Chapter 18
Violette
The sewers were quieter than she expected. That was the first thing Violette noticed as she and Symond trudged through the damp tunnels. The air was thick with the scent of mildew, rot, and something far worse that she chose not to think about. Her mind was elsewhere—on Elora.
A shapeshifter. She had never seen anything like that before. Not in all her years of working with The Hive. Vye had spent her life cataloging threats, dissecting the strengths and weaknesses of others, but Elora? She was an anomaly.
She glanced down at her arm, the bandages wrapped tightly around the shallow cut she’d received during the mission.
It ached, a dull pulse under the fabric, but she ignored it.
Pain was familiar. A nuisance, nothing more.
But what wasn’t familiar was the way Elora had looked when she and Rell had found her.
Fangs, claws, slitted pupils—Fane hadn’t just come for a runaway ward.
He had come for something rare. Something valuable.
And that worried her more than she wanted to admit.
A sigh from behind her pulled her from her thoughts. She blinked, refocusing on the path ahead. The sewer tunnel stretched long and dark, their footsteps echoing off the damp walls. Murky water sloshed beneath their boots, the surface rippling with the occasional skitter of something unseen.
Violette glanced at Symond. He was tense, his jaw clenched, his fists curling and uncurling at his sides. She had seen this frustration brewing in him since the moment they left the manor.
“This is about the mission,” she said simply.
Symond huffed. “You mean the mission I was supposed to lead? The one Rell decided to hijack because he just had to get his revenge?” He kicked a rock. “Yeah. Maybe it is.”
Violette sighed, running a hand through her nearly white hair. She had seen this coming.
Symond had worked hard to prove himself. She had seen it, had acknowledged it, had even put him in charge of certain aspects of the job to let him step into a leadership role. And then, at the last second, Rell had taken over.
She understood why Rell had done it. Trinton had been personal. It had needed to be him.
But she also understood Symond. And to him, this had been more than just a mission. This had been his moment.
“You did well,” she told him, her voice steady. “You planned the approach, handled the guards, executed the strategy. That wasn’t nothing, Symond.”
He snorted. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t the one who got the kill, was I?”
Vye rolled her eyes. “You think one assassination makes you valuable? That’s not how it works. The Hive doesn’t care who lands the final strike, they care that the job is done.”
Symond fell silent at that, his steps slowing just slightly. He was listening now.
She pressed on.
“Rell stole the moment from you,” she admitted, meeting his gaze. “I won’t deny that. And yeah, it wasn’t fair. But you did prove yourself, whether you want to see it or not.”
His pace slowed, his frown deepening. She could tell he was turning her words over in his head, trying to find the catch.
"You’re still rough," Violette continued. "You’ve got raw talent, but raw talent doesn’t mean shit if you don’t refine it."
She let her words settle before adding, “When we get back to headquarters, I’ll set you up with one of the instructors. They’ll help hone what you already have, if you’re willing to put in the work.”
The effect was immediate.
Symond straightened slightly, his posture shifting, that familiar edge of arrogance returning—but this time, it wasn’t frustration fueling it. It was pride.
For the first time since they left, he grinned. “You think I need training?”
“I know you do,” she shot back, her tone dry.
His grin widened, but he didn’t argue.
Good.
She turned her focus back to the tunnels, picking up the pace slightly. The sooner they got out of this stinking sewer, the better.
They kept moving, the tunnel narrowing as the stagnant air pressed thick against them. The water level was higher here, brushing against their boots, sending ripples that disappeared into the darkness ahead.
“So… what do you know about Elora?”
Symond didn’t react at first, his gaze fixed on the uneven stone path ahead. She watched him carefully, gauging his silence. If he was still bitter, still clinging to whatever resentment he held for her, he would’ve scoffed or thrown out some sarcastic remark. But he didn’t.
“You didn’t know about the shifting,” she continued, “but you knew her. You were at The Institute together.”
Still, nothing.
Vye let the silence stretch between them. She had spent enough time around people like Symond to know that forcing an answer wouldn’t work.
Finally, he exhaled through his nose. “I don’t know how she got those abilities,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “But if I had to guess… Thorn.”
He kicked a loose rock into the water. “Thorn was a lot of things, but he never wasted time on failures. That’s what a ward is—a failure. Someone who couldn’t pass their trials. Someone not worth the effort.”
“Then why turn her into that?”
Symond was quiet again, his brows furrowed. “That’s the part that doesn’t make sense,” he admitted. “Thorn didn’t create things—he broke them. If he gave her those abilities, it wasn’t because he wanted to make her stronger. It was because he wanted to control her.”
Violette studied him as they walked. He wasn’t sneering, wasn’t mocking Elora or throwing out sharp insults like before. If anything, he seemed… thoughtful. Conflicted.
“You really hate him,” she noted.
Symond huffed a humorless laugh. “You don’t know the half of it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then tell me.”
