Chapter 14
Rell
Rell stood in the doorway, his arms crossed as he watched Symond crumble to the floor. A sigh escaped him, heavy with irritation.
Working with amateurs is bad enough, but this guy? Rell thought, his lips twitching in a faint grimace. This is a whole new level of incompetence.
The guard loomed over Symond’s limp form, his sword raised high, the point aimed at the unconscious man’s chest.
For a moment—a fleeting, treacherous moment—Rell considered letting it happen. Symond was a headache, a liability in every sense of the word, and his absence would certainly simplify things. No more misplaced bravado, no more rookie mistakes.
But the thought passed as quickly as it had come.
Symond was annoying, yes, but he was also valuable. To The Hive. To Violette. And, like it or not, they still had use for him.
Rell rolled his eyes, pulling a dagger from his belt in one fluid motion. Before the guard could strike, Rell let the blade fly.
It sliced through the air with a soft hiss, embedding itself deep in the man’s neck. The guard’s eyes widened in shock, his sword slipping from his grip as he stumbled back. A choked gasp escaped him, his hands clawing futilely at the wound before he too crumpled to the floor.
Rell strode forward, crouching down to retrieve his dagger. The guard’s blood was warm, slick as it coated the blade. He wiped it clean on the man’s cloak.
“You gotta pay attention to your environment, kid,” Rell muttered under his breath, glancing at Symond sprawled unconscious on the floor. Rell was only five years older than him but his years of experience in this field made Symond a child in comparison.
Rell stood, his boot splashing in the puddle of blood forming under the guard. He flicked his shoe, splatters of red sprinkling the drapes and bed sheets.
They weren’t supposed to kill anyone. Not with a weapon, anyway.
This was supposed to look like alchemy work, clean and subtle.
But accidents happened, and sometimes the rules had to bend to the situation.
If the officials were smart, they’d focus on the traces of alchemy left behind and chalk this up to an unfortunate—but inevitable—casualty.
He stepped around Symond and approached the sleeping man in the bed. His breathing was steady, deep, oblivious to the chaos that had unfolded just steps away.
By the door, Vye stood watch, her instincts were like a hawk’s, picking up threats before they were ever thoughts in someone’s head. She caught Rell’s eye and in that brief exchange, Rell saw it.
Disappointment.
He didn’t need words to understand it. Violette’s expression said everything: You know this is supposed to be his moment.
They could wake Symond, let him finish the job himself. It was his mission, after all, and his mistake to recover from. But Rell shook his head. That wasn’t how this was going to go. That was never how this was going to go. This was personal. Not for Vye. Not for Symond. But for him.
He hadn’t said as much when they’d taken the assignment, but Rell had known from the start that this target—this job—deserved an extra touch of vengeance that only he could deliver.
The gentle rise and fall of Trinton’s chest seemed almost mocking in the silence. Each breath was an affront, a reminder of the life he had stolen. Rell drew his knife from its sheath, the blade catching a faint glimmer of candlelight as he moved closer to the bed.
He pressed the sharp edge against the man’s throat, the cold steel eliciting a soft, unconscious twitch. Trinton’s eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding his features as he blinked slowly, struggling to piece together the scene before him.
“Hello, Trinton,” Rell whispered, his tone calm, even friendly, though sharp as the blade in his hand.
The man’s eyes widened, his body stiffening beneath the sheets as awareness dawned. He shifted, a feeble attempt to move, but Rell’s knife dug in slightly, pinning him.
“Shh…” Rell raised a finger to his lips.
Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a syringe filled with a thick, clear liquid. He jabbed it into Trinton’s neck and pressed the plunger.
The effect was immediate. Trinton’s muscles went slack, his limbs falling limp as though a marionette’s strings had been cut. His mouth opened to scream, but no sound came, only a faint rasp that barely broke the silence.
Rell stepped back, watching with cold satisfaction as panic bloomed in Trinton’s darting eyes. His body fought against the paralysis, muscles trembling with futile effort.
