night air drifted briefly into the room.
Then—
The door shut.
Their footsteps faded into the distance.
Silence returned to the warehouse.
Inside the cell, Arin slowly lifted his eyes.
And for the first time since waking—
He began studying the room carefully.
The warehouse fell into an uneasy silence after the boss and Vesk left.
The lanterns flickered above.
Outside, the distant sound of water slapping against the docks echoed faintly through the wooden walls.
Inside the cell, Arin kept his head lowered.
But his eyes were moving.
Studying.
Watching.
Waiting.
And that's when he saw it.
The key.
Hanging from a thin cord tied to Ludo's belt.
Arin's gaze lingered there for a moment.
Then slowly shifted away.
Across the room, Gratt leaned back in his chair, tearing another chunk of meat apart with his teeth.
Grease ran down his beard as he chewed loudly.
Ludo leaned against the table, lazily watching the prisoners.
After a moment, Gratt spoke.
"You ever wonder what those nobles actually do with them?"
Ludo snorted.
"What, the kids?"
"Yeah."
Gratt shrugged.
"Think they torture them?"
Ludo's thin lips curled into a crooked smile.
"Torture?"
He leaned back in his chair.
"That's one thing."
Then his voice dropped into something uglier.
"But the little girls?"
He chuckled quietly.
"I envy them."
Inside the cell, Lyra's fingers tightened against the stone floor.
Tomas' jaw clenched so hard the muscles twitched.
Gratt laughed.
"Maybe they kill them after."
"Maybe."
Ludo shrugged.
"Not our business."
Gratt waved a greasy hand toward the cell.
"These little brats will probably disappear just like the others."
He snorted.
"Orphanage kids."
"Who's going to come looking?"
Silence followed.
Then Tomas spoke.
Cold.
Sharp.
"Funny."
Both men looked at him.
Tomas leaned forward slightly.
"You say that after three 'little brats' kicked your asses a few hours ago."
The words landed like a spark on dry wood.
Gratt's chair screeched as he shot to his feet.
"You little—!"
His eyes burned with rage.
In two strides he reached the cell bars.
Beside the cage lay a long wooden stick used to move crates.
Gratt grabbed it and swung.
The stick shot through the iron bars like a spear.
THUD.
Tomas raised his arm instinctively.
The blow struck hard against his forearm.
CRACK.
The stick splintered.
A broken piece nearly a foot long snapped off and fell to the floor inside the cell.
Gratt pulled the remaining half back with a furious snarl.
"Say that again!"
Ludo stood quickly.
"Hey!"
He grabbed Gratt's arm.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
Gratt yanked his arm away.
"That little—!"
Ludo shoved him back.
"Stop it you stupid fat fuck."
His voice was low and sharp.
"You want the boss coming back and beating us half to death because you can't ignore a kid's mouth?"
Gratt's breathing was heavy.
His fists clenched so tightly the knuckles cracked.
Faint sparks of pain still crawled through his muscles from the electric shock earlier.
"That damn shock…" he growled under his breath.
"My whole body's still twitching."
His eyes burned toward the cell.
"These trash little orphan scums…"
He tightened his grip on the stick.
"What's the harm in giving some of that pain back?"
Ludo's voice cut through the air.
"Because they're not just kids."
Gratt paused.
Ludo leaned lazily against the table, folding his arms.
"They're merchandise."
His thin smile returned.
"Hurt them too much and you're hurting our pockets."
He nodded toward the cell.
"They'll die miserable enough wherever they're going. No need to damage the goods."
Gratt snorted.
But then his expression shifted.
Slowly, he turned his head toward Ludo.
A dangerous look spread across his face.
"…Before all that," Gratt said quietly.
"What exactly did you call me just now?"
The room went still.
Ludo didn't answer.
He simply stared back.
Gratt stepped a little closer.
His voice dropped lower.
"You got a problem with me?"
A beat of silence.
Then—
"We can take it outside."
Neither man moved.
For several long seconds they simply stared at one another.
The lantern light flickered.
The warehouse felt suddenly smaller.
Then Gratt clicked his tongue.
"Whatever."
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a thick cigar.
A match was scratched.
The flame flared briefly in the dim lantern light.
The tip of the cigar glowed orange as he took a long drag.
"I'm stepping out."
Smoke rolled from his mouth.
"I need some fresh air."
He jerked his thumb toward the door.
"And I've gotta take a leak."
Gratt turned and shoved the door open.
Cold night air spilled briefly into the warehouse.
Then the door slammed shut behind him.
The warehouse settled into an uneasy quiet.
Ludo stretched his arms.
"Idiotic brute…"
He walked over to the couch and dropped into it with a sigh.
The lantern light flickered over his tired face.
Minutes passed.
His eyelids grew heavier.
Soon—
His breathing slowed.
Inside the cell, Arin lifted his head.
He looked at Tomas.
Then Lyra.
His voice was barely a whisper.
"Can either of you still fight?"
Tomas shook his head slowly.
"Mana's almost gone."
Lyra swallowed.
"…Maybe one spell."
"Two at most."
"It's risky."
"If we fail…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
They all knew the answer.
Arin nodded slowly.
Then he looked toward the floor.
"Tomas."
The boy followed his gaze.
The broken piece of wooden stick lay beside the bars.
"Give me that."
Tomas picked it up and passed it through.
Arin took it with his left hand.
He studied Tomas' arm briefly.
The skin where the stick struck had turned dark and swollen.
Arin's eyes narrowed slightly.
That hit must have hurt like hell.
But Tomas hadn't even flinched.
Arin lowered his voice again.
"Sit in front of me."
Tomas frowned.
"…Why?"
Arin's eyes flicked toward the sleeping guard.
Then back to him.
"Cover me."
His voice was steady.
Quiet.
"I need to try something."
A pause.
Then he added:
"This might be our last chance to escape."