Neutral Ground – The Same Warehouse – Two Hours Before Dawn

The warehouse hadn’t changed since Alistair left it. Same rusted beams. Same broken conveyor belt. Same cold air that smelled of decay and forgotten industry.

Voss hadn’t moved from her spot against the wall. Her silver hand glowed faintly, the only light in the dark. She’d been waiting for an hour. She didn’t mind waiting. She’d spent years waiting—for revenge, for redemption, for a chance to make things right.

The door creaked.

Alistair walked in first. His weapon was drawn, but his posture was loose. Ready, not hostile.

Behind him came Lucian.

The boy looked calm. Too calm. His eyes swept the warehouse, cataloging exits, cover, threats. He didn’t draw his blades, but his hands hung near the hilts.

Voss watched him approach. She remembered the cave. The way he’d moved. The runes. The cold fury in his eyes when the Glimmertongue used his sister’s voice.

"Alistair," she said. "Lucian."

Alistair stopped twenty feet away. Lucian stayed a step behind, his face unreadable.

"You said you had information."

"I do."

"Then talk."

Voss pushed off the wall. Her legs were stiff from standing still so long. She didn’t stretch. That would look like weakness.

"Valentine killed my team," she said. "Not the one you knew. The one before. My first crew. Seven years ago."

Alistair’s expression didn’t change. But his grip on his weapon shifted.

"He framed me for it. Made it look like I sold them out. The Guard believed him." Her voice was flat, empty. "They still believe him."

Lucian spoke. "Why would Valentine do that?"

"Because I knew too much. His operations. His contacts. His plans." Voss’s silver hand pulsed. "He needed me gone. Not dead—that would have been too easy. He needed me discredited. Alone. Desperate."

"And desperate people do desperate things."

Voss met his eyes. "Yes."

The word hung in the cold air.

---

Alistair lowered his weapon. Not all the way, but enough.

"You became a rogue."

"I became what I had to be." Voss stepped closer. "I stole the pendant to keep it from him. I thought I could use it as leverage. Trade it for protection. For a chance to clear my name."

"But you were caught."

"Before I could hide it. Morgana took it from me. The witch." Voss’s jaw tightened. "I’ve been following him since I escaped. Watching. Waiting for a chance."

Lucian studied her face. "Why now?"

"Because the blood moon is weeks away. Because he has the pendant and two other artifacts. Because if he completes his ritual, the Veil won’t just fall. It’ll shatter. And the pieces will become weapons he can use to tear the world apart."

Alistair went still. "What ritual?"

"I don’t know all the details. But I’ve heard him talk. He’s not just working with the coalition. He’s using them. Feeding their ambitions while he builds something worse." Her voice dropped. "I can’t stop him alone. I need your help."

"You need our help." Alistair’s tone was skeptical. "After everything you’ve done."

"I don’t expect forgiveness." Voss looked at him. Then at Lucian. "I just want to make it right."

---

Lucian didn’t speak. He watched her. The way she held herself. The way her voice cracked on the last words. The way her silver hand trembled, just slightly, before she forced it still.

He’d seen liars before. He’d seen desperate people before.

Voss wasn’t lying.

"Where is the pendant?" he asked.

"In a vault beneath Valentine’s stronghold. Morgana guards it. Revenants patrol the corridors." She pulled a folded piece of paper from her jacket. A map. "I helped design the defenses. I know every trap. Every blind spot."

She held it out.

Alistair didn’t take it.

"Why should we trust you?"

Voss’s hand didn’t lower. "Because I’ve got nothing left. No crew. No allies. No future. Just this." She shook the map. "Just a chance to see him fall."

Alistair looked at Lucian.

Lucian took the map.

---

The Same Warehouse – Twenty Minutes Later

They stood in a loose triangle. Voss had drawn the map on the floor with chalk, using the concrete as her canvas. Lines marked corridors. X’s marked traps. A circle marked the vault.

"Entrance is here," she said, pointing. "Sub-basement of an old textile mill. Valentine’s people bought it six months ago under a shell company. No one checks the records."

Alistair crouched. "Guards?"

"Twelve on rotation. Demons, mostly. Low-rank, but loyal. Morgana has her own sentries—revenants bound to her will. They don’t sleep. Don’t eat. Don’t get tired."

Lucian traced the route with his finger. "The pendant is here?"

"In the vault. Triple-locked. Morgana holds the keys."

"How do we get past her?"

Voss’s expression darkened. "You don’t. I do."

Alistair stood. "You want to go in alone?"

"I know her. She trained me, years ago. Before she joined Valentine." Voss’s voice was bitter. "She thinks I’m still loyal to her. I can use that."

"And if she doesn’t believe you?"

"Then I die." Voss looked at him. "But the pendant stays hidden. You’ll have to find another way."

Lucian was quiet for a long moment.

"Alistair," he said.

Alistair looked at him.

"She’s telling the truth."

"How do you know?"

"Because she’s not asking for anything." Lucian met Voss’s eyes. "No deal. No pardon. No reward. Just a chance."

Voss held his gaze. "I meant what I said. I don’t expect forgiveness. I just want to make it right."

The silence stretched.

Alistair exhaled. "We’ll do it your way. But if this is a trap—"

"It’s not."

"Then we move tomorrow night."

Voss nodded. She folded the map and handed it to Lucian.

"One more thing," she said. "Valentine knows about you. About your team. He’s been watching."

Lucian’s expression didn’t change. "Let him watch."

He walked toward the door.

Alistair lingered for a moment. He looked at Voss—the woman he’d once trusted, once loved, once buried in his memory.

"This doesn’t fix us."

"I know."

"It doesn’t fix anything."

"I know." Voss’s voice was barely a whisper. "But it’s a start."

Alistair turned and walked out.

Voss stood alone in the dark warehouse, her silver hand glowing faintly, the echoes of their footsteps fading.

She’d told them the truth.

Now she had to live long enough to prove it.