My consciousness flickered like a candle in the wind. One moment I was with Jackson Harding—the living legend who''d killed Nigel Reyes with barely a gesture—and the next, darkness pulled at the edges of my vision.


    "You need to leave," I managed to say, my voice barely audible. Blood filled my mouth with each word.


    Jackson''s weathered face creased with concern. "You''re in no condition to be left alone."


    "They''ll sense you." I coughed, red spattering the floor between us. "Too dangerous."


    The Heavy Falling Space technique had ravaged my body worse than I''d anticipated. I''d pushed it beyond any reasonable limit to defeat Nigel before Jackson''s arrival. Now I was paying the price. My meridians felt like they''d been scorched from the inside out, and my organs were failing one by one.


    "I can handle whateveres," Jackson said, his voice firm.


    I shook my head, immediately regretting the movement as painnced through my skull. "Not about you. About the cause. If they know you''re involved..."


    Understanding dawned in the old master''s eyes. If the Veridia City Martial Guild discovered that the legendary Jackson Harding had resurfaced and allied with me, they''d throw everything they had at hunting us down. We''d never get close to saving Isabelle.


    "You''re right," he conceded reluctantly. "But how will you—"


    "I''ll manage," I lied. We both knew I was moments from copse. "Just need... to rest."


    Jackson''s eyes narrowed, clearly weighing his options. Finally, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small jade bottle.


    "Two drops," he instructed, cing it in my trembling hand. "No more. It will keep you alive but won''t restore your strength. When you''re safe, I''ll find you."


    I nodded weakly, clutching the bottle. "My father," I whispered. "You''ll tell me..."


    "Everything," he promised. "But first, survive."


    With onest concerned look, Jackson traced a character in the air—one of his Nine Secrets—and simply vanished. The air where he''d stood shimmered briefly, then settled.


    Alone now, I uncorked the jade bottle with shaking fingers. The liquid inside glowed with an ethereal blue light. I let two drops fall onto my tongue.


    Bitter coldness spread through me instantly, like ice water in my veins. Not healing, as Jackson had warned, but a temporary stay of execution for my failing body.


    I struggled to my feet, using the wall for support. My legs threatened to buckle with each step as I made my way toward the door. Nigel''s corpsey where it had fallen, his face frozen in an expression of terror.


    The corridor outside was mercifully empty. I had to find somewhere to hide, to recover. I knew Nigel''s death would draw attention soon. Very soon.


    I made it three more steps before my legs finally gave out. I copsed to the floor, my body betraying me despite Jackson''s medicine. The darkness that had been hovering at the edges of my vision rushed in like a tide.


    Just before consciousness slipped away entirely, I heard footsteps approaching. Soft, measured footsteps that stopped beside me.


    I forced my eyes open onest time. A familiar face looked down at me—Emerson Holmes. His expression was unreadable.


    "Holmes," I whispered. "You came back."


    He knelt beside me, his voice low. "I saw Jackson leave."


    With thest of my strength, I reached up and grasped his sleeve. "Isabelle," I managed to say. "Find her. Tell her..."


    The words died on my lips as darkness imed mepletely.


    * * *


    I drifted in and out of consciousness. Voices floated around me, distorted and distant. I was being carried. Moved. My body registered the sensation of motion, but I couldn''t open my eyes.


    "...still alive?"


    "...barely..."


    "...worth the risk?"


    The fragments of conversation made no sense to my addled mind. I tried to speak, to ask where I was being taken, but my mouth wouldn''t obey. Jackson''s medicine kept me alive, but just barely.


    Time lost all meaning. It could have been minutes or hourster when I felt myself beingid on a hard surface. The cold seeped into my back, jolting me closer to awareness.


    "Is this him? The one who''s been causing all the trouble?"


    The voice was unfamiliar—cold, authoritative, with an undercurrent of barely restrained fury.


    "Yes, Guild Master Bancroft."


    That voice I recognized. Emerson Holmes. Why was he talking to someone from the Guild?


    I forced my eyes open a crack. Bright light assaulted my vision, making me wince. As my sight adjusted, blurry shapes resolved into figures standing over me.


    Emerson Holmes stood to my right. Across from him was a tall man with silver temples and a face carved from stone. He wore the distinctive robes of the Veridia City Martial Guild—not purple like Nigel''s had been, but a deep, midnight blue edged with gold. A Guild Master.


    "So this is the infamous Liam Knight." The man—Bancroft—studied me with cold eyes. "He looks half dead already."


    "He is," Emerson confirmed. "He used a forbidden technique to kill Nigel Reyes. The bacsh nearly killed him too."


    Bancroft''s eyebrows rose slightly. "Nigel Reyes is dead? You''re certain?"


    "I saw his body myself," Emerson replied evenly.


    "Interesting." Bancroft circled around me, examining me like I was a specimen on a table. "A mere nobody manages to kill a purple-robed master. The council will be most displeased."


