"Stay still," Ilian urged.

Standing in the middle of the woods, on a deserted trail and surrounded by nothing but pine trees, pebbles, and grass, the three of them stopped. Faine understood the rattling of chains before the cold iron shackles clamped around her thin wrists. She frowned up at Ilian but he offered no satisfaction in return, not a hint of that playful demeanor he shared with her nights before.

Ilian took the chains in his hands and led her forward, further down the trail. "You know, we don't have to treat her like she's a prisoner," Ginevra suggested.

The statement was shocking enough that Ilian stopped in his tracks, nearly causing Faine to bump into his back. But she planted her boots on the hard dirt of the trail and held her hands out before her. She promised to arrive as a prisoner, and the chains were the first visual piece to that lie.

"Why would we do that?" Ilian demanded.

His voice shed no kindness and when he furrowed his brows, the blue-black strands of his hair curling subtly around his ears and the afternoon breeze pushing through it, Faine wondered if he might scream at the fladline. But he waited for her response in hopes of receiving something that would shed the tiniest bit of amusement on the situation.

"She's the only normal person I've been in contact with for a while. You're too focused on your job and the others...they're just boring. At least she's interesting to talk to." Ginevra popped a berry into her mouth and scowled at her mortal companion.

Faine was proud to smirk when he looked back and revealed no hint of sharing the same feelings she did. But having one of Silver Willow's members on her side was better than none. Although Ilian was her strongest target, persuasion from others heeded results. It was one of the many ways she learned how to work the strings of multiple puppets over the years.

"Don't you feel the chains are a little unnecessary? I mean, I'm the one that came all this way—willingly. I wouldn't dare run off and make you appear like a failure," Faine chimed in. Neither cared to turn around this time.

But Ilian did sigh, frustrated, and scratched at the back of his head. His muscles tightened underneath his black tunic; a leather belt slung along his waist with dark trousers to match. The only cleaning they allowed themselves to do over these past three days was scrubbing with stream water and no soap—hardly anything. Faine longed for a bath in one of the porcelain tubs belonging to Rising Eternity's bathing chambers. Her personal one was unoccupied until she returned.

Faine hadn't slept much, to say the least. The sinwolves howled through the nights on the trail and something, whether the beast itself or another, stalked them for hours until Ilian threw a rock at it and demanded it go away, otherwise he'd slay it. When Faine snorted, he hadn't been amused and avoided speaking to her or looking at her for the remainder of the day. But he had gotten rid of whatever followed them so deep past Steelmaw Woods.

"The chains are necessary if our boss wishes to believe you're actually our prisoner," Ilian informed.

"Ah." Faine nodded and kicked at a pebble along the dirt trail. "How is that going to play over when I ask for a position as a member of Silver Willow?"

Ilian slowed. Through many years of spying and learning people, Faine was used to different body language. As much as he was trying to hide his realization that this might not work, he wasn't doing the best job. In fact, she could tell easily that Ilian uncovered one of the most obvious faults to this plan. Their boss could fire them for something like this.

Ginevra was the one that came to terms with it first. "Let's just say you're an optimistic prisoner with an intriguing past. She'll like that." Although she bumped her elbow with Ilian's, he shrugged off her touch and looked in the other direction. The fladline didn't appear at all disheartened. As if that had happened more than once, and with multiple people.

Faine's brain began to hurt with how much observing she was doing.

"Possibly so." Ilian chewed on his lip. "If you wish to be part of Silver Willow, then you must be able to think on the spot, anyway. This will be your first test."

"If you mean the first test to my initiation, then I thoroughly agree that I'll pull this off."

"I never said—"

Faine sighed to interrupt him. "No need to flatter me."

For everything she'd done over the past few days, whether annoying him or giving them better instructions as to how to carry on with their journey, Ilian yanked on the chains and didn't care whether she stumbled. Years ago, when she was caught as a spy, her captors had put shackles around her wrists and attempted to take her before the high elf father to earn money for her crimes. She had stolen the high elf mother's jewelry days before and they were searching for her—a feliram with white horns and lilac skin. It was the only description they could pull off.

During that time, Faine learned the mastery of yanking back. So when Ilian yanked on the chains, she wrapped her hands around them, twisting her wrists, and yanked as hard as she could. Though meant to be their prisoner, that didn't mean they were in front of Silver Willow's base and the show needed to start.

Ilian was hardly shocked when his arm tugged behind him at an odd angle. "Start acting like you're fighting back," he mumbled so quietly she could hardly hear him.

