Dust motes drifted through the afternoon light that filtered through grimy windows, illuminating a room that had clearly been abandoned for years before Nyssara moved in.
The walls were bare except for water stains that looked like continents of a different world.
Out of nowhere, a new person arrived through the window.
Three stories up, no visible handholds, and he slipped through the frame like he was stepping over a puddle. He was maybe fifty, thin as a knife blade, with grey hair pulled back tight against his skull and scars on his hands that told stories I could read without asking. Burn marks. Acid splashes. The signature wounds of lockpicks used wrong, of traps triggered at the wrong moment, of a lifetime spent reaching for things that didn't belong to him.
Three knives visible on his person. Probably six more hidden in places I couldn't see.
He chose the chair with the best sight line to the exit before anyone suggested he sit down.
"This is Silas," Nyssara said with calm confidence. "Best thief in Zetun."
"Second best," the man corrected without looking at her. His eyes were busy cataloging the room, the exits, the shadows, me. "The best thief died last year. Tried to rob the Inquisition vault. Ambitious woman, with remarkable execution and terrible judgment."
He pulled out a small notebook and began writing in shorthand I couldn't decipher.
"You're the arena escapee," he continued, his pen dancing along the lines with narrow steps. "Yozi. Pact-bearer. Class seven demon if the rumors are accurate. Wanted by at least three different organizations, probably more. Current whereabouts are officially unknown, which means someone important is protecting you."
"You keep notes?" I asked.
"Memory fades. Ink doesn't." He glanced up at me briefly, something like approval flickering in his eyes. "You're younger than I expected. The stories make you sound like some kind of monster."
"Give him time," Malgrin said cheerfully. "He's working on it."
"Why am I here?" Silas asked, closing his notebook with a snap. "Nyssara said it was important. She also said it was dangerous, which means it's probably both, which means you want me to steal something that shouldn't be stolen from somewhere I shouldn't be."
Nyssara leaned forward, her forearms resting on her knees. "We need tools. And we need someone who can steal something very difficult."
"How difficult?"
"Imperial Palace. During the coronation ceremony. While every guard in Zetun is watching the proceedings."
Silas opened his notebook again. Wrote a single word. Closed it.
"No."
"Silas."
"I said no." His voice was calm but final. The voice of a man who had calculated odds his entire life and recognized suicide when he saw it. "I've got a son. Marcus is a smart kid, but not yet ready. He still thinks his father is a merchant who travels a lot. I'd like to keep that illusion intact, so I need to stay alive."
I looked at him. "Two hundred silver. Plus immunity when we win."
"When you win." He pulled out the notebook again, wrote something else. "You are young enough to be confident."
He looked up at me with eyes that had seen too much to be impressed by confidence. "Young people always say 'when.' Old people know better."
Nyssara's voice changed. Softened in a way that was somehow more dangerous than her sharp tone. "You owe me, Silas."
His pen stopped moving.The room went very quiet.
"That's not fair," he said. The words came out barely above a whisper.
"I saved your son's life. I also paid for the healer myself because you were halfway across the city on a job and couldn't get back in time." She didn't look away from him. "Marcus would be dead if I hadn't been there. You know that. You said you'd repay me. Anything I asked."
Silas set down the pen. His hands were trembling slightly; the only crack in his professional composure.
"I meant money. Information. Introductions to people who could help you." He swallowed. "Not suicide."
Stolen story; please report.
"It's not suicide if we plan it right."
"Everything's involving the coronation means suicide."
But he didn't leave. Didn't close the notebook and slip back out the window the way he'd come. He just sat there, staring at the blank page where his next note should have been, and I watched him calculate the debt he owed against the life he wanted to live.
It took a long time.
Then: "What exactly are we stealing?"
I laid it out to him. The Tear. The barriers surrounding it; red for fire, silver for alarm, black for annihilation. The timing required to breach each one without triggering the others. The escape routes that existed and the ones we'd have to create. The distraction Kay would provide from outside. The chaos that would pull the guards away from their posts.
Silas listened without interrupting. His pen moved across page after page of his notebook, recording details in that shorthand only he could read. When I finished, he went back through his notes and started asking questions.The kind of questions that revealed how many heists had gone wrong in his past and what he'd learned from each failure.
"The red barrier. Fire-based. What's the heat threshold before it triggers?"
"Unknown."
"The silver barrier. Alarm system. Does it trigger instantly or is there a delay?"
"Instantly. No margin for error."
"The black barrier." He underlined something in his notebook. Twice. "Self-destruct mechanism. What happens to the surrounding area if we trip it?"
"Total annihilation. Thirty-meter radius. Kaboom."
Silas wrote that down. Stared at what he'd written. Closed the notebook.