For the first time since they entered the tunnels, Symond glanced at her. There was something unreadable in his expression, something carefully guarded. But he didn’t shut her down.
“He’s the Headmaster,” Symond started. “But that’s not what he is. He didn’t teach. He didn’t guide. He owned us.”
Violette kept quiet, letting him talk.
“If you were useful, you became one of them—an apprentice. If you weren’t… you were nothing.” His jaw tightened. “And Thorn made sure you knew it.”
His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it, something barely restrained. It almost seemed like he was going to keep talking, to finally let something real slip through.
Then—
A voice echoed through the tunnel behind them.
Both of them froze.
Violette’s hand went instinctively to the dagger at her hip, her body tensing. Symond turned his head slightly, listening.
Another voice, this time closer.
They weren’t alone.
The first attack came fast—too fast.
A glint of steel, a rush of movement in the dark.
Violette twisted, barely dodging the blade that sliced through the damp air where her throat had been a second earlier. She lashed out, catching the attacker across the face with the hilt of her dagger, sending him stumbling back into the tunnel wall.
Footsteps pounded against the wet stone. More of them.
She and Symond had barely turned to face the new threat when another figure lunged from the shadows, a crude axe swinging for Symond’s head. He ducked, but his foot slipped on the slick ground, and he barely avoided cracking his skull against the tunnel wall as he staggered back.
Shit.
Vye struck low, slashing her dagger across the back of the axe-wielder’s knee. He howled, collapsing onto the uneven ground.
There were four of them.
No, five.
Maybe more.
The tunnels twisted ahead, leading deeper into the underground, the flickering lamplight from the sewer grates above barely illuminating the fight. They had no way to know if reinforcements were coming.
“You’ve got a price on your head, kid,” one of the men sneered, stepping forward, his sword glinting in the light. “Didn’t think we’d recognize you?”
Symond spat at the ground, his chest heaving. “You’re wasting your time,” he growled. “I’m not worth the effort.”
“Twenty gold says otherwise,” the man shot back. “And in Ravenpoint? That’s more than enough to risk gutting you in a sewer.”
Another bounty hunter lunged, this one wielding a short spear. Vye pivoted to intercept, knocking the attack aside with a flick of her blade. The clang of metal echoed in the tunnels, a harsh, grating sound.
Symond went for the next one, throwing a punch that connected hard with the man’s jaw. The bounty hunter reeled, but another stepped in immediately, slamming a knee into Symond’s ribs. He coughed, doubling over for a split second too long.
A blade came for his exposed side.
Violette reacted on instinct.
She shoved him aside and caught the attacker’s wrist, twisting sharply until she heard the telltale pop of a dislocated joint. The man screamed, his sword clattering uselessly to the stone floor.
But in that split second, Vye’s focus had shifted, and it nearly cost her.
Pain seared through her side.
A knife. Someone had gotten past her guard.
She gasped, stumbling back, her free hand flying to the wound just as warm blood seeped between her fingers.
Not good.
Symond saw the hit and something shifted in him. His anger, his recklessness—it turned lethal.
He grabbed the nearest attacker and drove his dagger into his thigh, twisting the blade until the man collapsed. Another came at him from behind, but Symond turned, too quick, too brutal, slamming an elbow into his throat. The bounty hunter gurgled, choking as he dropped to his knees.
“Go!” Symond shouted at her, shoving another attacker off him. “I’ll cover you!”
Vye bared her teeth. “Not happening.”
They moved as one, back-to-back, striking, dodging, trying to hold their ground. The tunnels felt tighter, the flickering light making the shadows lurch.
The bounty hunters weren’t skilled—not truly. They were desperate men looking for quick coin. But desperation made people dangerous.
One of them lunged, swinging a rusted mace. Vye ducked low, feeling the rush of air as it barely missed her skull. She slashed upward, her dagger cutting into his arm. He roared, stumbling back, but before she could finish him off, something slammed into her side.
She barely had time to register the shove before she was airborne. The world tilted violently—then cold.
Freezing water swallowed her whole.
Vye hit the surface hard, the shock knocking the air from her lungs. The current dragged at her immediately, pulling her under. The weight of her weapons and gear made it worse.
A hand grabbed her shoulders.
No—hands.
They wrenched her down, pushing her deeper.
She thrashed, twisting, trying to kick free. Her lungs screamed for air as she clawed at the hands holding her under.
Above the water, she could barely make out muffled shouts.
Through the distorted haze, she saw Symond.
He was fighting. Hard. Blood dripped from his temple, one eye swelling shut, but he was still standing. Still trying.
They had him.
Two men holding his arms back, another landing a brutal hit to his ribs. He bucked against their grip, his mouth open in a shout she couldn’t hear.
Her vision blurred.
Her limbs burned.
The hands on her ankles tightened.
Then nothing.