"Why? It's not like we're—"

Faine looked around his broad shoulders. Before them was a pine tree-lined trail of the greenest, softest grass she had ever seen. In the distance, peeking over those trees, the embrasures of a stone tower blocked out the setting sunlight. Although they were hard to make out, Faine spotted guards watching her closely, her every move as Ilian led her—bound in chains—down that grass path.

They had arrived. Rising Eternity was no longer. Silver Willow stood before her, down the trail and far enough away that she understood why the towers were in place. Anyone could walk on the property, but no one got far enough. Surely there were other towers than the one she was seeing, but Faine kept her stare straight ahead in fear of being shot down for looking in the wrong direction.

As they walked farther down that grass path, the entire mystery of one of the most notorious crime guilds in the land unfolded. She viewed the stables, the training grounds, the large mansion with towering peaks of dark stone, so dark it almost appeared to be black. At least that, the two crime guilds had in common.

A large portcullis gate was the entrance to the base and standing before it was a sinwolf. Faine put on her best frightened stare and hoped her two companions wouldn't catch her bluff. While she appeared to be looking around frantically for an escape route, she was really attempting to discover the ins and outs of such a manner.

She made it this far—to view the training grounds with members of the guild sparring, testing their strengths, and the stables. Not to hold dragons, but horses. They differed in that respect because Zebulon was bold enough to steal dragon eggs meaning to go to the high elf father and his family.

"Welcome back!" The sinwolf shouted over to them.

Ilian was the one to raise his hand in acknowledgment and Ginevra turned her cheek to the side and acted as though the stables with an appaloosa out front, head down and grazing, was more interesting than the member of Silver Willow before her.

The sinwolf's coat was a murky grey and his ears and snout appeared to be that of a wolf. The rest of his face, though, was completely human. His hunched posture did nothing to diminish his height or his broad nature. In fact, with his arms dangling at his sides and claws protruding on the end, his hunched posture seemed to be the most frightening factor of his appearance.

What was his human skin held specks of fur. At least to what Faine could see and what wasn't covered by clothes. It was on the back of his hands, likely on his feet as well, and his hair, slicked back off his forehead in the way Zebulon was fond of styling his own, was the same grey.

He rubbed his claws together. "Where's the crown?" he asked, like a wild animal salivating over their next meal.

"We didn't get it," Ilian informed. He turned back to Faine and yanked on the chains enough to get her at his side. "We brought this instead."

The sinwolf took her in, that smile fading as quickly as it arrived, and Faine lowered her eyes to the ground. It was easy to play the victim, the false thief, the prisoner. The grass below her boots was dark, glistening green, and she maintained focus on that until a clawed paw clamped onto the sides of her face and forced her to look up.

The sharp points of the sinwolf's claws dug into her skin and his hot breath, smelling of raw meat, beat down on the bridge of her nose. "I don't know what you did," he hissed, "but you will pay for it. The boss doesn't take kindly to intruders or prisoners."

"She's not here for that reason, Eliphas," Ilian growled. He tugged Faine back against his side and the sting of the claws remained. She blinked to remove the tears from her eyes and her glowered stare wasn't out of fear anymore. Longing to clench his throat in her hands, possibly using the chains as leverage, was her imagination spinning out of control. "She's here for consideration and a position in Silver Willow...if she can stand up to the challenge."

Eliphas. A name to the face. He scoffed at Faine. "I think she'd make a better meal. It's been a while since I tasted feliram." Taking one step close to her, the ground cushioned underneath his weight struggled with the pressure of his ego. Faine didn't look away when his snout was close enough to touch her small, pointed nose. "The trick of feliram meat is to cook is low and slow over several hours. That technique really brings out the flavor."

"I wouldn't know," Faine said, her teeth clenched. She stared deeply into his azure eyes and hoped he wasn't prepared to take a bite of her.

Although Ilian's hand was on her back, keeping her from falling, Faine didn't realize it until Eliphas stepped away and returned to his post at the side of the portcullis. Still, he glared at her as a reminder that if she stepped out of line, if she did anything wrong, she'd be sorry.

This was his crime guild, not hers. Wherever Faine came from, it wouldn't matter to any of the other members around here. After many years of being one of the top in Rising Eternity, it was Faine's turn to step down and remember what life was like as a rookie.

As the portcullis lifted, all Faine could think about was Carlton. He was once part of this guild, lived here, reported here, talked with many of the members. It was possible some were still alive and still part of Silver Willow, but Faine's stomach churned at the thought of that. She didn't want to hear about his memories after all these years.

Ilian and Ginevra led Faine inside and to the two large wooden doors with metal knockers. A brazier sat on either side of that large opening past the portcullis and with one rasp of Ilian's knuckles, those doors opened and the warm wind from the inside brushed across the rising flame and nearly blew it out altogether. Through it all, the heat remained.

