As the door creaked open, Soren, Jarek, and Lira tensed, their gazes fixed on the new arrivals. Two guards in the unmistakable livery of the Blackwood family entered the tavern. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across their stern faces as they scanned the room, their expressions betraying no sign of recognition.

The trio exchanged worried glances, their thoughts racing. Elara, however, remained still, her posture stiffening only slightly. Her fingers, which had been tapping the table in impatience moments before, now rested calmly on the surface, though her eyes never left the guards.

The Blackwood guards made their way to a table near the center of the tavern, their boots heavy on the wooden floor. They sat down, ordered drinks in low voices, and began a hushed conversation. Though they seemed to pay no attention to Elara or the others, the air in the room felt charged with danger.

Elara leaned in slightly, her voice a whisper, yet carrying a weight of urgency. “Stay calm. We don’t know if they’re here for us or if it’s just a coincidence.”

Soren nodded subtly, though his mind was already calculating the possible outcomes. “We can’t afford to draw any attention. If they recognize us, we’re finished.”

Lira’s eyes darted to the door, weighing the possibility of a swift exit, but the guards were positioned in such a way that slipping out unnoticed would be nearly impossible.

Elara’s eyes flicked toward the guards, who had begun to laugh softly, their conversation seemingly mundane. But Elara knew better. The Blackwoods weren’t known for sending their men out for a casual drink. This was no coincidence.

As the minutes dragged on, the tension at their table became almost unbearable. The guards showed no signs of leaving, and every second they lingered increased the danger.

Suddenly, one of the guards glanced over at them, his gaze lingering for just a moment too long before returning to his drink. It was enough to send a chill down Soren’s spine.

Elara’s mind raced, searching for a solution. They needed to leave, but any sudden movement would confirm the guards’ suspicions.

“Lira,” Elara said softly, her tone laced with command. “Create a distraction. Soren, Jarek, be ready to move. We’re leaving, but not all at once.”

Lira nodded, her mind already working on how to draw the guards’ attention. She caught the eye of the tavern keeper, who had been watching the scene unfold with growing unease. With a subtle gesture, she indicated that she needed his cooperation.

The tavern keeper gave a slight nod. Lira rose from the table and made her way to the bar. As she reached it, she stumbled, knocking over a tray of glasses with a loud crash. The sound shattered the tavern’s uneasy quiet, and the guards immediately turned their attention to the source of the commotion.

Elara seized the moment. “Now,” she hissed to Soren and Jarek.

Soren was the first to move, slipping out of his seat and heading for the door with practiced ease. Jarek followed a beat later, his movements deliberate, as if he had no care in the world.

Elara remained seated, her eyes on the guards, waiting to see if Lira’s distraction would hold. One of the guards rose from his seat, eyeing Lira with suspicion, while the other remained seated, watching the room.

Lira, playing her part perfectly, apologized profusely to the tavern keeper, her voice flustered as she bent to pick up the broken glass. The guard who had risen hesitated, then seemed to decide she wasn’t worth the trouble, and sat back down.

As Soren and Jarek slipped out of the tavern, Elara rose to leave as well, her movements calm and measured. Lira, still cleaning up the mess she’d made, glanced up just in time to see Elara give her a brief nod before she, too, exited the tavern.

Once outside, Elara quickly scanned the street. Soren and Jarek were already blending into the shadows, moving towards a prearranged rendezvous point. She hurried to catch up with them, her earlier confidence giving way to the urgency of the situation.

Lira, still inside, waited a few more moments before making her own exit. The guards seemed content to let her leave, no longer suspicious after her convincing act of clumsiness. As soon as she was outside, she spotted Elara, Soren, and Jarek waiting for her in a darkened alley nearby.

“Let’s move,” she whispered, and the four of them disappeared into the night, leaving the tavern—and the Blackwood guards—behind.

But as they made their way through the winding alleys of Valoria, Elara couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched, that the night’s events had set something dangerous in motion.

Soren led the way, his movements stealthy and precise, while Jarek brought up the rear, ever vigilant for any signs of pursuit. Lira stayed close to Elara, her eyes scanning their surroundings.

They turned a corner and nearly ran into a hunched figure clad in a patchwork of ragged clothes. A jingling sound accompanied the figure’s every movement, as if he were covered in tiny bells. He was a fool by the looks of him, with a painted face, a crooked hat, and an expression of exaggerated surprise.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” the fool said in a sing-song voice, his eyes bright and mischievous. He spun around them, moving with an odd grace despite his awkward attire. “Lost little sheep in the big, bad city?”

Soren moved to push the fool aside, but the man danced out of reach, his bells jingling madly. “Whoa there! No need for rough play. I’m here to help, I am. Selene sent me, she did. Told me to find you and take you to a nice, safe place. Yes, yes.”

Elara’s eyes narrowed. The mention of Selene was unexpected, and she wasn’t sure whether to trust this strange character. “How do you know Selene?” she asked cautiously, her hand subtly resting on the dagger hidden beneath her cloak.

“Oh, I know all sorts of people, my lady,” the fool replied, twirling his hat around his finger. “I’m a friend to everyone, I am. But Selene, she’s special. She’s got a way with words, you see. Told me you’d need a little…guidance tonight.”

Jarek, his patience wearing thin, stepped forward. “We don’t have time for games. If you know something, tell us. Otherwise, get out of our way.”

The fool’s grin widened, and he leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Oh, I know a lot, big man. Like how those Blackwood hounds are sniffing around, looking for you and your friends. And I know a place where they won’t find you, not if you follow me.” He gave a dramatic bow, sweeping his hat to the side. “Do we have a deal?”

