While Cael and Fen spoke with their elders under the deepening twilight, Iris found herself sitting alone with Sidney Reilly in one of the smaller side halls of the Enclave.
The old stone walls around them were cool, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain. A faint light filtered through a broken window, illuminating the dust that hung in the air like mist.
Sidney was sitting upright against a crumbling pillar, his injuries bandaged with rough cloth and strips torn from spare cloaks. His dark hair hung loosely around his pale face, and his dark eyes — deep and restless — watched everything with a wariness that hadn't left since he'd first stirred awake.
Iris sat cross-legged a few feet away, her hands resting casually on her knees, pretending to focus on the small dagger she was idly spinning between her fingers.
In truth, she was watching him.
Studying him.
Trying to decide if he was what he claimed to be.
After a long stretch of silence, she broke it.
"So," she said, her voice light but steady. "What are you going to do now?"
Sidney blinked slowly, as if dragging himself back to the present.
He licked his cracked lips before answering, his voice soft but unmistakably cultured — smooth, deliberate, touched by an eloquence that didn't match the rough surroundings.
"I need to return to the Capital," he said. "My family is there. They'll be worried."
He flexed one hand slowly, testing the stiffness of his fingers.
"And after that..." He gave a thin, bitter smile. "I will gather a new cohort. Men I can trust."
Iris tilted her head slightly.
"To do what?"
Sidney's smile grew colder.
"To hunt them down," he said. "The bandits. The ones who destroyed my convoy."
A flicker of something — grief, rage, maybe both — passed over his face, vanishing almost as quickly as it came.
"I owe them a debt," he said quietly. "And I intend to collect."
Iris considered that for a moment, studying the set of his jaw, the tightness around his eyes.
He meant it.
She was almost certain.
Almost.
"You're Awakened," she said then, more statement than question.
Sidney nodded once.
"What stage?"
He hesitated — just a fraction too long — before answering.
"First Stage," he said. "Same as you, I imagine."
Iris smiled faintly.
"You imagine correctly."
She twirled the dagger once more and then caught it by the blade, holding it casually.
"And your ability?"
The question hung between them, heavy and sharp.
For a moment, Sidney simply stared at her, his dark eyes unreadable.
Then he laughed — a soft, low sound that was somehow not amused at all.
"You're blunt," he said.
Iris shrugged.
"Better than being stabbed in the back."
Sidney's smile faded.
He leaned forward slightly, wincing as the motion tugged at his wounds.
"You should know better than to ask that," he said quietly.
Iris raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting.
Sidney continued, voice dropping lower.
"An Awakened's ability is their greatest weapon — and their greatest weakness. To tell someone freely... it's an invitation to disaster."
He tapped his chest lightly.
"If you know what I can do, you can plan for it. Counter it. Exploit it."
His gaze sharpened.
"Even a friend can become an enemy, given the right pressure."
Iris said nothing for a long moment.
The air between them grew heavier, charged.
Finally, she tossed the dagger into the air, caught it by the hilt, and slipped it back into its sheath.
"I suppose you're right," she said.
Sidney nodded, relaxing minutely.
"But," Iris added, rising to her feet, "trust has to start somewhere."
Sidney watched her with careful, guarded eyes.
"And what about you?" he asked suddenly.
She paused, looking down at him.
"What about me?"
"Your ability."
He smiled — not warmly.
"Will you tell me?"
Iris considered it for a moment, then shook her head with a small, rueful smile.
"Maybe," she said, "if you survive long enough to earn it."
Sidney laughed again, but this time there was a real note of humor in it.
"I suppose that's fair."
Iris turned away, ready to leave him to his rest, but his voice stopped her.
"You saved my life," he said.
She glanced over her shoulder.
"You would have died otherwise."
"I still might," Sidney said dryly.
"But you didn't hesitate. Even when the others did."
Iris shrugged.
"I don't like watching people die."
She paused.
"And besides... you might still be useful."
Sidney chuckled again, leaning his head back against the stone with a wince.
"Practical and merciful," he mused. "A rare combination."
Iris smiled thinly.
"Don't get used to it."
Without waiting for a reply, she slipped away into the gathering dusk, leaving Sidney alone with the firelight and his thoughts.
Outside, the stars were beginning to show — faint pinpricks of silver against the endless black.
The Enclave slept fitfully, wary of the dangers lurking just beyond the edges of their fragile world.
Cael brooded alone by the broken arch where he'd once trained with Korr.
Fen lay awake beside Rell, staring up at the stars and wondering what kind of future he could carve from the bones of the past.
And Iris stood at the edge of the ruins, watching the distant horizon, feeling the weight of choices yet to come pressing down on her shoulders.
Somewhere out there, beyond the hills and the rivers, the Capital waited — glittering and dangerous.
And somewhere out there, the bandits who had shattered Sidney's life still laughed in the dark.
Back in the ruined hall, Sidney shifted painfully, his body aching with every breath.
He touched the amulet hidden beneath his shirt — a small thing, made of dull silver, warm against his skin.
He whispered a word, so soft it barely stirred the air.
A promise.
A secret.
A weapon.
The boyish charm, the wounded innocence — they were all masks.
Necessary masks.
He smiled in the darkness, sharp and knowing.
Whatever these broken children thought they were building here, it would burn soon enough.
And Sidney Reilly would be the one to strike the match.