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“You won’t be entirely without resources,” Corvin says, ignoring my tone. “We’ve prepared documents, contact protocols,emergency extraction plans. You’ll have a limited ability to communicate with us, and we’ll position assets near Heathborne who can provide assistance if absolutely necessary.”

“How soon?” I ask.

“Three days,” Corvin replies. “We’ll integrate you on Monday, the beginning of their mid-semester. You’ll need tomorrow and the following day to memorize your cover identity and acclimate to the effects of the tablets before you cross into their territory.”

I nod, already mentally cataloging what I’ll need to prepare. Weapons that can pass as academic tools. Potions disguised as medicinal supplements. Communication devices that will bypass Heathborne’s protection wards, in case of an emergency. Security will have increased further following my successful extraction of Jax.

“There’s one more thing,” Warden Blythe says, her ancient eyes fixing on mine. “Since we have reason to believe that Mazrov’s capabilities are still developing and evolving?—”

“I need to act quickly,” I conclude. “Before he reaches his full potential.”

“Precisely,” Corvin affirms. “This is why we’ve selected you for this mission, Salem. You have the... decisive nature required.”

A polite way of saying I’m one most willing to slit a throat without hesitation. Fair enough.

“You understand the stakes,” Elder Farrow says, not a question but a statement. “If this technology or magical ability spreads among the clearbloods, they could systematically destroy us. Not just our coven, but all darkbloods everywhere.”

I understand the stakes perfectly. This isn’t just about protecting our territory or resources—it’s about preventing extinction. And as much as the council frustrates me sometimes with their caution and politics, I have no intention of letting some clearblood weapon-maker threaten my family and my people.

“I’ll need everything we have on all of Heathborne’s security protocols,” I say, accepting the mission without explicitly saying so. “And full access to the armory.”

Corvin nods. “Already arranged. Report to the preparation chamber after this meeting. The full briefing package awaits you there.”

The council members begin gathering their documents, a signal that the formal part of this meeting is concluding. As they rise from their seats, Elder Reed places a gnarled hand on my arm.

“Be cautious, child,” she whispers. “More than your life depends on your success.”

I give her a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “When am I ever not cautious, Elder Reed?”

She doesn’t answer, just squeezes my arm once before releasing me. I understand her concern. This mission is different—I’ll be deep in enemy territory with reduced powers, hunting a target with unprecedented abilities, with minimal backup. The risk is extraordinary.

But then, so am I.

As the council members file out, Corvin remains behind, his tall frame silhouetted against the floating lights.

“Esme,” he says quietly. “There’s something else you should know.”

I wait, watching his face carefully.

“This mission wasn’t unanimous,” he admits. “Some felt we should attempt capture rather than assassination. Others thought we should send a team rather than a single operative.”

“But you overruled them,” I observe.

He nods once. “A team increases the risk of detection. And as for capture...” His eyes harden. “We cannot risk bringing something this dangerous into our territory. Not when we don’t understand it.”

I rise from my seat, tucking the file under my arm. “I won’t let you down, Corvin. I never have.”

“I know,” he says, and for just a moment, I catch a glimpse of something that might be concern beneath his usual stoic exterior. “That’s why it had to be you.”

As I leave the room, the weight of the mission settles fully onto my shoulders. In three days, I’ll be walking into the heart of enemy territory, playing a role that could get me killed or worse if I slip even slightly. But beneath that weight is something else—a thrill, a dark anticipation. Let Mazrov and his flame-filled eyes come for me. I’ll show him what happens when you threaten a Salem.

Grandmother Esther always said I had a talent for ending threats permanently. Time to prove her right.

5

The corridor outside the meeting chamber feels colder than it should, even for the underground levels of our academy. I walk with measured steps, the rhythmic tap of my boots against stone echoing off walls lined with centuries-old paintings depicting our ancestral victories. The weight of the mission file in my hands feels disproportionate to its actual size—a slim folder containing what could very well be a death sentence. Mine or Mazrov’s. I’m determined to ensure it’s the latter.

Torches flicker in iron sconces along the hallway, casting my shadow in multiple directions as I pass. Their flames don’t warm the air; they never have. Our kind prefers the cold—it keeps the mind sharp and reminds us of the grave’s embrace we’ve learned to manipulate rather than fear.