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A sudden crash disrupts the standoff. The door to the storeroom bursts open, and a massive figure hurtles in Remanos.

Relief floods me, so intense my knees almost buckle.

He surges forward with a guttural snarl, horns angled.

One conspirator turns in alarm but is knocked aside by Remanos’s tackle.

The other tries to swing his cudgel, only to have Remanos deflect with a fierce upward blow from his braced arm.

The cudgel flies from the minotaur’s grip, clattering against the stone floor.

Chaos erupts. I scramble back, cradling the treatise, body shaking with adrenaline.

Remanos moves with lethal precision—he slams a forearm into one attacker’s throat, toppling him among broken crates.

The second leaps forward, grappling for Remanos’s muzzle, but Remanos wrenches free, hooking his leg behind the brute’s knee.

In a heartbeat, the man is pinned to the floor, gasping in surprise.

Dust swirls as they struggle, crates tipping.

With a final twist, Remanos subdues the conspirator, pressing a bracer to his neck.

The minotaur gasps, eyes bulging. His partner, half-sprawled, sees defeat and decides to scurry away.

He clutches his wounded arm, hissing curses, then lunges for the door, escaping while Remanos is occupied pinning the other.

“Coward,” the pinned one spits, voice gurgling as Remanos applies pressure.

My breath comes in ragged gulps. I watch, transfixed, as Remanos glowers down at him. “Who sent you?” he demands, voice a lethal growl.

The man sneers, refusing to speak. Remanos tightens his hold. “Answer.”

A flicker of defiance remains in the conspirator’s eyes. “We serve the Senate,” he chokes out. “And you can’t kill me, champion. Not without making yourself a murderer of your own people.” He coughs, then adds scornfully, “And the human will be seized eventually. Vaelen promised us.”

Remanos’s muzzle twists with fury. For a moment, I fear he might snap the man’s neck out of sheer rage. But he controls himself, a trembling tension in his arms. Instead, he slams the conspirator’s head hard enough to daze him. The man groans, eyes rolling back. Then Remanos rises, chest heaving.

I slump against a crate, still clutching the stolen treatise. My entire body shudders. He glances around, verifying the second minotaur is truly gone, then steps over to me, expression torn between concern and anger.

“You’re hurt?” His voice trembles with leftover adrenaline.

I shake my head, though my shoulder throbs where I was slammed into the crate. “Nothing severe. You arrived just in time.”

He exhales in relief, his horns dipping as if unsteady from the confrontation. “You realize how insane it was to come here alone?”

I bristle automatically, though I know he’s not entirely wrong.

“It was the only way. The Senate wants me locked away. I had to find more proof. I found it.” I gesture weakly at the treatise in my satchel.

“Old records of Vakkak–orc collusion. Centuries ago, but it matches what Vaelen is replicating.”

His gaze flicks to the battered volume, tension easing a fraction. He steps nearer, and I feel the pull between us. “We’ll talk details once we’re safe. We need to leave before more of Vaelen’s goons arrive.”

I nod, pushing off the crate. My legs wobble, exhausted from the fight and the rush of fear.

Remanos notices, gently gripping my uninjured arm to steady me.

A jolt of relief sweeps through me at his solidity, a living shield in a city that wants to devour me.

We pick our way through broken debris, ignoring the groans of the dazed conspirator who’s still on the floor.

Let him scurry back to Vaelen with a black eye and an empty ledger bag.

Outside the storeroom, the corridor remains quiet, but I sense tension in every shadow.

Remanos leads me through a side exit near an empty scribe’s office, his presence an unspoken warning that no archivist or guard dares challenge.

Once in the open air, we blend into a swirl of marketgoers.

The normalcy of the crowds jolts me. I hug the treatise closer, half-expecting another ambush, but no immediate threat materializes. We hurry down a twisting side street.

By the time we reach a stable yard where Remanos left a horse-lizard creature (one of the half-lizard, half-equine beasts favored by city messengers), my nerves remain frayed.

He helps me mount, then swings up behind me, strong arms bracketing my waist. The borrowed riding animal snorts, stomping at the dusty ground.

I swallow, leaning into Remanos’s supportive warmth.

No matter how complicated our situation is, this moment is clarifying: I trust him with my life, and he just proved he’ll risk his own for me.

