The carriage came to a gradual halt beneath the shadow of the enormous building, its wheels grinding softly against the stone pavement as the driver pulled the reins. Ivelle immediately slowed her steps, keeping her head lowered beneath the cap while the other guards moved aside to make room for the distinguished visitor.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the carriage door opened.
The man stepped down.
Ivelle had seen wealthy men before. She had seen merchants dressed in expensive coats, noblewomen covered in jewels, and influential-looking figures who carried themselves with the confidence of people who had never needed to ask permission for anything. Yet the moment this particular man stepped onto the ground, something about the atmosphere seemed to change.
It was not because he said anything.
He did not need to.
A strange coldness seemed to accompany him, spreading quietly through the space around him. Conversations nearby became softer, several people instinctively moved aside, and even those who had not been paying attention to the carriage seemed to become aware of his presence.
Ivelle felt it immediately.
A chill traveled down her spine.
Her fingers tightened around the belt of the stolen uniform as she looked at him for the first time from such close range.
He was the man she had noticed through the carriage window.
His black eyes were calm, but there was something unsettling about them, something that made her feel as though he could see through more than the uniform she was wearing. His features were sharply defined, his expression composed, and there was an effortless authority in the way he stood that made everyone around him seem slightly less significant.
Ivelle’s heartbeat suddenly accelerated.
She did not understand why.
She had been chased by three men the previous night. She had jumped from a cliff. She had discovered a stranger capable of healing a wound with some inexplicable power. She had knocked a guard unconscious and stolen his uniform.
None of those things had made her heart react this strangely.
But standing before this man, she suddenly felt as though something had reached beyond her disguise and touched the very core of her being.
Her breath caught.
What is wrong with me?
She quickly looked away before her expression could betray her.
The man noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His black eyes remained on her for another moment, the faintest trace of amusement appearing in them, but he said nothing.
Ivelle forced herself to straighten.
"Sir," she said, lowering her voice into the rough tone she had been using, "wherever you intend to go, I will assist you."
The man studied her.
For a brief moment, his gaze moved over the uniform, the cap, the handkerchief covering the lower portion of her face, and finally settled on her eyes.
Then he gave a small nod.
"Very well."
His voice was calm, deep, and controlled, carrying none of the uncertainty that had begun to consume Ivelle.
She swallowed.
"Please follow me."
The moment the words left her mouth, she immediately regretted them.
Follow me where?
She had absolutely no idea.
Ivelle turned and began walking, desperately hoping that instinct would somehow save her from the stupidity of what she had just done.
Behind her, she could hear the man’s measured footsteps.
He followed.
That alone should have relieved her, but instead it made her more nervous.
She had expected him to question her.
She had expected him to tell her which department he was headed, which office he had been summoned to, or perhaps which part of Blackthorn Row he intended to visit.
He said nothing.
He simply followed.
And somehow, that was worse.
Ivelle kept her eyes ahead while her mind raced.
Where would wealthy people go?
She remembered what she had seen from the outside. The people entering the building had carried documents, ledgers, sealed papers, and expensive-looking cases. Some had been escorted toward the larger central building, while others disappeared into smaller structures connected to it.
She could not simply wander around.
Someone would notice.
She needed somewhere that looked important enough for a man of his status.
Her gaze moved across the large courtyard.
There were several corridors leading away from the entrance, but one particular passage seemed considerably busier than the others. Men dressed in fine clothing were entering through it, accompanied by attendants who carried folders and boxes.
That had to be something important.
At least, she hoped it was.
Ivelle changed direction.
The man followed without question.
They continued deeper into the establishment, passing several employees who bowed respectfully when they noticed the stranger walking behind her. Each time someone greeted him, Ivelle’s anxiety increased.
He clearly belonged here.
She, on the other hand, was completely lost.
Then she noticed a man approaching from the opposite direction.
He was dressed modestly compared with the wealthy visitors surrounding them, but his clothing was still neat and respectable, and the papers tucked beneath his arm suggested that he worked within the establishment.
Ivelle watched him carefully.
He greeted another wealthy man as he passed, then continued toward one of the offices.
That was enough.
Ivelle decided to trust her instincts.
She stopped before the entrance of the same building and stepped slightly to the side.
She lowered her head.
"This way, sir."
The black-eyed man stopped behind her.
Ivelle gestured toward the entrance.
"You may proceed inside."
She hoped her voice sounded confident.
She hoped her posture looked natural.
Most importantly, she hoped he would simply enter and allow her to disappear.
She began turning away.
"Wait."
The single word stopped her.
Ivelle froze.
Her entire body became rigid as though an invisible hand had seized her in place.
Slowly, she turned around.
The man was still standing where she had left him.
His black eyes rested upon her with an unreadable expression.
Ivelle bowed immediately.
"Yes, sir?"
She maintained the altered voice, forcing herself to keep it low and masculine despite the nervousness tightening her throat.
The man regarded her for several seconds.
Then he said, "You are leaving?"
Ivelle hesitated.
"I thought you had no further need of my assistance, sir."
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
"Did I say that?"
"No, sir."
"Then why did you decide to leave?"
Ivelle lowered her head further.
"I apologize."
The man watched her.
There was something almost playful in his expression now, though his voice remained calm.
"It is rather rude to escort someone here and then abandon them at the entrance."
Ivelle’s heart sank.
"I’m sorry, sir. That was not my intention."
"Then stay."
She paused.
For some reason, she felt as though refusing would be far more dangerous than agreeing.
"Yes, sir."
She stepped back beside him.
The man turned toward the entrance and began walking.
Ivelle followed.
She remained slightly behind him, careful to maintain the distance expected of a guard accompanying someone of importance.
Yet she could feel his attention.
Even without looking at him, she knew he was aware of every movement she made.
The thought made her uncomfortable.
She kept her eyes forward.
Do not look at him.
Do not speak unnecessarily.
Do not do anything stupid.
Those instructions repeated themselves in her mind as they walked farther into the building.
The atmosphere inside was considerably quieter than the courtyard.
The high ceilings carried the faint echoes of footsteps, while sunlight filtered through tall windows and illuminated polished floors. Employees moved between rooms carrying documents, speaking in low voices as they went, and several doors stood open to reveal offices filled with shelves, desks, ledgers, and neatly arranged records.
Ivelle’s confusion deepened.
This truly looked like an administrative institution.
Nothing about it resembled the secret slave market she had imagined.
Perhaps the rumors had been exaggerated.
Perhaps—
No.
She refused to believe that.
Liriel had disappeared.
People had been disappearing.
And Edmund had been frightened enough to warn her.
There had to be something hidden beneath this respectable appearance.
She glanced around cautiously.
The black-eyed man continued walking without hesitation.
He seemed to know exactly where he was going.
Or perhaps he was simply allowing her to lead while secretly enjoying the fact that she had no idea where she was taking him.
Ivelle’s stomach twisted at the thought.
Then someone approached.
The newcomer was dressed well enough to indicate a respectable position within Blackthorn Row, though his clothing was noticeably less elaborate than the man’s beside her. The moment he recognized the black-eyed stranger, his expression changed.
He immediately stopped.
His posture straightened.
Then he bowed deeply.
"My lord," he greeted respectfully, his voice carrying a mixture of reverence and caution.
Ivelle slowed.
The man remained bowed for a moment before lifting his head.
His eyes briefly flickered toward Ivelle, then returned to the stranger.
A smile appeared on his face.
"Welcome, Lord Zelos Mortum."