I sat in the dimly lit auction hall, my heartbeat syncing with the slow, deliberate movements of the auctioneer on stage. The High-Level Grimoire lay on a velvet-covered pedestal, bound in ancient leather, its cover etched with symbols that only I—its creator—truly understood.

  The room was filled with nobles, scholars, and mercenaries, each one hiding their own agenda behind polished masks of indifference. But one man stood out—the last person I wanted to see.

  General Valcairn.

  He was seated in the front row, an air of calculated authority surrounding him. A man like him wouldn’t be here just to spectate. If he was involved, that meant the Kingdom itself was after the grimoire.

  I clenched my fists. The incomplete formulas inside that book weren’t dangerous on their own, but if someone pieced them together with the Kingdom’s archives, they’d unlock magic on a scale no one in this world could counter.

  And I wasn’t about to let that happen.

  The Bidding Begins.

  The auctioneer, a lean man with an irritatingly smooth voice, raised his hands.

  "We begin the bidding for this rare tome, a grimoire said to hold forgotten magical knowledge. The starting price is 500 gold pieces."

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  A noble in blue velvet lazily raised his hand.

  "Five hundred."

  Another bidder, a hooded scholar, responded immediately.

  "Six hundred."

  I stayed quiet. I wasn’t here to bid.

  But then, Valcairn’s voice cut through the hall.

  "One thousand."

  The room fell silent for a second before the auctioneer recovered, delighted by the jump in price.

  Ryn, seated a few rows behind me, subtly tapped the side of his chair—a signal.

  It was time.

  Ryn leaned forward and whispered to a noble seated nearby. The man gave him an odd look but nodded, whispering to his companion. Within seconds, whispers spread across the hall like wildfire.

  "Did you hear? The Crown's after this grimoire…"

  "I thought it was just an artifact? Why would the military want it?"

  "What if it's a cursed text? I heard—"

  As intended, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Nobles who were simply bidding for prestige began hesitating. Some looked toward Valcairn for confirmation. Others whispered about whether it was worth the risk.

  But Valcairn wasn’t a fool. He raised a hand, signaling to one of his men. They moved immediately, likely preparing for interference.

  We had to act now.

  Lena moved first, her form blending into the dim lighting as she approached the stage. She was fast—her movements barely noticeable even to trained eyes.

  The auctioneer, too caught up in the tension between bidders, never saw it coming.

  A flicker of movement. A shift in weight. And then—

  The grimoire on the pedestal wasn’t the real one anymore.

  In its place was a near-identical book, hastily crafted by Lena before the auction. The real grimoire was now in her hands.

  But before we could exhale in relief, Valcairn’s head snapped toward us.

  His gaze locked onto Lena.

  His eyes narrowed.

  And then he moved.

  "Stop them!"

  The command was like a gunshot. Soldiers stationed at the exits surged forward, blocking the doors. The auctioneer stumbled back in confusion as Valcairn himself rose from his seat, his presence suffocating.

  Lena bolted.

  I was already on my feet, moving toward her path of escape, but Valcairn was faster than expected. His hand shot out, nearly grabbing Lena’s wrist—

  A sharp clang echoed as Ryn’s dagger met Valcairn’s gauntlet.

  "Go!" Ryn barked, engaging the general to buy us time.

  Lena and I didn’t need to be told twice.

  We sprinted through the nearest side corridor, guards following close behind. Shouts filled the air, and the scent of burning torches mixed with the sweat of men giving chase.

  The heist wasn’t over yet.

  It had just begun.