Rell’s lips curled into a faint, satisfied smile. “Now, we’re going to have a little talk. And you’re going to listen very carefully... until you can’t listen anymore.”
He spun the knife lightly in his hand, the blade flashing as it turned. “Tell me, Trinton,” he began, his tone almost conversational. “Did you really think this little hideout on the outskirts would keep you safe? That a couple of guards would stop The Hive from finding you?”
Trinton’s eyes widened further, his pupils blown with terror.
“Maybe you convinced yourself that without an alchemist, we’d be lost. Maybe that’s what you told yourself when you ran.”
Rell leaned in closer, his face inches from Trinton’s, his eyes glinting with dark amusement.
“But you were wrong,” Rell continued, his voice dropping into a low, simmering growl. “No one betrays The Hive and walks away. Not after what you did. For the pain you caused, for the lives you ruined…”
His voice faltered briefly, a flicker of something raw slipping through before it hardened again. He leaned in further, his breath brushing against Trinton’s cheek.
“I’ll make sure you feel every second of it,” Rell whispered, his tone almost tender now, laced with malice. “I’ll make sure you suffer, just like she did.”
Trinton’s eyes welled with tears, his silent pleas for mercy unheeded as Rell straightened.
Rell reached into his coat, retrieving a second syringe. He held it up, tilting it slightly so the dim light caught the sinister amber liquid swirling within. The color glowed faintly, like fire trapped in glass.
“You see this? This is Abyss's Embrace,” he continued, as though explaining the finer points of a rare wine. “Very difficult to make. Almost impossible, actually.”
He let the words hang, his gaze locked on Trinton’s wide, frantic eyes. The man’s chest rose and fell faster now, the paralysis leaving him unable to do more than tremble under Rell’s unrelenting stare.
“Bet you thought you were selling out The Hive’s best alchemist,” Rell said, his smirk twisting into something colder. “Thought you’d leave us stranded, scrambling to replace what we lost. But here’s the thing.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “You were wrong.”
Technically, Trinton hadn’t been wrong. The Hive had lost their best alchemist, a blow that had nearly crippled them.
But that was why Elora had become so essential.
When he had imagined this moment—his revenge—he’d known he couldn’t settle for some cheap trick poison from a street alchemist. He needed a professional. And he found one.
“This little concoction,” Rell murmured, tilting the syringe slightly, letting the liquid shift and shimmer, “it’s special.
It will kill you slowly, eating away at you from the inside.
But the real beauty of it? You’ll be haunted.
Every ounce of pain you caused will come back to you.
Every betrayal. Every life you ruined. You’ll feel it all. ”
He paused, his tone sharpening like a blade. “You’ll feel what she felt. The fear. The pain. The desperation. Analise didn’t deserve what you did to her. But you do.”
If it had been anyone else, Rell might have granted a quicker death.
But Analise meant too much to him to let her killer find peace in a swift end.
Her skill with alchemy was unmatched, the meticulousness of her work baffling to Rell, who preferred more direct methods.
But despite her delicacy with potions, she was anything but delicate herself.
Rell knew she would have fought until her last breath.
Trinton’s eyes filled with tears, the raw terror and regret swirling together in their frantic gaze. Rell reveled in the moment, letting it stretch until the man’s panic was nearly palpable.
Without another word, Rell stabbed the syringe into Trinton’s neck, plunging the needle deep into his flesh. He pressed the plunger slowly, watching as the venomous liquid disappeared into the traitor’s veins.
The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the breeze outside.
The paralysis poison held Trinton’s screams at bay, but the sheer terror etched into his face was enough to satisfy Rell.
The frantic darting of his eyes, the glistening sheen of sweat on his forehead—it all spoke louder than words.
Rell leaned back, tucking the now-empty syringe into his coat. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he rose to his full height, looking down at the trembling, broken man before him.
“Enjoy the show, Trinton,”