Three Days After

The hideout felt like a tomb.

Elysia sat on Bramm's old barrel, running her fingers over the nicks he'd carved into the wood during long nights of waiting. Little marks. Tally scratches. The pattern of a man who counted time in small victories.

She hadn't moved in hours.

The silence was different now. Before, when they were all together, silence meant planning. Thinking. The comfortable quiet of people who trusted each other.

This silence had teeth.

Kael's empty cot sat in the corner, blanket still rumpled from his last night. Thira's bow hung on its peg, abandoned. Even the air felt thinner, like the space was slowly suffocating without their breath to fill it.

Elysia had tried to leave twice. Packed her few belongings, made it as far as the door. But where would she go?

North, like Kael? She didn't even know if his ship had made it safely out of the harbor.

East to Aetherium, like Thira offered? The thought of those whispering trees and sacred groves made her skin crawl. All that peace. All that purpose handed down from on high.

She'd rather die in the gutter than live in a cage, even a beautiful one.

So she stayed. In the dark. With the ghosts.

The Visitor

On the fourth day, someone knocked.

Three short raps. A pause. Two more.

Elysia's hand went to her belt knife as she approached the concealed door. Nobody knew the old signal except—

"It's Mira."

Elysia's breath caught. She hadn't heard that voice in months.

She opened the door to find a woman in her thirties, dark hair streaked with premature silver, wearing the practical leathers of a caravan guard. Mira had been part of their crew once, years ago, before she'd gotten smart and found legitimate work.

"Heard about Bramm," Mira said simply. "And about Kael shipping out. Figured you might need company."

She stepped inside, taking in the empty space with sharp eyes.

"Place feels dead."

"It is dead." Elysia closed the door behind her. "We're all that's left."

Mira nodded, settling onto a crate like she belonged there. "What about Thira?"

"Gone. Back to the forest folk."

"Smart girl."

They sat in uncomfortable silence. Mira pulled out a leather flask and took a swig before offering it to Elysia.

"What's the play?" Mira asked.

"There is no play."

"Bullshit." Mira's voice was matter-of-fact. "I've known you since you were nineteen and dumb enough to try picking a warlock's pocket. You don't do 'give up.'"

Elysia took the flask, tasted harsh grain alcohol. It burned.

"Maybe I should learn how."

Mira studied her for a long moment. "The Conclave did this?"

Elysia nodded.

"Then you're thinking about hitting back."

It wasn't a question.

"I'm thinking about a lot of things," Elysia said carefully.

"Like what?"

"Like how they found us so fast. Like how they knew exactly where Bramm would be. Like how they've got eyes everywhere and we didn't even know we were being watched."

She set down the flask harder than necessary.

"They're not just killers, Mira. They're an organization. They've got structure. Resources. Information."

"And you want to build the same thing."

Again, not a question.

Elysia met her eyes. "I want to survive. And I want them to pay for what they did."

Mira leaned back, considering. "Those two things might not be compatible."

"They will be if I do it right."

The Plan

Over the next hour, Mira drew the truth out of her piece by piece.

Not revenge. Not exactly. Something colder. More patient.

"The way I see it," Elysia said, "the Conclave controls the undercity because they control information. They know who's who, who owes what, who's planning what. They've got networks."

"So build your own network."

"Exactly. Start small. Recruit carefully. Build trust. Build reputation."

Mira raised an eyebrow. "You're talking about years of work."

"I'm talking about becoming someone they can't just disappear in an alley." Elysia's voice hardened. "Bramm died because we were nobody. Street thieves. Expendable."

She stood, pacing to the window that looked out over the warren of rooftops and chimney smoke.

"But if you're connected. If you've got people who depend on you, who profit from you, who'd miss you if you vanished... then you become harder to kill."

"And eventually?"

"Eventually, you become strong enough to hit back."

Mira was quiet for a long time.

"It's not a bad plan," she said finally. "But it's not a quick one. And it's not a safe one. You'll be painting a target on your back from day one."

"The target's already there. At least this way, I'll have something to shoot back with."

The First Step

"I know a fence," Mira said. "Older woman named Cassandra. Runs a curiosity shop in the Merchant Quarter. She's got connections but no muscle. Pays well for protection and information both."

Elysia listened, already calculating.

"She's clean?"

"Clean enough. Not Conclave, not Guild, not anyone's creature but her own. Perfect place to start building trust."

It wasn't much. But it was something.

"What's she need?" Elysia asked.

"Couple of rival shops have been pressuring her. Nothing she can't handle, but nothing she wants to handle personally either."

"Sounds like a job for someone looking to make connections."

"Sounds like it."

They shook hands. It felt like sealing a pact.

That Night

Elysia stood on the rooftop again, but this time she wasn't looking down at the city with despair.

She was studying it.

The flow of people through the streets. The patterns of the watch patrols. The way information moved from tavern to shop to warehouse like water finding the lowest path.

Somewhere out there, the Conclave watched and waited. They thought they'd broken her crew, eliminated a threat.

They were wrong.

They'd created something much more dangerous.

A survivor with nothing left to lose and everything to prove.

Elysia pulled her red shawl tighter against the wind and allowed herself a small, cold smile.

"One connection at a time," she murmured to the night. "One favor at a time. One piece at a time."

She thought of Bramm, who'd called her 'twig' and worried she was too reckless.

"I'm still reckless," she whispered. "But now I'm patient too."

The city sprawled beneath her, vast and full of possibilities.

Somewhere in the distance, a ship's bell tolled the hour.

Time to get to work.

Morning

Elysia woke before dawn, the way she had when she was a child in Aetherium and the morning prayers began with the first light.

But this wasn't about prayer.

This was about preparation.

She dressed carefully - not in her usual bright colors, but in muted browns and grays. The kind of clothes that wouldn't be remembered. She braided her hair back severely and covered it with a worn cap.

Today, she wasn't Elysia the thief.

Today, she was nobody in particular.

Just another face in the crowd, listening to conversations, watching transactions, learning the rhythms of the city's heartbeat.

By the time she reached Cassandra's shop in the Merchant Quarter, she had a plan.

Not just for this job, but for the next ten jobs. The next hundred.

The Conclave had taught her a valuable lesson: in this city, information was power.

Time to start collecting both.

She pushed open the shop door, a small bell chiming her arrival.

"Good morning," she said to the silver-haired woman behind the counter. "I believe we have business to discuss."

Cassandra looked up from her ledger, eyes sharp and calculating.

"And you are?"

Elysia smiled. Not the wild, reckless grin she'd worn as a thief.

Something colder. More controlled.

"Someone who solves problems," she said simply.

The first thread in what would become a very long web.

Outside, Empyria hummed with its usual chaos, unaware that something new was growing in its shadows.

Something patient.

Something dangerous.

Something that remembered its dead and planned accordingly.