CHAPTER 1030: BLOOD-STAINED STONES (3).

The torchlight guttered against the damp walls, shadows swelling and shrinking as if the stone itself were listening. Cain felt the air press tighter around them, the silence after his words stretching too long, growing heavier. He welcomed it. Silence was its own test—who broke it first revealed themselves.

Hunter, unsurprisingly, was the one who held firm. His gaze never wavered, the same calm that had unsettled Cain at the start still lingering like a blade kept behind the back. Susan shifted, impatient, her arms tightening across her chest as if her own stillness were a punishment. Roselle’s eyes tracked every flicker of Cain’s expression, measuring him, dissecting him, hungry for an answer beneath the one he’d already given.

Cain let them wait. Waiting was the battlefield.

When at last he moved, it was only to place his hand on the rough wooden table, the grain pressing into his palm. His fingers remained there, steady, anchoring him as his mind worked the patterns Hunter had revealed. Calculated movements. Silent alliances. Someone outside their circle weaving threads in the dark.

He hated half-formed pictures. Pieces without edges. Someone was out there, and that someone had already begun. Cain’s jaw tensed. Patience was strength, yes—but patience was also risk.

Finally, he broke the silence. "We start with shadows." His voice was quiet, but it filled the small chamber. "If they move unseen, then we watch unseen. No open defenses. No lines drawn in sand. Subtlety against subtlety. Precision against precision."

Hunter’s eyes glinted in the low light, approval hidden beneath the calm mask. "Then you agree. We cannot afford noise."

Cain nodded once. "Noise is death."

Susan exhaled sharply, almost a scoff. "So we just... sit here? Watch? Pretend nothing’s happening while some phantom plots in the dark?"

Cain turned to her, his expression unflinching. "Not pretend. Prepare. Every silence is a message, every absence a clue. They leave traces. They always leave traces."

Susan pressed her back harder against the wall, eyes narrowed. "It feels like surrender."

"Only if you mistake stillness for weakness," Cain said. He stepped toward her, voice steady but edged. "Swords rattle, fists swing, and the fool believes that’s strength. The wise man watches until he knows where to strike, and then—only then—does he move. And when he does, the fight is already over."

Her lips tightened, but she said nothing. Cain saw the fire in her eyes, the impatience coiled like a spring. He filed it away—useful energy when channeled, dangerous when not.

Roselle spoke then, softly, carefully, her gaze never leaving Cain. "And how long do we wait? A night? A week? Longer?"

"As long as it takes," Cain answered. "Patience has no measure. It is measured only by results."

The words settled like dust in the chamber, heavy and inevitable.

Outside, through the cracks in the stone, the faintest sounds of the city drifted in—the distant calls of night vendors, the shuffling of tired feet, the cry of some drunken soul too far gone to know his own danger. The City of Monsters never slept. It turned in its own rhythm, a living beast that demanded constant blood, constant vigilance.

Cain listened, hearing in those distant sounds the reminder that their little war was only a fragment of a greater struggle. Everyone here was hungry. Everyone here was watching. The difference was that Cain intended to outwait them all.

Hunter pushed off the wall, his voice even. "There’s more. These movements—they’re too exact, too practiced. Not the hand of a common thug or opportunist. This is someone who knows structure, someone who understands the balance of silence and action."

Cain’s eyes narrowed. "Which means they’ve survived here long enough to learn."

Hunter gave a slight nod. "Or they’ve survived somewhere worse."

Roselle shifted at that, unease flickering across her face. The idea of someone out there with knowledge greater than their own was a weight none of them wanted. Cain felt it too, but he locked it down, refusing to give the thought power. Fear was a tool—never a master.

He said only, "Then we treat them as equal until proven otherwise."

Susan let out another frustrated breath, but quieter this time. The fire was cooling into embers. Cain was satisfied with that.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The torch sputtered, a single bead of wax slipping down the iron sconce. The chamber smelled of damp stone, sweat, and faint iron. Cain stood in it all, steady, while his mind unraveled the strands.

A phantom building alliances. Quiet whispers in the council. Movements too calculated for chance. A game of shadows, and he was being invited into it whether he wished or not.

He thought of the city beyond the walls—the alleys twisting like veins, the towers blotting out the stars, the endless watchful eyes. Everything here was built on secrets. Every wall had ears, every door another passage, every face another mask. Whoever this phantom was, they understood that as well as he did.

And yet... there was always a mistake. Always. No shadow was perfect. No mask seamless. Cain only had to wait long enough for the crack to show.

Finally, Cain looked to his companions. "You’ll each play your part. Hunter, you continue your observations. Expand the circle, but don’t be seen doing it. If they suspect we’re aware, they’ll shift their pattern. We need consistency. Predictability. Only then can we see where the thread leads."

Hunter inclined his head. "Understood."

"Susan," Cain continued, "your frustration will serve you. People see you as restless, eager. Let them. It will draw eyes away from what matters. Stir noise where we want noise. Distract, but never cross the line."

Her brows furrowed, but then her lips curved in a sharp smile. "I can do that."

"Roselle," Cain said finally, his tone softer, "you watch the watchers. Measure not only our enemies, but our allies. If someone is shifting power in the council, then someone closer than we think may already be in play."

Roselle’s eyes lit with something sharper than approval—purpose. "I’ll see it done."

Cain nodded, the pieces aligning, however roughly. It wasn’t certainty. It was never certainty. But it was enough to begin.