Elara exchanged a glance with Soren, who gave a slight nod. She turned back to the fool. “Alright. We’ll follow you—for now. But know this: if you’re leading us into a trap, it’ll be the last trick you ever pull.”

The fool chuckled, a low, throaty sound. “Oh, no traps here, my dear. Just a little twist and turn, a hop and a skip, and we’ll be there. Follow me, and keep up!” He spun on his heel and darted down a narrow side alley, his bells jingling in the dark.

With a mixture of reluctance and urgency, Elara and her companions followed. The fool led them through a labyrinthine path, taking shortcuts and passages that seemed known only to him. The alleys grew narrower and darker, the buildings closer and more decrepit.

Finally, they arrived at the old theater. The fool stopped in front of a weathered door and gave it a theatrical knock, a quick sequence of taps that echoed through the silence of the night. The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit interior.

“This way, my friends,” the fool said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’re almost there.”

He led them inside, the smell of dust and stale air filled their nostrils as they moved deeper into the building. Elara could hear faint murmurs and the occasional burst of laughter from somewhere ahead.

They reached another door, this one slightly ajar, and the fool pushed it open with a flourish. Beyond was the theater’s main room, a large space filled with mismatched chairs, tables, and makeshift decorations.

The room was bustling with activity. Fools in brightly colored costumes performed acrobatics, rogues played cards and dice at scattered tables, and influencers mingled in small groups, their voices low and conspiratorial. It was a haven for those who thrived on mischief and cunning, a hidden world within the city’s underbelly.

At the center of it all, on a stage adorned with tattered curtains, sat a Harahel on a throne fashioned from a broken chair and draped in a faded red cloth.

Elara’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Harahel, perched on the makeshift throne like some self-proclaimed queen of fools. How could she be lounging here while they were out there risking their lives?

She pushed her way through the crowd, her companions following close behind. The room’s chaotic energy seemed to fade around her as she focused on Harahel. Harahel lounged back in her seat, one leg casually draped over the arm of the chair, looking every bit the part of a mischievous ruler.

“Well, well,” Harahel drawled, “Look who decided to join the party. I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost, Elara.”

Elara clenched her fists at her sides, doing her best to keep her temper in check. “Lost? We’ve been dodging Blackwood guards all night while you’ve been playing at being the King of Fools!”

The room grew quieter as Harahel’s audience shifted their attention to the confrontation. The fools paused their antics, and the rogues and influencers turned to watch, sensing the tension.

Harahel’s smile remained in place, but her eyes took on a steely glint. “King? Oh no, Elara, you’ve misunderstood. I’m not playing a king. I’m playing a judge.”

Before Elara could react, two rogues stepped forward. Elara's eyes darted to the advancing figures, her hand instinctively moving toward her dagger. “What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice sharp with both anger and confusion.

Without a word, the two rogues closed in on her, their grips firm as they seized her arms.

Elara struggled against the firm grip of the rogues, her eyes darting from one to the other. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her voice edged with both anger and a hint of fear. The room seemed to grow colder, and all eyes were on Harahel, waiting to see what she would do next.

Harahel leaned forward in her makeshift throne, her gaze locking onto Elara’s with an intensity that made the room feel even smaller.  "Did you really think we wouldn’t find out?" she said,

Elara’s heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her face composed. "Find out what, exactly?" she shot back, though a part of her already dreaded the answer.

Harahel rose from her throne, the faded red cloth slipping to the floor. She took a step closer, her eyes never leaving Elara’s. "That you’re a member of the Blackwood family," she said, her voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd like a blade.

Elara’s heart sank as she looked over at Soren, Jarek, and Lira. Their faces were unreadable, but she could see the truth in their eyes. They had known. They had known all along, and they hadn’t said a word.

Elara's eyes flicked back to Harahel, a dangerous glint shining through the apparent calm of her expression. She had been caught, but she wasn’t finished yet. She took a slow, measured breath, then let out a low chuckle.

"You read the ledger, you naughty rogue," Elara said smoothly, her voice laced with an unsettling calm. Her gaze remained fixed on Harahel, who stood before her with an air of defiance.

The crowd murmured at Elara's unexpected response, and even Harahel seemed momentarily thrown off by her composure. The tension in the room thickened, each heartbeat pounding in the silent void that followed Elara's words.

Harahel's steely expression didn’t waver. "I did," she admitted, her tone cold and unwavering. "And it told me everything I needed to know. You’ve been playing a dangerous game, Elara. Using us to cover your tracks, working against us all the while.

Elara shook her head slowly, her expression hardening. "I wasn’t working against you. The Blackwood family may have given me my name, but I never chose to carry it. I’ve been planning to use the ledger to take them down from the inside."

Soren, who had been watching from the edge of the room with a cautious gaze, stepped forward. " Why not tell us the truth from the start?"

Elara’s eyes softened momentarily as she looked at him. "Because I didn’t trust any of you," she admitted. "Trust is a luxury I can’t afford. Not when I’ve spent my entire life being watched, judged, and controlled by the Blackwoods. They’d never let one of their own walk away freely. I had to make sure I had an escape plan that they couldn’t see coming."

As Elara's confession hung in the air, the tension in the room grew even more palpable. The silence was abruptly shattered by the sound of the door crashing open. The fool who had led them to the theater burst in, his bells jangling wildly. His face, usually so full of mischief and glee, was now painted with genuine fear.

"Armed men are coming this way!" the fool shouted, his voice high with panic. "Lots of them! And they don’t look like they’re here for a show!"

Elara’s eyes widened, and she cursed under her breath. "The Blackwoods," she hissed. "They’ve found me."