The room they rented above The Foghound was cramped and cold, but it offered enough privacy for what Sioux and Caedric needed. A single oil lamp flickered on the rickety table between them, casting long, shifting shadows on the walls.

Sioux sat cross-legged on the creaky bed, cleaning Bonnie and Clyde with slow, deliberate movements. The soft click of metal parts was the only sound in the room, a rhythmic beat that kept their thoughts focused. They glanced up occasionally at Caedric, who was hunched over Rhett's journal, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Anything useful in there?" Sioux asked, breaking the silence.

Caedric didn't look up, his eyes scanning the faded ink on the pages. "Plenty. Rituals, glyphs, sigil lore-Rhett's done their homework. But it's fragmented, incomplete. A lot of this is written in code, probably to keep it from falling into the wrong hands."

Sioux snorted, sliding Clyde's barrel back into place with a satisfying click. "Seems like the wrong hands got it anyway."

Caedric finally looked up, his expression grim. "We don't have the luxury of cynicism right now. If Rhett's telling the truth, this gathering isn't just a ritual-it's a way for the Masquerade to amplify the sigil's power. If they succeed, it won't just be you fighting its pull. It'll spread to anyone within its reach."

Sioux frowned, setting Clyde down beside Bonnie. "And you think we can stop them? Just the two of us and... Rhett?"

"Rhett's a wild card," Caedric admitted. "But they're right about one thing: we can't run from this forever. The sigil won't let us."

Sioux leaned back against the wall, their gaze drifting to the faint moonlight filtering through the cracked window. "So, what's the plan? We just walk in and start shooting?"

Caedric shook his head. "That would be suicide. We need to know exactly what we're walking into, and we need an exit strategy. The Masquerade doesn't take prisoners-they'll kill us or worse if we're caught."

"Great," Sioux muttered. "Sounds like a party."

Caedric ignored the comment, pulling a folded map from his satchel. He spread it out on the table, anchoring the edges with the oil lamp and a few stray books. The parchment was old, the ink faded, but the details of the town and its surrounding areas were clear enough.

"The gathering will take place here," Caedric said, pointing to a crumbling estate on the outskirts of Darkwater. "It's an abandoned manor, one the Masquerade has used before for their rituals. The place is a fortress-high walls, limited entrances, and plenty of places to set up ambushes."

Sioux moved to the table, leaning over the map. "And you think they'll just let us waltz in?"

"No," Caedric admitted. "But we have an advantage. The Masquerade doesn't know we have Rhett's information. They won't be expecting us to know the layout or their plans. If we move quickly and carefully, we might be able to disrupt the ritual before it begins."

Sioux studied the map, their eyes narrowing. "You keep saying 'might.' That's not exactly reassuring."

"I'm not going to lie to you, Sioux," Caedric said, his voice firm. "This is dangerous. But if we do nothing, the sigil's power will grow, and we'll lose any chance we have of stopping it."

Sioux sighed, running a hand through their hair. "Alright. What do we need?"

Caedric's expression softened slightly, a hint of gratitude in his eyes. "We'll need weapons, for starters. Your pistols are good, but we'll need something with more range and firepower if things go south. Explosives would be ideal, but I doubt we'll find any here."

"And what about Rhett?" Sioux asked. "They didn't exactly strike me as the 'team player' type."

Caedric smirked faintly. "Rhett's self-serving, but they're not stupid. They'll help us if it means getting what they want. Just don't trust them with your back."

"Noted," Sioux said dryly.

The preparations stretched late into the night. They gathered what supplies they could from the town-extra ammunition, knives, and a bundle of smoke bombs Caedric had managed to barter from a wary merchant. Sioux insisted on practicing their aim in a secluded alley, each shot a sharp crack that echoed in the cold night air.

By the time they returned to their room, the exhaustion was palpable. Caedric slumped into a chair, rubbing his temples, while Sioux sat cross-legged on the floor, cleaning their weapons again out of habit.

"You know," Sioux said after a long silence, their voice soft, "I didn't sign up for this. I didn't ask for the sigil or the nightmares or any of it."

Caedric looked at them, his expression unreadable. "I know. And I'm sorry."

Sioux glanced up, surprised by the sincerity in his tone.

"But you're stronger than you think," Caedric continued. "The sigil didn't choose you by accident. It sees something in you, something it can use. That means you have a choice: let it control you, or use its power against it."

Sioux snorted, though there was no humor in it. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one it's whispering to."

"No," Caedric admitted. "But I've seen what happens to those who give in. And I won't let that happen to you."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of their shared burden hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, Sioux stood, sliding Bonnie and Clyde into their holsters. "Alright, professor. Let's stop a ritual."

Caedric smiled faintly, rising to his feet. "Let's."