Nestled within the woods to the southeast of Isflean and hidden away from prying eyes and the docks to the north, Rising Eternity's base, an old palace made of dark stone, resided. The history of the palace of square towers and long hallways with many hidden rooms were not known to Faine. She came to this base one hundred years ago and had learned nothing about it. Nothing had changed since then.

On the lower levels were the main rooms of the palace including Zebulon's study, the kitchen, the dining area, as well as the great room where Rising Eternity's members were allowed to do anything other than discuss their current missions. As criminals, life wasn't exactly smooth and the low couches, a roaring fireplace, and cushioned chairs were often the only way anyone, including Faine, could rid themselves of a headache.

Passing the arched windows, carrying a flaming torch in her hand, Faine squinted into the dark. The moonlight was fickle; it provided nothing to what she needed to find her way into Zebulon's study-doubling as his residence. His kind didn't demand much other than wooden beams to sit on and in the study, up in the ceiling's darkness, Zebulon got what he needed.

Faine knocked on the heavy wooden door, and when she didn't receive a response, used the knocker in the shape of an imp's head to demand entry. The long and empty stretch of stone hallway flickered to life around her from the flame torch in her grip and the dark windows looking out to the courtyard beyond held nothing but her own reflection.

Faine frowned at the tear in the back of her favorite frock coat. She'd have to repair that later.

A muffled thump came from the other side of the door and she straightened, ignoring the tear in her clothes, and stood to attention when Zebulon, crime boss of Rising Eternity, opened the door and frowned past his golden beak at the torch. His human eyes, dark and lifeless, didn't illuminate excitement at the sight of her, but the feathered wings against his back tightened against his spine when he stepped aside to allow her through.

The musty stench of Zebulon's office hit her like a slap to the face when she stepped in, placed the torch in the empty sconce, and squinted to find one of the velvet chairs next to a tall, ceiling-high bookcase. There wasn't a break in spines or leather bindings or titles or designs. The golden edgings of the books stared back at her as she took a seat in front of them and kicked up her legs onto the cushion.

"You come in here and behave like this is your personal residence," Zebulon grumbled, his voice hissing like the gadigator's had mere hours ago. "Behave like you're visiting the high elf family and not the seennouk that swore you to one hundred years of service."

Rubbing a hand along her forehead, Faine was hardly listening. She had a small argument with Kaspar about who would deliver the report, and that argument ended in her loss, as it always did. By now, Kaspar was asleep and huddled underneath the sheets. There was hardly a chance he planned on waiting for her to return, Faine realized.

Zebulon's wings dragged along the floor and carried him all the way to his desk on the opposite side of the cluttered and dimly lit room. Beyond the tall back chair was an entire wall of window panes filled with stars and the moon glowing in the distance. Almost full, but not quite. The chair squeaked when Zebulon took a seat, folding his clawed hands together on top of the wooden surface. The paperwork was disorderly there, too, and it was a miracle he hadn't ripped into it with those sharp claws on both his hands and feet.

"If you wanted anything more than what I've given you, I should have received that information ninety-nine years ago. Perhaps in a wax-sealed letter so it was deemed formal," Faine muttered.

Zebulon snorted for lack of amusement. He dipped the sharp end of the feather in black ink and hovered it over a piece of parchment. Impatient as ever. "Let's get this over with. What did you make of your mission today?"

"First of all, we completed the mission today. Through careful spying at a tavern, we discovered that the young woman in question was indeed kidnapped, and if our calculations are correct, is being held in the small farm to the south of Isflean." Faine draped her arms along the velvet rests and leaned her head back. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and hardly open to watch Zebulon scribble the information onto the piece of parchment.

How he managed to hold such a delicate feather without breaking it completely was a miracle within itself. Faine was glad to have normal hands, albeit long fingers, but mostly normal hands. Compared to many monsters and breeds in the world, they had to deal with snapping and breaking fragility in their claws, tearing their clothes on the sharp tips, and accidentally injuring those around them.

"Did you happen to investigate the farm on your way to the base?" Zebulon asked, not looking up from the parchment.

"We did not. Night had already fallen."

Zebulon sighed. The red feathers along his wings matched his slicked back hair, bright and fiery like that of the torch on the wall. Too little light for Faine to study him fully, the sickly thin shape of his body and the wrinkles on his face. Seennouks weren't the most beautiful creatures being half man and half bird, but their ability to fly created enough jealousy throughout the land that no one bothered to bully them for appearances.