"You're insane," he said. "Both of you."
"Probably," Nyssara agreed.
"But you're serious."
"Completely."
He stood up, tucking the notebook into an inner pocket with unexpectedly gentle care.
"I'll need three days to acquire the right tools. Acids calibrated for magical barriers. Silk rope that won't trigger pressure sensors. Smoke compounds that burn without heat. A decoy convincing enough to fool the guards while we work."
"We have barely two days."
"Then I'll work faster and sleep less." He moved toward the window, then stopped. Turned back. "But I want half the payment up front. And if this goes wrong, if I die down there, the rest goes to my son. In writing. Notarized. Legally binding."
"Deal."
Nyssara pulled out a contract. Already written. Already witnessed. She'd known this conversation would end here; she had prepared for his conditions before he'd even thought of them.
Silas took the document. Read every word. Read them again. His lips moved slightly as he worked through the legal language, checking for loopholes, which surprised me from all the info I gathered about the two of them so far.
Then he signed.
"I'm doing this for Marcus," he said, handing the contract back. "Not for you. Not for the empire. Not for whatever cause you think you're serving. Just for my son and because I pay my debts."
He climbed onto the windowsill, paused for a moment silhouetted against the afternoon light.
"Don't make me regret this," he said. "My son needs a father more than Zetun needs heroes."
Then he was gone, disappearing down the side of the building with fluid grace that I didn’t expect a man of his age to still have.
Nyssara poured two cups of water from a pitcher that had been sitting on the table. She offered me one. I took it and thanked her, only to taste nothing.
Every drink tasted like nothing now. All the food was texture without flavor.
"He'll do good work," Nyssara said, settling into the chair Silas had sat on.
"If he doesn't run."
"He won't run. He's paranoid, not a coward. There's a difference."
"What's the difference?"
"Cowards don't show up. Paranoid people show up prepared for everything that could go wrong." She sipped her water, watching me over the rim of the cup.
"So you had a conversation with Damian Carthos?"
"He's in."
"That's it? Just 'he's in'? You said you had to meet someone, that I shouldn’t worry about it, it turns out to be one of the three candidates to become emperor, you suggest imperial treason, and now you come back with two words?"
"He's possessed by a Demon Prince. A Pact-Bearer way more exhausted than me. Drinking to quiet the souls screaming in his head. Possibly falling apart at the seams." I finished my tasteless water. "But he's smart and he hates the current system enough to risk everything to change it. He'll do what needs to be done."
"Demon Prince?"
"Azrathel. Domain of Death and Shadow. High-tier entity. Very old, very powerful, very invested in seeing Damian on the throne."
Nyssara let out a low whistle. "That's ambitious."
"It's useful. Damian can summon shades of the dead, create barriers of shadow, manifest weapons from nothing. If it comes to a direct fight, he's our most powerful weapon."
"And if he loses control? If Azrathel decides he wants more than just influence?"
"Then the demon eats everyone in the vicinity and we die screaming." I set down my empty cup. "But that's option three on the list of possible outcomes. We're trying very hard to avoid option three."
"What are the other options?"
I told her everything. The deal I'd made with Damian. The position he'd offered me; Bloody Left Hand, shadow of the throne, the blade that does what emperors can't acknowledge. The renegotiation clause I'd insisted on. The terms and conditions of serving something larger than myself.
She listened without interrupting, her grey eyes steady on my face.
When I finished, she said: "You negotiated terms with the potentially future Emperor."
"Future Emperor. Not potentially. The distinction matters."
"Sure" She almost smiled; that small expression that transformed her whole face. "You really can't help yourself, can you? Even when someone's offering you power and position and purpose, you have to haggle over the fine print."
"Everything's negotiable."
"Not everything."
"Name one thing that isn't."
She touched her side. The place where the curse wound had been, where the scar still showed pale against her skin. "You cutting yourself to match my injury. That wasn't negotiable. You didn't calculate the costs and benefits. You just did it."
I had no answer for that.
"She's got you there," Malgrin observed with evident satisfaction. "Cornered by your own inconsistency. I love it."
--- SPECTACLE REPORT: THE THIEF & THE CONTRACT ---
Performance Rating: ??? (3/5) Malgrin's Note: "Silas is delightful. A paranoid thief who keeps notes on his crimes, catastrophically stupid and I'm here for it. Also, the scene with Nyssara calling you out on your 'negotiation addiction' was chefs kiss. You're blushing on the inside, aren't you?"
ASSET ACQUIRED:
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Silas: [Master Thief] (Paranoid Variant).
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Cost: 50% upfront + 1x Soul-Binding Contract for his son.
CORRUPTION STATUS:
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Level: 20% (Receding?! We may need to talk about that.)