    I tried to speak, to move, but my body remained traitorously still. Only my eyes could track Bancroft''s movements as hepleted his circuit and faced Emerson again.


    "You''ve done well, Holmes. Bringing him directly to me was... unexpected."


    Emerson''s face remained impassive. "It seemed the most efficient course of action."


    Bancroft smiled, though it didn''t reach his eyes. "Indeed. And much appreciated." He gestured to someone out of my field of vision. "Kill him."


    My heart lurched painfully in my chest. This was it, then. After everything I''d survived, I would die helpless on a table.


    "Guild Master," Emerson stepped forward. "If I may—he killed Nigel Reyes. Don''t you want to know how? A quick death seems wasteful."


    Bancroft paused, considering. "You make a fair point, Holmes. But he''s too dangerous to keep alive."


    "With respect, sir," a new voice interjected. A younger man in dark green robes stepped into view—an assistant, perhaps. "The High Council specifically requested information about this man. They expressed... interest in his unusual abilities."


    Bancroft''s face darkened. "The High Council can find another test subject. This one has caused too much trouble." He turned back to me, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Do you know how many resources we''ve wasted hunting you down? How many ns you''ve disrupted?"


    I still couldn''t respond, couldn''t defend myself. Could barely keep my eyes open. Through the fog of pain and weakness, one thought remained clear: Emerson Holmes had betrayed me.


    "Sir," the assistant persisted, "killing him without the Council''s approval could be seen as... problematic."


    Bancroft''s mouth tightened in irritation. He red at me for a long moment before turning away.


    "Fine," he snapped. "Put him in a cell. Maximum security. We''ll let the Council decide what to do with him." <b ss="in-imprint-b">Content presented by *.</b>


    "And his condition?" the assistant inquired.


    "Keep him alive—barely." Bancroft''s voice was cold with controlled rage. "I want him to suffer every moment until the Council arrives."


    Emerson cleared his throat. "There''s one more thing you should know, Guild Master."


    Bancroft turned, eyebrow raised. "Yes?"


    "He wasn''t weakened when I found him," Emerson said carefully. "He was already on the brink of death from using the forbidden technique. That''s the only reason I was able to bring him in."


    The implication hung in the air. Under normal circumstances, I would have been too powerful for Emerson to capture.


    Bancroft studied Emerson''s face for a moment, thenughed—a short, humorless sound. "You expect me to believe that this half-dead nobody is so powerful that only his own technique could defeat him? Not even Nigel could subdue him?"


    "Nigel is dead," Emerson repeated simply. "I believe that speaks for itself."


    The Guild Master''s smile faded. He looked back at me with new intensity, as if trying to see through me to whatever power I supposedly possessed.


    "Interesting," he murmured again. "Perhaps the Council''s interest isn''t so misced after all."


    I felt my consciousness beginning to fade again. The brief surge of awareness was ebbing, darkness creeping in from the edges.


    "Take him away," Bancroft ordered. "And Holmes... stay close. I want a full report on everything you know about him."


    "Of course, Guild Master," Emerson replied smoothly.


    Hands gripped my arms and legs, lifting me from the table. As they carried me out, I caught onest glimpse of Emerson''s face. His expression remained unreadable, eyes carefully nk. But for the briefest moment, I thought I saw something there—a sh of... what? Regret? Determination?


    Then darkness took me once more.


    * * *


    I woke to the sensation of cold stone against my cheek. My body ached everywhere, but the pain had dulled from excruciating to merely terrible. Jackson''s medicine was still working, keeping me alive despite my injuries.


    Slowly, painfully, I forced my eyes open. Iy on a stone floor in a small cell. Three walls of solid stone, one wall of shimmering energy—some kind of barrier form. Beyond it, a dimly lit corridor.


    I tried to move and immediately regretted it. Fire shot through my limbs, and I copsed back to the floor with a groan.


    "He''s awake," a voice called from somewhere out of sight.


    Footsteps approached. A guard appeared on the other side of the barrier, peering in at me with detached curiosity.


    "Not so powerful now, are you?" he sneered. "They say you killed Nigel Reyes. Hard to believe, looking at you."


    I didn''t bother responding. Speech would waste energy I couldn''t spare.


    The guardughed at my silence. "Guild Master Bancroft has something special nned for you. Said to keep you alive until the Council arrives." He leaned closer to the barrier. "Three days. Think you''llst that long?"


    Three days. In my current condition, it seemed unlikely. But I had no intention of dying in this cell. Not while Isabelle was still a prisoner. Not while my mission remained unfinished.


    The guard lost interest in my silence and moved on, his footsteps fading down the corridor.


    With monumental effort, I managed to push myself up to sitting position, back against the wall. The simple movement left me gasping in pain. I closed my eyes, focusing inward on my damaged meridians. The devastation was extensive. I needed time to heal—time I didn''t have.


    "Is someone there?"


    A woman''s voice—faint, barely audible. But I knew that voice. Had dreamed of it every night since we''d been separated.