"Did you gather information as to where the criminals were going next? What they planned to do with the young woman?" Zebulon looked up at her, hands folded and the feather sticking out between two of his claws.

Criminals. They used the term loosely around the base as Rising Eternity was full of criminals. That's what they were-thieves, spies, hunters, and the occasional work with personal assassinations-but the term applied to them as well as it did the men that involved themselves in failed kidnappings.

Faine pursed her lips together and ran two fingers along one of her spiraled horns. The tip stuck out, pointing in the same direction as her stare, and Zebulon frowned. He knew the answer before Faine spit it out.

"I was...uncovered," she said simply. "They became suspicious of me as I was alone in the tavern and paying too close attention to the men in the booth behind me. Little did I know, it was too late to realize that another booth in the tavern held their accomplices. By the time I figured it out, they were already onto me."

Zebulon closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath. Where his nose should have been, a beak was there instead. He clicked it in disappointment. "I hate to think what happened next."

"They cornered me in the tavern, demanded information, and when one got a little too touchy for my comfort, I stabbed him in the abdomen, killed one kidnapper, and fled." For the purpose of emphasis and evidence, Faine flicked the hidden blade free from the inside of her bracer. Red blood caked the sharp end and oozed black from the imp. She had more than her frock coat to fix and clean; her hidden blades came next. "Kaspar was waiting outside and when the two accomplices followed me into the alleyway..."

She forced her words to stop as it was clear Zebulon's feathers were rising around him. Over ninety-nine years, Faine knew that wasn't to startle her, although it had at the beginning. She cowered in the corner, huddled her knees against her chest, and promised she'd never make another mistake if he didn't attack her. Then she realized the ruffling of his feathers was merely him forcing his anger back down. If he unleashed his claws and wings fully, that was when all hell broke loose.

But he'd never lay a hand on her. He almost had, twenty-seven years ago, but ended up with a slice to the leg after Kaspar demanded he back off. Although Zebulon was the leader, he understood his boundaries against one of the strongest and oldest to step foot in Rising Eternity.

"So you killed them," Zebulon finalized. Not a question, a statement of regret. "Did you stop to think maybe they should be left alive in case the girl is not at the abandoned farm? Who will feed her tonight or what if they strung her up in a position that will kill her if those men don't return within hours? Did you think of that?"

"While they were hurdling knives at me?" Faine scratched at the back of her head. "No, I did not."

Through his deadpan stare and past the closed beak, Zebulon frowned. "There is no place for sarcasm here in my study; I don't care how many times I have to tell you."

Faine's clamped her mouth shut, and she forced herself, despite the urging in her brain, to avoid counting out a fake number of times he had told her to not use sarcasm in his presence. Too many to count, but entertaining all the same.

"I did not train you to act on killings," Zebulon went on. "Clearly, if you had to kill those men, it was at the fault of you not properly using your skills. Skills I granted you. Must I put you through training once more?"

"No," Faine blurted. Time-consuming, worthless, painful, and demeaning. Rising Eternity was full of criminals that knew what they were doing, but only at the hand of the training they received after initiation. Faine went through it ninety-nine years ago and wasn't willing to face the horrors that came along with it. No, she'd rather jump off a cliff. "As it was my fault, I have no problem with agreeing to your statement. I shall go into my next mission with a clearer head."

"That is wise. I advise you to spend less time tangled up with Kaspar and more time focusing on your job. I pay you handsomely, and I'd hate to extend our agreement past these next four months."

Faine's mouth tightened into a thin line. If she had to hear that threat one more time, she considered ramming him into the wall and sticking his feathers against it with small pins so he'd be forced to pick off every single one.

"My relationship with Kaspar has nothing to do with job performance. If you were there, you'd realize how great we work together. But you're not-you're sitting in your study and doing nothing," she snapped.

"Do not be foolish." Zebulon raised a single curved claw towards her. "You could have done a better job."

"I'd love to see you try your hand-"

Zebulon's wings flung out against the sides of the chair and he slammed his claws down into the wood on his desk. The entire room shook and Faine jumped, her blood running cold, but kept her composure for the sake of Zebulon's teachings. Pulling a leather sack over her head and dumping cold water over it was the first way he taught her how to face fear. Only once had she panicked. In response, he dumped more water onto her.

Never show fear, he told her once the bag lifted from her head and she could breathe again without dread of sucking in the bag instead of air.

