Voss sat on a cot against the wall, her silver hand resting on her knee. The glow was faint now—she’d learned to suppress it, to keep the power quiet when she needed to hide. Outside, the city hummed with traffic and voices. No one knew she was here. No one would look.

She’d been free for weeks.

The prison break had given her a head start, but she didn’t run far. Running was for people who had somewhere to go. She had nowhere. Just a list of names and a hunger she couldn’t shake.

Valentine’s name sat at the top.

She’d been watching him since her escape. Not every day—that would be suicide—but enough to learn his patterns. His supply lines ran through old demon tunnels beneath the city. His lieutenants met in neutral zones, always at night, always with guards. His coalition was larger than anyone in the Ashen Guard suspected.

Voss knew because she used to be part of it.

The notebook beside her was filled with observations. Dates. Locations. Weak points. She’d filled it over the past weeks, writing by the light of her silver hand, never sleeping more than a few hours at a time.

The pendant was her focus.

She knew where Valentine kept it. Not the city. Not the stronghold. The vault beneath the stronghold, guarded by the witch Morgana and a dozen revenants. She’d helped design those defenses before her capture. She knew every corridor, every trap, every blind spot.

Knowing wasn’t enough.

She couldn’t get past Morgana alone. Couldn’t fight through the revenants. Couldn’t reach the pendant without dying.

She needed help.

She needed Alistair.

---

The thought made her chest tighten.

She’d burned that bridge years ago. Alistair had trusted her. Loved her, maybe. She’d sold out their team, gotten people killed, disappeared into the dark. He had every right to kill her on sight.

But she also knew things no one else knew.

Valentine wasn’t just planning to tear down the Veil. The whispers she’d picked up from his lieutenants painted a worse picture. A ritual. Not just destruction—twisting. Using the Veil’s fragments as weapons. Turning the barrier that protected humanity into something that would tear them apart.

She couldn’t let that happen.

She picked up a burner phone, stared at the screen, and typed a message through an old channel—one she and Alistair had used when they were still teammates, back when they laughed together and trusted each other and believed they could change the world.

"I can help you stop him. I know where he’s keeping the pendant. Neutral ground. Tomorrow night."

She didn’t sign it. She didn’t need to.

Alistair would recognize the code.

---

The phone buzzed once, confirming the message had sent. Voss set it down and stared at the wall.

He might ignore it. He might set a trap. He might come with a squad and arrest her on sight.

She didn’t care.

She just needed him to listen.

---

Across the city, Alistair was in his office when the message came through.

The sun had set an hour ago. The Keep was quiet, most of the hunters either sleeping or out on patrol. He was reviewing the reports from the Atlantean ruin, looking for something he’d missed, some clue that might lead them to the pendant.

The phone on his desk buzzed.

He picked it up. Read the message. Read it again.

His hand tightened on the device.

He hadn’t seen that code in years. Not since the betrayal. Not since Voss had walked away and left their team in ruins.

He thought about ignoring it. About deleting the message and pretending it never arrived.

Then he thought about the pendant. About the blood moon. About the team that had nearly died in the Atlantean ruin.

He typed back: "Where?"

The reply came seconds later. An address. Neutral ground. A warehouse on the edge of the city.

Alistair stood, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.

---

He didn’t tell the team.

Not yet. He didn’t know if this was a trap. Voss had lied before. She’d betrayed before. But she also knew things no one else knew.

He went to Margaret’s office first. She was still working, papers spread across her desk, a cup of cold tea beside her elbow.

He told her about the message.

Margaret’s face didn’t change. "She’s not the person you used to know."

"Neither am I."

Margaret studied him for a long moment. "Be careful."

"Always."

He left.

---

The warehouse was dark, cold, and smelled like rust.

Alistair arrived alone, his weapon drawn, his eyes scanning the shadows. The neutral ground was an old shipping depot, abandoned years ago, claimed by no faction. It was dangerous—anyone could be watching. But that was also why Voss had chosen it.

She was already there.

She stood near a broken conveyor belt, her back to the wall, her silver hand glowing faintly. She looked older than he remembered. Thinner. Harder. Her hair was grey at the temples, and there were new scars on her face.

She didn’t smile.

"Alistair."

"Voss."

He stopped twenty feet away, close enough to fight, far enough to talk.

"Why should I trust you?"

Voss’s jaw tightened. "You shouldn’t. But you need me."

She told him about the pendant’s location. A hidden vault beneath Valentine’s new stronghold, guarded by the witch Morgana and a cadre of revenants. She described the defenses in detail—the corridors, the traps, the patrol schedules.

"I helped design it," she said. "Before I was captured."

Alistair’s eyes narrowed. "You expect me to believe you’re just helping out of the goodness of your heart?"

Voss’s voice dropped. "I’ve been following him since I got out. I know his routines. I know his weaknesses." She paused. "He’s planning something bigger than a simple Veil breach. A ritual. He’s going to twist the Veil’s fragments into a weapon."

Alistair went still. "How do you know?"

"Because I heard him say it."

The silence stretched.

---

Alistair asked what she wanted in return.

Voss was quiet for a moment. "I want to stop him. That’s all."

"There’s always something with you."

Her jaw tightened. "I want to live long enough to see him fall. Then you can lock me up again. I don’t care."

Her voice cracked. Just a little. It was the most honest thing she’d said in years.

Alistair studied her face. "You’re serious."

"I’ve never been more serious in my life."

---

He agreed to hear her plan.

She laid it out quickly, efficiently. The stronghold’s entrance. The patrol schedules. The witch’s vulnerabilities. She also warned him that Valentine had spies everywhere.

"If you bring the whole Guard, he’ll know. You need a small team. Fast. Quiet."

Alistair thought of Ashen Dawn. He didn’t say their names.

"I’ll handle the team," he said. "You just make sure the information is good."

"It’s good."

"It better be."

---

Alistair returned to the Keep late that night.

He didn’t sleep. He sat in his office, staring at the map Voss had drawn—the stronghold, the vault, the pendant’s location.

He knew he should tell the Council. But the Council would hesitate. Debate. Delay. The blood moon was too close for delay.

He made a decision.

Ashen Dawn would go. And Voss would lead them.

He picked up his phone and sent a message to Lucian.

"Briefing tomorrow. Six AM. Bring the team."

Then he leaned back in his chair and waited for dawn.