The sewer tunnel emptied into a drainage ditch on the eastern edge of town, and the team crawled out like drowned rats, one by one.

Cora came first, hauling herself over the concrete lip, her boots squelching. She turned and helped Derek, whose legs were shaking so badly he could barely lift them. Mason followed, his gauntlets steaming in the cold air. Sera came last, her crossbow slung across her back, her phone somehow still dry in her pocket. Lucian brought up the rear, his blades wrapped in cloth, his dark hair plastered to his forehead.

They stood there for a moment, breathing hard, listening.

No footsteps. No voices. No howls.

The demon hadn’t followed.

Mason raised a hand, a small blue flame flickering to life. It cast weak light on their faces—pale, exhausted, smeared with dirt and sweat.

"We need to keep moving," he said.

"No one’s arguing," Cora replied.

The van was waiting at the crossroads, just where the driver had left them. Its headlights cut through the mist, and the engine idled with a low rumble. The driver didn’t ask questions. He just opened the doors and let them climb in.

Derek collapsed onto a bench, his staff rolling across the floor. His ghosts hovered close, their cold making the air even sharper.

"That was too close," he whispered.

"Too close is still alive," Cora said.

Lucian sat in the corner, his eyes closed, his breathing slow.

No one spoke for the rest of the ride.

---

Ashen Keep – Briefing Room – Early Morning

The briefing room was grey with first light.

The team sat around the long table—Cora slouched in a chair, her arms crossed; Mason by the window, staring at nothing; Sera nursing a cup of coffee that had gone cold an hour ago; Derek curled in a corner, his staff across his knees. Lucian stood near the door, his disguise gone, his hair back to its usual brown.

Alistair sat at the head of the table. He’d been waiting for them when they arrived, his coat still on, his eyes shadowed.

"You have something for me," he said.

Lucian pulled out his phone. Placed it on the table. Pressed play.

The recording filled the room—Lillith’s cold voice, the vampire lord’s smooth tones, the werewolf alpha’s growl, the witch’s whisper, the revenant’s grinding jaw, the demon’s resonant boom.

"The Veil is weak in the north."

"When the Veil falls, the old borders will mean nothing."

"The ritual requires a blood moon. We have three months."

When it ended, Alistair sat in silence for a long moment.

"You did well," he said. "Getting this, getting out alive—that was good work."

Cora’s jaw tightened. "It doesn’t feel like good work."

"It never does." Alistair picked up the phone. "I’m taking this to the Council. They need to hear it."

Mason turned from the window. "What will they do?"

"That depends on how scared they are."

---

High Flame Council Chamber – Later That Day

Alistair didn’t take the team to the meeting. He went alone.

The chamber was ancient—stone walls blackened with age, high ceilings lost in shadow, torches burning with blue flame that cast no heat. The seven seats of the High Flame Council were arranged in a semicircle, each one carved with the sigil of its occupant.

Margaret sat in hers, her face calm, her hands folded on the armrests. The other six were present—some looking worried, some looking angry, one looking like he wanted to break something.

The recording played.

When it finished, Councilor Vance slammed his fist on the armrest. "This is an act of war. We should strike now. Hit their gathering points before they can organize."

Councilor Briggs shook her head. "We don’t know all their gathering points. We don’t know the full scope of their alliance. A premature attack could push neutral factions into Valentine’s arms."

"They’re already in his arms."

"Not all of them."

A third Councilor—a thin woman with grey hair and sharp eyes—leaned forward. "The recording is damning, but it’s also incomplete. We don’t know the location of the ritual. We don’t know the identities of all the faction leaders. We don’t even know if the blood moon date is accurate."

Margaret spoke. "Then we find out."

The chamber turned to her.

"We prepare. We gather intelligence. We reinforce the weak points in the Veil. And when the time comes, we meet them with everything we have." She looked at each Councilor in turn. "This is not a war we can win by striking first. This is a war we survive by being ready."

Vance scowled. "You sound like you’re afraid."

"I’m not afraid. I’m practical."

"Same thing."

"It’s not."

The debate continued for another hour. No vote was taken. No decision was made. But when Alistair left the chamber, he carried with him a quiet certainty.

The Council was divided. But they were watching.

---

Ashen Keep – Training Yard – Evening

The team stood at the edge of the yard, watching the sunset bleed orange across the sky. The training dummies were still, the mats rolled up. No one had trained today. No one had the energy.

Alistair walked out to meet them. His coat was off. His sleeves were rolled up.

"The Council is arguing," he said. "They’ll keep arguing until the blood moon is a week away, and then they’ll panic. That’s how these things work."

Cora kicked a stone. "So we just wait?"

"We train. We prepare. We make sure that when the time comes, we’re not the ones panicking."

Lucian looked at him. "What about Voss?"

Alistair’s face darkened. "Voss is out there. She’s made her choice. When we find her, we’ll deal with her. But she’s not the priority."

"Then what is?"

"The Veil." Alistair looked at each of them. "The war hasn’t started yet. But it will. And when it does, we need to be ready."

Mason cracked his neck. "Then we train."

"Then you train." Alistair turned to leave. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start early."

He walked away.

The team stood in the fading light, the weight of the recording still pressing on them.

Derek spoke first. "Three months."

"Three months," Cora agreed.

Sera slung her crossbow over her shoulder. "Then let’s make them count."

Lucian looked at the sky. Somewhere out there, Valentine was planning. Voss was hiding. The factions were gathering. And the Veil, old and tired, was waiting to fall.

He turned to his team.

"Let’s go."

They walked back into the Keep together, the doors closing behind them.

The war hadn’t started.

But it was coming.