The Imperial Guard's tavern reeked of ale, sweat, and barely contained violence. Seraphina slipped through the crowd like smoke, her plain brown cloak concealing the elegant dress beneath. Three days had passed since her session with Count Ravencrest, three days of careful planning and preparation for this moment.
She'd chosen the Bronze Helm specifically—a tavern frequented by off-duty guards and mercenaries, where information flowed as freely as the cheap wine. Her target sat alone at a corner table, nursing his third drink of the evening. Captain Marcus Brennan, according to the intelligence she'd gathered. A mid-level officer in Kael's inner circle, bitter about recent demotions and desperate to prove his worth.
Perfect.
Seraphina approached his table with calculated hesitation, playing the part of a tavern girl seeking shelter from the crowd. "Excuse me, sir. Might I share your table? The others are all occupied."
Marcus looked up, his bloodshot eyes taking in her appearance. Mid-thirties, she estimated, with the scarred hands of a career soldier and the hollow gaze of a man who'd lost faith in his cause. The demotion had clearly stung his pride.
"Depends," he said, his voice slurred just enough to indicate vulnerability. "You buying or selling?"
"Neither," she replied, settling into the chair across from him. "Just seeking conversation with someone who looks like he has stories to tell."
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Stories? I've got plenty of those. None of them good."
She signaled the barmaid for two more ales, then leaned forward with practiced interest. "Military man, I'd guess. You have the bearing."
"Imperial Guard," he confirmed, then spat into the sawdust. "Or was, until they decided my methods were too aggressive for their new standards."
"New standards?"
"Aye. Commander Draven's implemented new protocols. More selective targeting, he calls it. Surgical precision instead of broad sweeps." Marcus's voice carried the resentment of a man who'd been passed over for promotion. "As if precision has ever won a war."
Seraphina's pulse quickened. This was exactly the intelligence she needed. "Commander Draven sounds like a demanding leader."
"Demanding?" Marcus laughed harshly. "The man's obsessed. Ever since he got word that the witch might have returned, he's been like a man possessed. Reorganizing patrols, implementing new identification protocols, training specialized units."
The ale turned bitter in her mouth. "The witch? I thought she was dead."
"That's what we all thought. But there have been... incidents. Unexplained deaths. People found drained of life force, their memories scrambled. The Commander thinks she's back, and he's determined not to let her slip away again."
Seraphina forced herself to remain calm even as her mind raced. "He knew her? Before?"
Marcus's expression darkened. "Knew her? He was her lover. Used to be part of her inner circle before she showed her true colors. The betrayal nearly destroyed him—made him into the man he is now."
The words hit her like physical blows. Kael's betrayal had been calculated, yes, but she'd never considered that it might have damaged him as much as it had her. The thought stirred unwanted emotions—pity, perhaps even a trace of the old affection.
"That must have been difficult," she said carefully.
"Difficult?" Marcus leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The man burned his own maps the night after her execution. Maps of places they'd been together, routes they'd traveled. Burned them all and never spoke of it again. But I've seen him sometimes, late at night, staring at the place where the pyre stood."
The revelation sent a chill through her. She'd expected hatred, perhaps guilt, but not this complex mixture of grief and determination. It complicated everything.
"These new protocols," she pressed, "what do they involve?"
"Identification markers. Ways to detect magical residue, especially the kind associated with life-drain abilities. Special units trained to resist mental manipulation. And..." Marcus hesitated, glancing around the tavern. "There's a new weapon. Something the artificers developed specifically for hunting witches."
"A weapon?"
"They call it the Soulbane. A blade that can cut through magical protections, disrupt spell-weaving. The Commander carries it himself now." Marcus's voice carried a note of genuine fear. "I've seen what it can do to practitioners. It doesn't just kill—it unmakes them. Erases them from existence entirely."
Seraphina's blood ran cold. The Soulbane sounded like more than just a weapon—it was a direct counter to everything she'd become. If Kael truly possessed such a tool, her advantages might be meaningless.
"You seem to know a great deal about the Commander's private affairs," she observed.
Marcus's expression turned suspicious. "What's it to you? You're asking an awful lot of questions for a tavern girl."
The moment balanced on a knife's edge. She could retreat, maintain her cover, and lose this opportunity. Or she could take the risk and potentially gain a valuable asset.
"Because," she said, her voice taking on a subtle resonance of power, "I have information he might find valuable. Information about the witch's current activities."
Marcus's eyes widened slightly. "You've seen her?"
"I've seen things," Seraphina replied carefully. "Strange deaths. Mysterious disappearances. People behaving oddly after encounters with beautiful women. If your Commander is truly hunting her, he might be interested in what I know."
It was a dangerous gambit. By positioning herself as an informant, she risked exposure. But it also offered the possibility of getting close to Kael, of learning his true capabilities and intentions.
"The Commander doesn't take meetings with random civilians," Marcus said, but his tone suggested interest.
"Then perhaps you could arrange an introduction. In exchange for..." She let the implication hang in the air.
"In exchange for what?"
"Recognition. Credit for bringing him valuable intelligence. A chance to prove your worth and regain your position." She could see the hunger in his eyes, the desperate need for redemption. "Unless, of course, you're content to spend your evenings drowning your sorrows in cheap ale."
Marcus stared at her for a long moment, warring emotions playing across his face. Finally, he nodded slowly. "I could arrange a meeting. But it would have to be unofficial. And if you're wasting his time..."
"I'm not," she assured him. "When?"
"Tomorrow night. There's a warehouse district near the old docks. Abandoned grain storage, building seven. Midnight." His voice carried the weight of a man making a decision that could cost him everything. "Come alone, and bring proof of what you claim to know."
Seraphina nodded, already calculating the risks and opportunities. "I'll be there."
As she rose to leave, Marcus caught her wrist. "What's your name?"
"Sera," she replied, using the diminutive of her true name—a small act of defiance. "And Marcus? Thank you. For giving me this chance."
He released her with a troubled expression. "Just remember—the Commander isn't the man he used to be. Whatever you think you know about him, whatever history you might have heard, forget it. He's made himself into something harder. Something colder. Don't underestimate him."
The warning sent a shiver through her, but she simply nodded and melted back into the crowd. As she made her way toward the exit, her mind was already spinning with possibilities and dangers.
Tomorrow night, she would face Kael Draven—the man who'd once held her heart and now held her death warrant. The encounter would test everything she'd learned about her powers, her control, and her ability to play the long game.
But more than that, it would test her heart. Because despite everything he'd done, despite the betrayal and the pain, a part of her still remembered the man he'd been. The man who'd made her believe in love before teaching her the true meaning of loss.
The hunt was about to become personal.
And she wasn't entirely sure which of them was the true predator anymore.