Eren, Avelin, and Silas stood before the gate.

  It was wedged into the sewer wall like a scar that never healed—massive planks of rotting wood reinforced with rusted metal bands. Moss clung to its edges, and something dark seeped from the cracks, dripping slowly into the dry channel below.

  “A cave system,” Silas said quietly, rubbing his palms together. “Older than the city itself. The sewers intersect it in several places. Biohazards took it years ago.”

  Avelin grimaced. “Charming.”

  Silas stepped forward and knocked.

  A moment passed. Then another.

  A small wooden slit slid open in the gate—a viewing hatch, rough and splintered, just wide enough for a pair of bloodshot eyes to peer through.

  “Yeah?” a voice growled from the other side.

  “It’s me,” Silas said, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Silas.”

  The eyes narrowed.

  “Silas who?”

  Silas swallowed. “Silas Mercer. Saffron’s brother.”

  There was a pause. Then a sneer.

  “You were told to come alone. Who’re these two buffoons?”

  Avelin’s hand twitched.

  She took one step forward—just one—and Eren caught her by the collar from behind, lifting her cleanly off the ground like an irritated kitten. Her boots kicked the air once before she froze, glaring sideways at him.

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  Eren deliberately avoided her gaze.

  Not out of fear—but concern.

  “They’re—” Silas stammered, heart pounding. “They’re just friends.”

  The eyes lingered on Eren. Then on Avelin.

  The slit slammed shut.

  A heavy clunk echoed as bolts were drawn back. The gate groaned open inch by inch, wood screaming against metal.

  Before stepping inside, Silas turned to them, voice low and urgent.

  “Remember,” he said. “We’re here to negotiate. Don’t try to kill anyone.”

  Eren stared past him, expression unreadable.

  Avelin looked anywhere but at Silas.

  “…Just follow me,” Silas said, unease creeping into his tone.

  They entered.

  The throne room reeked of death.

  It was vast—far larger than the sewer tunnels suggested—but every inch of it felt wrong. Rotting corpses lay scattered across the stone floor, some half-eaten, others piled like discarded refuse. Chains rattled softly as a line of slaves stood bound against the wall—women, children, eyes hollow, bodies trembling.

  Silas’s face drained of color.

  Still, he walked forward.

  At the far end of the chamber sat the throne.

  Avelin leaned closer to Eren and whispered, barely moving her lips,

  “…Isn’t that throne made of bones and skulls?”

  It was.

  Atop it lounged Abyth the Tyrant.

  Massive. Broad. His flesh was thick with scars, and crude cybernetic augmentations jutted from his body like parasites. His eyes were dull, bored—until they landed on Eren’s forearms.

  The cybernetics.

  Abyth straightened.

  Silas knelt before the throne, hands shaking as he set down a metal case.

  “I have brought you one hundred thousand credits, Lord Abyth,” he said. “Please… release my sister.”

  Abyth laughed.

  A low, ugly sound.

  “I demanded three cylinders of spice,” he said. “And instead, you bring me credits…”

  His gaze slid back to Eren.

  “…and bounty hunters.”

  Spice?

  Avelin’s brow furrowed.

  “Silas?” she thought. Spice?

  “They’re not bounty hunters,” Silas said quickly. “I swear—they’re just—”

  The hiss came first.

  Then the pain.

  Three darts slammed into Avelin’s neck and shoulder before she could react. Her vision blurred instantly, knees buckling as the world tilted sideways.

  Silas collapsed beside her, the case clattering across the stone.

  Eren turned—

  Too slow.

  A dart struck his side.

  Another in his thigh.

  He dropped to one knee, teeth clenched, rage blazing in his eyes as he locked onto Abyth.

  More darts followed.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Eren roared and tried to rise—

  Then his strength vanished.

  He hit the ground hard, vision drowning in darkness as Abyth’s laughter echoed through the chamber.