Chapter 160: The Crimson Tide [1]
Alaric stepped out of the study room and pulled the door shut behind him.
The corridor was empty now. He turned down the main hallway leading back toward the central building.
Evening had fully settled in. A few students passed him going the opposite direction, heading toward the library or late study sessions.
The courtyard was mostly deserted when he crossed it. A cold breeze had picked up, carrying the smell of flowers and distant smoke from the kitchens. The fountain in the center burbled quietly, water catching the dying sunlight.
Alaric climbed the stairs to the dormitory wing. He reached his door and pushed it open.
Oliver’s bed was occupied, his roommate already curled up under blankets despite it barely being evening, snoring softly.
Alaric closed the door quietly and moved to his side of the room.
He pulled off his uniform jacket and tossed it over his desk chair. The shirt followed then his boots came off next, dropped beside the bed.
Standing in just his trousers, he moved to the center of the small space between their beds and dropped into position.
Push-ups first.
One. Two. Three...
He counted silently, keeping his breathing steady and controlled.
Then sit-ups. Squats next. Then lunges. His legs trembled by the end but he finished the set.
Almost an hour later, he was covered in sweat.
Alaric grabbed a towel from his wardrobe and wiped his face and chest.
Then he moved to the washbasin in the corner and splashed cold water on his skin.
He dried off, pulled on a clean shirt, and collapsed onto his bed.
The mattress creaked under his weight. He stared up at the ceiling, hands folded behind his head.
Oliver’s snoring continued, steady and rhythmic.
While Alaric’s mind replayed the day.
The interrogation with the Queen. The confrontation in the dining hall. And Verelia’s offer.
And underneath all of it, the system’s urgent quest. One month to gather fifteen thousand DP or lose everything he’d built.
He sighed.
It had been a long fucking day.
And tomorrow would probably be worse.
He closed his eyes, trying to quiet his racing thoughts. The moonlight painted silver patterns on the wall.
Sleep pulled at him, slow and insistent.
*******************
The light breeze swayed through empty streets, carrying the scent of old smoke and damp stone. The moon hung bright overhead, full and silver, painting everything in shades of gray and white.
A hooded figure moved along the narrow alley between two shuttered buildings. Her steps made no sound against the cobblestones. The dark cloak wrapped around her blended with the shadows, making her almost invisible except when moonlight caught the fabric’s edge.
Ahead, four shapes walked together down the main street. Wolf beastkin, she could tell from the way they moved, the slight hunch to their shoulders, the restless energy in their stride. Their ears poked through shaggy hair, twitching at every sound. Tails swished beneath their cloaks.
They were talking among themselves, voices low but carrying in the quiet night.
"Why are we even out here?"
"Relax. No one’s watching this sector anymore."
"Still feels wrong."
"You always feel wrong. Shut up and keep walking."
The hooded figure followed from a distance. Her breathing was controlled, measured.
The beastkin turned down a side street. Narrower. Fewer lights.
Perfect.
She quickened her pace, closing the distance. The four were halfway down the street when she made her move.
She dropped from a low rooftop she’d scaled in seconds, landing behind the last one in their group. Her arm came around his throat before he could react, a thin wire pulled tight. He tried to yell but only a choked gurgle escaped.
"What—" The one in front started to turn.
She released the choking beastkin and shoved him forward into his companion. Both went down in a tangle of limbs and curses.
The other two spun, claws already extending, teeth bared.
The first lunged.
She sidestepped, grabbed his outstretched arm, and used his momentum to slam him face-first into the stone wall. He slumped.
The second was faster. Got inside her guard, claws raking across her shoulder. Fabric tore. Blood welled.
But she didn’t make a sound.
Her knee came up into his gut.
He doubled over.
Her elbow crashed down on the back of his skull.
Thud!
And he dropped.
The two who’d been tangled on the ground were scrambling up now. One had a knife out.
He came at her low, trying for her legs.
She jumped back, hand flashing inside her cloak again. A small vial appeared in her fingers. She threw it at his feet.
Glass shattered.
Pale smoke erupted, thick and cloying.
"Can’t—breathe—" The beastkin staggered, knife clattering to the ground as his hands went to his throat.
The fourth one, the biggest among them had finally gotten his bearings. He charged straight at her, no finesse, just raw strength and rage.
She waited until the last second.
Then dropped low and swept his legs. His own momentum carried him over her, and he crashed hard on his back. The air left his lungs in a whoosh.
She was on him immediately. Something pressed against his neck—a needle. He felt the prick, then warmth spreading through his veins.
"Don’t—" But his words slurred, eyes rolled back, as he became unconscious.
The one in the smoke cloud had collapsed, still breathing but out cold. The other two weren’t moving either.
The hooded figure stood, breathing slightly harder now. Blood dripped from the claw marks on her shoulder, but she ignored it. She pulled rope from somewhere in her cloak and began binding their wrists behind their backs with efficient, practiced movements.
By the time she finished, footsteps echoed from the main street. Two more figures in dark cloaks appeared, moving quickly.
"You got them all?" one asked, voice muffled.
The hooded woman nodded, not speaking. She gestured at the four bound beastkin.
"Good. Cart’s around the corner." The second figure moved to grab one of the unconscious bodies, slinging it over his shoulder like a sack of grain. "Boss wants them before sunrise."
Together, the three of them worked quickly, loading the beastkin into a covered wagon that creaked under the weight. One of them checked the bonds, making sure they were secure.
The hooded woman stood back, watching. Moonlight caught her face for just a moment as she adjusted her hood—pale skin, sharp features, dark hair.
Then she pulled the hood lower and turned away.
"Where are you going?" one of the men called after her.
She didn’t answer. Just walked back into the shadows between buildings and disappeared.
The two men exchanged glances, shrugged, and climbed onto the wagon. The horse snorted, harness jingling as the cart rolled forward down the narrow street.