One last deep breath was all Faine could muster. Why was this hitting her now; the volume of what she was about to attempt? Life or death. Possibly why Zebulon had given her such a complicated, impossible mission in the first place. In hopes she wouldn't survive.

She straightened her spine, schooled her features into neutrality, and climbed up the wide staircase that pooled out at the bottom and led to the second...or first floor of the base. If anyone attempted to attack, they'd have a hard time getting through the complicated architecture of this building. The chandelier hanging over the staircase nearly hit Faine in the head but the two walking with her hardly noticed it.

Never once did she come here with Carlton. He wouldn't allow her to, despite how many times she begged and pleaded to see where he worked and the people he considered his friends. Too dangerous, he always said. Silver Willow is not for the faint of heart. Never trust the people there.

Faine kept that close to her heart after all these years. Due to Carlton's words, her indifference towards the crime guild was coming back to slap her in the face. But she maintained cool, calm, collected.

"I'm heading to my chambers to bathe," Ginevra informed. "Deliver my report for me, will you?" She placed her hand on Ilian's arm and he rolled his eyes.

"Fine. But you have to do it at some point. The bath will always be there," he grumbled, already walking away and dragging Faine behind. Ginevra was already skipping off in the other direction, down a dark hall that seemed to never end until she took a sudden turn right up another flight of stairs. "I know, not as beautiful as you thought it would be."

Faine turned back to Ilian. He was watching her carefully, only he wasn't staring at her eyes. It was the shallow wounds on her cheeks from Eliphas's claws. "I thought it would be...grander," she said to deter his focus.

It didn't work, but her steps forward in the direction he was already taking her in got him moving, too. "Will you be all right? I don't quite understand how the immortal body works and how long those wounds will take to heal."

"It shouldn't take more than a few hours." As Faine spoke, she digested the dark halls of black stone, the lit sconces and torches, the dark alcoves in the walls.

Everything pointed to sinister, even the dark floorboards underneath her boots. There was hardly a break in color and the one window that provided sunlight throughout that one stretch of hall revealed that they were nearly identical in dark shades. How was it possible not to squint around here, let alone see?

"The immortal body is very quick to heal wounds if we put all our effort into ensuring they're clean and well-cared for," Faine went on to say. The silence was bugging her, she never had these awkward moments with Kaspar. She couldn't remember the last time she was awkward with him.

The first time they were in a bed together, she supposed. After that...it didn't matter.

After so long of him leading her around with chains, it appeared she was tugging him along. Every time she slowed, he did, too. Every time she quickened her pace, he followed at a similar match and when the chains became too tight; he stepped close to offer slack.

"I would love to have that ability," Ilian said. "You don't have to deal with the common cold, let alone life-threatening illnesses."

Faine thought of her cycles, three times a year. That felt like a life-threatening illness. The cramps blinded her and weakened her knees to the point she couldn't stand. But that was something she didn't wish to mention in the first few days of knowing Ilian; his ability to digest facts about the female body was unknown.

Although Faine wasn't fertile, those cycles always reminded her of being stabbed. She had been, many times and the occurrence she remembered the most: in the lower abdomen and nothing vital was hit. It had taken her body two days to heal the wound, but she'd take that over her trimester cycles any day.

She could say nothing other than, "That is a valuable perk."

How would she get through her cycle coming up in the next month? Kaspar had always been there to massage her sore back or run her a warm bath when the cramps threatened to tear her uterus in half. Who would bring her meals or kiss her so gently that she couldn't think about anything else? Surely, she'd have to make a trip back so Kaspar could coddle her during those few days.

Ilian led her down a number of halls, all that Faine memorized. Little details: a stone in the corner, a ripped curtain, the overspill of a wax candle in an alcove. The twists and turns of the short hallways were difficult to master, but training had led her to this point. Learning her way through a mansion blindfolded had been the first step—finding her way out was the next. It'd taken a while, but she mastered the ability to memorize the many routes.

She was going over the direction when Ilian stopped in front of two wooden doors, studded with metal plates and a feliram knocker. Faine was slightly offended by that.

This was it.

"Ilian Renaut reporting," Ilian said loud enough to melt through the door.

Zebulon was never so formal. She couldn't remember the last time she announced herself to the door to his study.

A moment later, as if the person on the other side deliberated letting them in, a voice chimed back and said, "Enter."

Faine's heart leaped in her throat at the sound of it. A female voice. It had to be the commander of Silver Willow. Her mind jumped around to which role she needed to play, and when the door opened, it landed on what would get her the job here.

Not the frightened prisoner. The confident private worker. She rid people of their troubles and didn't look back.

Faine tilted her chin high and didn't balk.