M broke with a pale, hazy light filtering through Hildrebrand's perpetual shroud of fog. Rael stood at the window of his rented room, watg the street below as merts set up their stalls. The city felt muted, as if the world were holding its breath

  He had sent the anonymous tip to the Order's enforcers only a few hours prior. Now, it was a waiting game. The Crowsfoot would react, and Rael inteo be there when they did.

  Equipping a simple leather vest and traveler's cloak, Rael activated Veil Step and slipped out of the inn. He moved through the narrow alleys, his path winding toward the southern district. The distillery sat quiet and still, its woreriiving nothing away. But the subtle shift in the air, the new guards at the ers, the wary gnces between workers, told him everything he o know.

  The Order had struck.

  His gaze tracked a pair of Order enforcers he distillery's entraheir silver-edged armlinted dully in the m light, the emblem of the Order promi on their pauldrons. They spoke in low voices, their hands resting on the hilts of their ons.

  "Another warehouse," otered. "This is the third this week."

  Rael's lips curved. His tip had stirred more than he expected. The Order's purge of illicit trade was already underway, meaning the Crowsfoot had been on their radar before. His as had merely hem into the open.

  A otion broke his thoughts. A man with a red scarf—Thorne—emerged from the distillery, his expression a taut mask of trol. Workers followed, moving crates into a cart uhe watchful eyes of the enforcers. Legitimate goods, by the look of it. A front to mask whatever "special cargo" they had already smuggled out.

  Rael slid bato the crowd, keeping Thorne in his peripheral vision. The man spoke to the Order captain, his words smooth and practiced. Whatever deal he proposed seemed to mollify the enforcers, who stepped back, their suspi irely gone.

  The crates were loaded, and Thorne climbed onto the cart. As it rumbled away, Rael began to move. His steps were slow, deliberate. He let the cart gain distance, slippiween alleys and side streets. His trag skill helped, highlighting Thorne's path with a faint shimmer only he could see.

  The cart left the city's bustli, heading toward the quieter districts where the buildings turo shadowy silhouettes against the m mist. Rael's focus sharpened. If Thorne was heading to a safehouse, this could be his ce to learn more.

  The cart finally stopped at a rge, inspicuous warehouse he river. Workers emerged to meet Thorheir movements cked the ease of practiced smugglers. Hired help, perhaps. Disposable.

  Rael circled the warehouse, his silhouette blending with the dimness of the riverbank. He found a window half-hidden by creeping vines and slipped ihe interior was a skeleton of metal beams and wooden crates, the air damp and tinged with mildew.

  Voices echoed.

  "…not enough time. The Order's crag down. We o move the rest of the cargo out of the city."

  "Where to? The docks are crawling with guards."

  Thorne's voice cut through the murmurs. "We use the tunnels. Tell the Crowsfoot to prepare. We're going to Bckmere."

  Rael's eyes narrowed. Bckmere was a marsh of Hildrebrand, a natural border between Order-trolled territory and the wless Wilds. Smugglers ofte to move goods away from the watchful eye of the Order. If the Crowsfoot were rerouting their operations, theuation was more dire than he'd expected.

  He slipped back out as the workers began loading crates onto smaller wagons. Rael's mind raced, pieg the new information together. The Crowsfoot, they were retreating. Whatever the Order had stumbled upon was enough to make the syndicate pull back to safer ground.

  Rael moved through the shadows until he reached the riverbank. He o get back to his room, pile his notes, aermine his step. His mind drifted to the artifact hiddeh his bed—the vials of shimmering liquid. He still didn't know their purpose, but if the Crowsfoot were cutting their losses, then those vials might be more valuable thahought.

  Back at the inn, Rael shut the door behind him and pulled out his notes. He spread the part and scribbled down the new details. He marked Bckmere on his map, drawing lines and es between the Crowsfoot's knowions.

  His eyes settled on the vials. He picked one up, watg the light refract through the liquid. The faint hum of magic resohrough his fiips. pos, the man had said. But pos for what?

  Rael leaned ba his chair, the wood creaking under him. His expression remained ral, but his thoughts burhe Crowsfoot were making a move—and if he pyed his cards right, he could make that move work in his favor.

  "All right," he murmured. "Let's see where this path leads."

  Rael didn't waste time. His first step was to analyze the vials further. He rummaged through his pack, retrieving a small alchemical kit he had purchased earlier in the market district. The tools were basic, but enough for a quick field analysis. He set up a burner, a few beakers, and a small crystal that reacted to magical properties.

  He uncorked one of the vials, carefully p a drop onto the crystal. The liquid sizzled, and the crystal glowed with a dim, violet light. Rael's fiapped a rhythm oable as he watched. Violet often indicated shadow magic or binding rituals. bined with the earlier findings, this added another yer of intrigue.

  Rael shifted his focus to the coded notes he had acquired from the Crowsfoot camp. He had already broken the initial code, but now, with the knowledge of their move to Bckmere, the text shifted. He traced the keywords—"Vault 7," "Supply ," "Crowsfoot"—and began searg for hidden patterns.

  The part tained not just orders but also a ledger. Numbers and names, seemingly random, began to align with known locations around Vash'kar and Hildrebrand. Rael's mind ected the dots, drawing lines across his makeshift map. The supply extended further than he initially thought, and some of the locations corresponded with Order outposts.