He whispers near my ear, “Hold on.” Then we nudge the beast into a brisk trot, winding through cramped alleys, avoiding main roads.

The tension in his posture seeps into me, but a small part of me feels oddly secure.

We ride until the city’s quieter outskirts approach, finally dismounting near a discreet gate into his estate’s walls.

The guard at the gate recognizes us, swinging it open.

We slip inside, relief coursing through my veins.

Once we’re within the courtyard, I slide off the saddle, body aching.

Remanos follows, tethering the creature to a post. The estate staff glimpses us, but one look at Remanos’s grim expression keeps them from prying.

We stride into a secluded portico shaded by ivy.

I breathe deeply, the hush washing over me. At last, I can unclench every muscle.

Remanos paces a small arc, arms folded. The swirl of adrenaline in him still pulses. “Mira,” he says at last, voice raw, “you could have died in there. Or ended up in Vaelen’s clutches. Why in all the gods’ names would you go alone?”

I bristle, though shame nips at me. “I didn’t want to drag you further into risk. The Senate’s already on the brink of removing you, saying you can’t control me. If we went together?—”

He releases a low, frustrated rumble. “So you risked your life so I wouldn’t face more accusations?” His tail lashes. “I’d rather face the Senate’s wrath a hundred times than lose you.”

My stomach flips. His words strike deeper than I expect, a testament to how far we’ve come from that initial hostility. I struggle to keep my voice firm. “We keep relying on each other, like it’s the only way. We don’t even question it anymore.”

He halts, turning to meet my gaze. The tension in his features softens, replaced by something vulnerable. “Because it is the only way. We’re up against a city that wants to brand you an enemy and me a traitor. If we don’t rely on each other, we’ll both go down alone.”

A hush settles. My heart thuds painfully.

The memory of last night’s closeness flickers in my mind—cursed politics and raw attraction colliding.

Now, standing in this shaded portico, the same current hums between us, underpinned by the fear we nearly lost each other.

We stare, unspoken questions swirling: Should we keep forging this closeness, or is it too dangerous?

I clear my throat, trying to break the tension.

“I found something, though. You wouldn’t believe how closely these old treaties mirror Vaelen’s new tactics.

The Vakkak class historically forced orc raids to manipulate trade.

We can use this to show the city that Vaelen isn’t just an innocent senator. He’s following a vile tradition.”

He exhales, shoulders sagging. “Good. That’s exactly the link we needed to prove he’s repeating the sins of the past.” His gaze flicks to the treatise tucked in my satchel. “Let’s hope it’s enough.”

“It will be,” I say, forcing confidence into my voice. “We’ll present it to the merchant guilds, get them outraged. If they unite against Vaelen, the Senate might not be able to ignore us.”

He inclines his head, stepping closer. The scent of him—leather, sweat, something distinctly Remanos—envelops me. My pulse flutters. “We do this together, Mira. Next time, no sneaking off alone.”

A mix of relief and guilt washes over me. I manage a small nod. “Yes. Together.”

Silence stretches, electric. He lifts a hand as if to brush my cheek, then seems to remember we’re in view of potential onlookers. His hand drops, tension coiling again. We exist in that precarious space where need and fear twist into a single unstoppable knot.

A subtle cough from behind startles us. One of Remanos’s staff stands at the entrance to the portico, looking apologetic. “Champion, a messenger arrived from Senator Ortem. He requests a quick meeting about tomorrow’s hearing.”

Remanos closes his eyes briefly, exasperation etched in every line of his face. “Fine. I’ll attend to it soon.”

The staff member bows and withdraws. Remanos turns back to me. “The hearing is tomorrow. Vaelen’s sure to push for your immediate arrest. Our evidence needs to be ready.”

My grip tightens on the satchel. “I’ll prepare the notes from the treatise, highlight the parallels to Vaelen’s current schemes. We can meet the merchants tonight. Are you sure Ortem is safe to talk to?”

He nods, though uncertainty flickers in his eyes. “He’s more moderate than Vaelen. If we show him real proof, he might champion our cause.”

I exhale, feeling the weight of everything we must accomplish in such a short time. Then I force a smirk, attempting levity. “No more heroic rescues in dusty archives, though. That’s my only request.”

A faint ghost of a smile touches his mouth. “Trust me, I’d rather you not need rescuing at all.”