Chapter 48: Phoenix Feather
"Fair enough."
She held out her hand. "Deal."
Nacho took it. Her grip was strong, the calluses on her palm telling him she’d earned her position through combat rather than politics. When she pulled back, her expression had shifted into something that might almost have been respect.
"The dungeon entrance is at the old quarry, three miles west of the city," he said. "The operation’s been running for months. Cores are transported through the tunnel system beneath the Low District. I can give you names of the smugglers, routes they use, everything."
"How recent is this information?"
"About six hours ago."
Her eyebrows rose. "You got all this during your dungeon dive?"
"Like I said. Good cardio."
She snorted. It was the first genuine reaction he’d seen from her, and it made her look almost human for a moment.
"Fine. Walk me through it. Everything you know."
Nacho launched into the details, keeping his voice low despite the empty road around them. He told her about the tunnel entrance behind the slaughterhouse, the password for the Rat King’s network, the smugglers and their arrangement with Lord Daven. He left out the parts about charming dungeon bosses and stealing Talents from monsters, because some things were better kept private.
Through it all, Vance listened without interrupting. Her hawk eyes tracked every word, every gesture, cataloging information with the intensity of someone who’d spent their whole career hunting people who didn’t want to be found.
When he finished, she was quiet for a long moment.
"This is good," she said finally. "This is very good. If even half of what you’re telling me checks out, Daven’s finished."
"It’ll check out."
"We’ll see." She turned to look back at the city, the Spire rising dark against the star-scattered sky. "You’ve bought yourself some breathing room, Siren. Use it wisely."
"Always do."
She started walking toward the gate, then paused. "One more thing."
"Yeah?"
"The Rat King. You mentioned his network like you’ve got access to it."
Nacho kept his face blank. "Did I?"
"Don’t play games with me. If you’re working with him, that’s a problem. He’s been a thorn in the Inquisition’s side for decades."
"I’m not working with anyone," Nacho said carefully. "I needed information when I first got to the city. He was a source. That’s all."
Vance’s thoughts flickered with doubt, but she didn’t push. "Just be careful. The Rat King doesn’t have allies. He has tools. And tools get discarded when they’re no longer useful."
Yeah, I noticed.
"I’ll keep that in mind."
She nodded once and walked through the gate, disappearing into the shadows of the sleeping city. Nacho watched her go, his Combat Precognition slowly settling back to its baseline hum now that the immediate threat had passed.
Well. That could have gone worse.
He’d bought himself time. Maybe even an ally, if Vance actually brought down Daven and decided she owed him more than just a grudging ceasefire. But he’d also shown his hand more than he’d wanted to, and he had a feeling the Inquisitor would be keeping a closer eye on him than she’d promised.
One problem at a time. First, the Rat King. Then evolution. Then everything else.
He made his way back through the city, sticking to the shadows and side streets. The Velvet House was dark when he arrived, the girls long since finished with their evening clients. He slipped in through the service entrance and climbed the stairs to his room, his body finally registering the exhaustion he’d been ignoring for hours.
The bed was exactly as uncomfortable as he remembered. He collapsed onto it anyway, his mind already drifting toward sleep.
Two more levels. Two more levels and I evolve.
His eyes closed, and the darkness took him.
Morning came too soon.
Nacho woke to the sound of someone pounding on his door, the noise stabbing through his skull like an icepick. He groaned and rolled over, pulling the thin pillow over his head.
"Go away."
The pounding continued.
"I said go away!"
"Get up, pretty Siren." Madame Corsica’s voice filtered through the wood, sharp and impatient. "You’ve got a visitor. Says it’s urgent."
A visitor? At this hour?
He pushed himself upright, his body protesting every movement. The dungeon dive had taken more out of him than he’d realized. His muscles ached, his mana was still recovering, and there was a persistent throb behind his eyes that suggested he’d overdone it with Storm Manipulation.
He pulled on the least wrinkled shirt he could find and opened the door.
Corsica stood in the hallway, her silver hair immaculate despite the early hour. Behind her, looking distinctly out of place in the velvet-draped corridor, was Pip.
The kid looked terrible. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed, and there was a bruise on his cheek that hadn’t been there the last time Nacho had seen him.
"What happened?"
Pip’s voice cracked when he spoke. "It’s my sister. The medicine didn’t work. She’s getting worse, and the healer says..." He stopped, swallowing hard. "She says there’s only one thing that can save her now."
Nacho felt something cold settle in his stomach. "What does she need?"
"A phoenix feather. The real kind, not the counterfeits they sell in the market. And there’s only one place in the city that has them."
Let me guess.
"The Sanctum."
Pip nodded miserably. "They’ve got a vault. Rare ingredients, artifacts, stuff that’s supposed to be too dangerous for regular people. The healer says a phoenix feather would burn the sickness right out of her, but they won’t sell to anyone who’s not registered with the Guild."
Corsica clicked her tongue. "And registration takes months. Maybe years, if you’re not connected."
"I know." Pip’s hands were shaking. "I know it’s impossible. I know I shouldn’t even be asking. But you helped me before, and I thought maybe..."
He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
Nacho stood there, looking at the kid’s bruised face and desperate eyes. He thought about the gold he’d given Pip for the medicine. The medicine that hadn’t worked. The sister who was dying anyway.
He thought about the Rat King, waiting in his underground lair for a report on the dungeon. About the deal he’d made with Vance. About all the careful plans he’d been building since arriving in the Mortal World.
Getting involved in this is stupid. The Sanctum is powerful. Connected. They’ve got resources I can’t even imagine. If I try to rob them and get caught...
But then he looked at Pip again, and he saw himself. Fifteen years old. Desperate. Doing things he knew were dumb because the alternative was watching someone he cared about die.
For fuck’s sake.