  He leaned back, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into pce. The Crowsfoot weren't just smuggling; they were supplying something—or someoh specific magical pos. The alchemical liquids, the discreet routes, and the sudden withdrawal to Bckmere all poier scheme.

  A ood out in his horne. Rael remembered the broad-shouldered man with the red scarf. Thorne's orders had been precise, the kind of ands that came from someoh direct ties to the top. If the mysterious anization was involved, Thorne could be a middleman—or worse, a direct agent.

  Rael's thoughts crystallized around a dangerous idea. What if the Crowsfoot were funneling resources into something far rger than anyone realized? The churt, the artifact, and now these vials—all roads seemed to lead to a hidden agenda. This was no ce.

  His fiightened around the vial. He o tread carefully. Rael couldn't approach his guild openly while on his sed at, but he could still manipute the situation. If he alerted the Order with another anonymous tip, he might be able to force the Crowsfoot to reveal more about their backers. Alternatively, he could leak this information to a rival guild and stir the pot further.

  He pocketed the vials and quickly packed his gear. As he slipped out of the inn, his silhouette melted into the twilight.

  The mention of Bckmere was too specific to ignore. If he wanted answers, he o be there when the Crowsfoot made their move.

  * * *

  The road to Bckmere was narrow and winding, cutting through tahickets and mist-den marshes. The moon hung low, its pale light barely pierg the dense opy above. Rael moved swiftly, his senses on high alert. The air was thick with moisture, every rustle and spsh amplified iillness.

  As he approached the edge of the marsh, a soft glow cut through the fog. Lanterns hung from makeshift posts, casting long, uneven shadows across the damp ground. Rael crouched low, his shortbow resting lightly in his grip. He advanced, slippiween reeds and twisted roots until the encampment came into view.

  A cluster of figures moved around the flickering nterns. Crowsfoot operatives, their leather armor damp and mud-streaked. Crates were stacked high, a makeshift dock extending over the murky water where ft-bottomed boats were being loaded. The entire operation had the air of a st-mireat—hurried, tense.

  Rael's eyes sed the se. Thorood he ter, the red scarf unmistakable even in the gloom. His voice carried over the quiet, barking orders at the workers. "No deys. The boss wants this done before dawn. If we're still here when the Order arrives, we're finished."

  Rael's lips pressed into a thin lihe Order must have acted on his earlier tip, tightening the noose around the Crowsfoot. The evacuation to Bckmere was not a pnned move but a desperate one. Ahorne remained calm, his focus unshakable. That kind of resolve came from fidence—or from knowing something others didn't.

  He edged closer, slipping into an rown thicket. The versatioween Thorne and a hooded figure reached him in bits and pieces.

  "…not enough time," the hooded figure was saying. "We o inform Exalted."

  Rael's pulse quied. There it was—the e he had been waiting for. The Crowsfoot weren't ag alone. Whoever Exalted was, they were pulling the strings behind the ses. Whether the Crowsfoot were subordinates or partners, the link was undeniable. If this Exalted held sway over them, then these vials weren't just traband—they were part of a rger pn.

  Thorne's reply was sharp. "No. Orders were clear. We keep the goods moving, and we don't draw attentioed will deal with the Order themselves. Our job is to make sure this cargo gets to the Wilds."

  The hooded figure hesitated. "And if the delivery fails?"

  Thorne's expression hardened. "Then we're all better off disappearing. You know how Exalted deals with failure."

  He o act. If the cargo reached the Wilds, trag it would bee nearly impossible. Rael weighed his options. An all-out assault would be reckless, but he didn't o win, he only o disrupt. He could force their hand, make them abandon the cargo or reveal more about their pn.

  Rael shifted his weight, his ranger instincts taking over. His haled on his shortbow, its familiar weight grounding him. He drew a shallow breath, then activated Shadow Step, blinking forward into the shadows closer to the dock. His pn crystallized in his mind: target the boats, sink them or set them adrift. Without their escape route, the Crowsfoot would be trapped between him and the encroag Order forces.

  He slipped closer to the water's edge, his form a whisper against the reeds. A quick swipe of his knife, and the m ropes she boats drifted, their handlers he wiser. Rael moved to the dock, repeating the process, his motions fluid and precise.

  A shout broke the quiet. One of the Crowsfoot had spotted the boats drifting away. Thorne's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "We've got pany! Find them!"

  Chaos rippled through the camp. Workers scrambled, crates overturned, and the hooded figure drew a wand, a thin line of fme sputtering to life at its tip. Rael moved, nog an arrow and loosing it into a stack of crates. The arrow struck true, the impact sending them tumbling into the water. Their tents spilled out—more vials, shards of crystal, and bound scrolls.

  The rea was immediate. Magical energy crackled, the air growing sharp aric. Whatever was in those vials, tact with water triggered a votile rea. The marsh water frothed, mist rising as the chemicals mixed, and an acrid smell filled the air.

  Rael faded back, blending into the fusion. Thorne barked orders, his calm shattered. The hooded figure flung fire into the shadows, but Rael was already gone, slipping through the mist. The Order would arrive soon, finding nothing but panicked smugglers and ruined goods.