Faine dug her nails into the armrests. "I'm sorry for speaking out of turn," she forced through her teeth.

"You must listen to me," Zebulon growled. "I am your boss and I demand your respect. Otherwise, find yourself on the streets for that is how well your behavior has demeaned you."

Offended was an understatement for what struck Faine. She'd faced insults before from more beasts than Zebulon and those of lesser stature, but this one stung. If he was suggesting she was no better than the sewer rats...

"May I be excused for bed?" She asked, cutting off her thoughts.

Zebulon dragged a clawed hand down his face. "No, not yet." He fished around on his desk and pulled out a folder from underneath the stack, slapping it on the other end of the table. Faine stood, closing the distance between them, and took the leather folder in her hand, flipping it open to view the paperwork on the inside. "There are rumors swirling of someone from Silver Willow planning to steal the crown of our high elf father. Here is all the information I have on it; I'm assigning you to the case of discovering the truth to these allegations and putting a stop to it."

"We are criminals ourselves," Faine mumbled, eyes scanning the handwriting of a fellow spy. One she trusted greatly. "Why do we wish to stop Silver Willow, another crime guild, from stealing something that doesn't belong to them? It's foolish we didn't think of it first, to be honest."

Zebulon laughed. It was low and shallow and didn't hold the amusement Faine was looking for, but it was better than him wrapping his claws around her throat.

"The high elf family has assigned us to the project, that is why." Zebulon reached over the desk separating them and tapped his claw over the information Faine was accidentally ignoring. In the column listing the responsible party for the mission, she failed to notice the name 'Virion Calcane', the high elf father of their land, Pinedon.

"That's a high honor," Faine said, closing the folder before Zebulon could reach farther with his claw to tear a new hole in her favorite coat. She had to go shopping in Isflean one day. With a new mission, there was little time to do anything other than spy and climb buildings to reach vantage points.

"One of the highest honors we can hope for. The high elf father, along with the rest of his family, wishes not to have their crown stolen. Although they're putting their best efforts into guarding the palace, enemy forces like Silver Willow can slip by. They wish for inside information we provide. Therefore, I'm putting one of my best spies on the case. You."

Faine knew not to feel flattered. She forced a close-lipped smile and didn't give Zebulon the satisfaction of viewing her sharp fangs, prone to rip out throats. When she first began, compliments as such were taken and held dearly in her heart. That confidence made her slip, and it was when Zebulon revealed the overwhelming list of mistakes that Faine realized the compliments were never real in the first place. After ninety-nine years, she'd learned a thing or two about deflecting those fake words of sentiment by building a stone wall around herself.

Walls as thick as the ones that surrounded the Rising Eternity base.

"I will not disappoint you or the high elf father," Faine promised. Words she repeated over and over inside her head before every mission Zebulon granted.

Waving the feather around in his hand and making one final adjustment to the report on his desk, Zebulon threatened her with, "I advise you not to."

On a normal mission, those words never left his mouth. But in this case, a mission for the high elf father, the leader of their land, Faine wasn't allowed to make mistakes. She couldn't be foolish as he had called her a short time ago. Their conversations were always heated and filled with hidden meanings, but Faine didn't have to look far to understand what he was attempting to get at.

If she made a mistake, it might very well be her last.

Faine trudged up the winding staircase that led to the second floor of the base, holding the leather folder in the crook of her arm. Every dark wooden door was shut and locked and no one rustled around inside their private chambers. It was the type of night that made her want to stay awake just to envelope herself in the silence, but Faine's drooping shoulders and heavy lids would not fix themselves.

She passed Kaspar's chambers, ignored the flickering light of a candle breaking through the cracks of the door, and instead opted for sleeping in her own bed. Whatever distraction they needed to partake in together could wait until the next day, if Faine had time to even do that. Kaspar was in no means the man she loved. But he was her lover.

Nights like this were so comfortable for she was commonly awake during them with Kaspar, doing whatever it took to rid herself of the day's horrors. Too weak, too exhausted, too tired to do anything other than strip herself down and change into a pair of silk pajamas, Faine slid into bed and blew out the candle on her nightstand.

As soon as she hit the pillow, her heavy eyelids closing, she was dreaming of a simple time. Zebulon wasn't there, neither was Kaspar. It was just her, and her alone. No one could hurt her, she loved no one and didn't fear losing anyone. Contentment. She had no one to lose other than herself.

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Thank you for reading!