    My eyes snapped open. "Isabelle?" I croaked, my voice rough from disuse.


    Silence. Then, "Liam? Is that you?"


    My heart hammered painfully against my ribs. "Yes," I called, as loudly as I dared. "It''s me."


    A sound like a stifled sob reached me. "They said you were dead. They told me you''d been killed trying to rescue me."


    "Not dead yet," I managed. "Though not forck of trying."


    "I can''t see you," she said, her voice stronger now. "Where are you?"


    I looked around, trying to orient myself. "Cell. Not sure which one. Where are you?"


    "Block C, cell seven," she replied. "I''ve been here for... I don''t know how long anymore."


    I dragged myself closer to the barrier, ignoring the pain that red with each movement. "Are you hurt?"


    There was a pause before she answered. "Yes. They take blood samples every day. Sometimes other things." Her voice grew quieter. "They''re using me for something, Liam. Something terrible."


    Rage burned through me, temporarily overpowering the pain. "I''ll get us out of here," I promised.


    "How?" The word was barely a whisper, fragile with lost hope. "You''re captured too."


    Before I could answer, footsteps approached again—multiple sets this time, walking with purpose.


    "Quiet," I whispered urgently. "Someone''sing."


    Three figures appeared outside my cell. The guard from earlier, the assistant in green robes, and Guild Master Bancroft himself. His cold eyes studied me with calcted interest.


    "So you can still sit up," Bancroft observed. "Remarkable recovery speed, even with your injuries."


    I said nothing, conserving my strength.


    Bancroft smiled thinly. "Not feeling talkative? That''s fine. You don''t need to speak to be useful to us." He turned to his assistant. "Move him."


    "Sir?" The assistant looked confused.


    "Move him," Bancroft repeated. "To the cell across from the Ashworth girl."


    The assistant''s eyes widened slightly. "But sir, the regtions clearly state that prisoners of his ssification should be kept isted—"


    "I''m well aware of the regtions," Bancroft snapped. "I want him where he can see her. Where he can watch what we do to her every day. Breaking his body is too simple. I want to break his spirit as well."


    My hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into my palms. The pain helped me focus, kept the rage from consuming me entirely.


    "Yes, Guild Master," the assistant bowed slightly and motioned to the guard. "Prepare for transfer."


    Bancroft knelt down, bringing his face level with mine on the other side of the barrier. "You''ve been a thorn in my side for too long, Liam Knight. Before the Council takes you for their experiments, I want you to understand the futility of your actions." His voice dropped lower. "You came all this way to save her. Now you''ll watch as we drain everyst drop of her precious blood."


    He stood, straightening his robes. "Enjoy the reunion," he said with mock pleasantry. "It will be brief."


    As Bancroft walked away, the barrier form flickered and vanished. The guard and assistant entered, grabbing me roughly by the arms and hauling me to my feet.


    Pain exploded through my body, but I bit back a scream. I wouldn''t give Bancroft the satisfaction.


    They dragged me down the corridor, my feet scraping uselessly against the stone floor. We passed several empty cells before turning a corner.


    "Stop here," the assistant directed.


    They paused outside a cell identical to the one I''d been in. The guard deactivated the barrier form, and they threw me unceremoniously inside. Inded hard on the stone floor, unable to catch myself.


    "Barrier up," the assistant ordered. The energy field shimmered back into existence across the entrance.


    As they walked away, I raised my head with immense effort. Directly across from me was another cell. Inside, a figure sat huddled against the far wall.


    Isabelle.


    Her once lustrous hair hung limp around her too-thin face. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her skin was pale, marred with bruises and puncture marks where they''d taken blood samples. But her eyes—her eyes still held the same fire I remembered.


    Those eyes widened as she saw me. "Liam," she whispered, moving closer to her barrier. "What have they done to you?"


    I tried to smile, though I''m sure it looked more like a grimace. "Nothingpared to what I''ll do to them when I get out of here."


    She pressed her palm against the energy barrier separating us. I dragged myself forward, inch by agonizing inch, until I could press my hand against my own barrier, directly across from hers.


    Only a few feet of corridor separated us, but it might as well have been miles.


    "I thought I''d never see you again," she said softly.


    "I promised I''d find you," I replied. "I always keep my promises."


    Her eyes filled with tears. "But now you''re trapped too."


    I looked at her—really looked at her—taking in every detail of her face, storing it away like precious treasure. Despite everything they''d done to her, she was still beautiful. Still strong.


    "This isn''t over," I told her, conviction burning through the pain. "Not by a long shot."


    Bancroft thought he''d broken me by cing me across from Isabelle. He thought watching her suffer would destroy my spirit.


    He was wrong.


    Seeing her again, even like this, hadn''t weakened my resolve—it had strengthened it. Every mark on her body, every sign of what they''d done to her, only fueled the fire burning inside me.


    I pressed my hand harder against the barrier, ignoring the painful shock it sent through my damaged meridians.


    "Three days," I whispered. "In three