CHAPTER 1032: BLOOD-STAINED STONES (5).

The figure vanished, folding back into the dark as if the night itself had swallowed him whole. One blink and he was gone, leaving only the whisper of his retreating steps echoing faintly before silence reclaimed the alley.

Cain stood motionless for a long breath, letting the cold creep into his bones. The air was dense here, pressed down by damp and shadows. He tasted iron faintly on his tongue—the city’s blood, seeping through its cracked veins.

Susan shifted first, restless as always. "You’re just going to let him walk away?" Her voice was sharp, bristling with the heat of someone who hated unanswered questions.

Cain didn’t look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the place where the phantom had stood, eyes narrowing slightly, as though he could still trace the ghost of that presence.

"He wanted us to follow," Cain said at last. "That path leads to a grave. Might be ours. Might be his. Not tonight."

Hunter’s low voice rolled out like a stone down a well. "So what now?"

Cain turned, slow and deliberate. "Now," he said, "we let him believe he succeeded."

Roselle’s brow furrowed. Her tone was careful—curious, not yet challenging. "In what?"

Cain’s lips curved—thin, humorless. "In planting doubt." He let his gaze sweep over them, taking in their silent questions like a man savoring the weight of a weapon in his palm. "The moment you start chasing shadows, you stop watching your own feet. That’s how you fall."

He didn’t wait for their replies. He moved, boots whispering against the wet stones, pulling them back toward the artery of the street. The city opened before them like a wound, bleeding noise now—clatter of hooves on distant cobbles, muted shouts where drink loosened tongues, laughter edged with something sharp enough to cut.

The City of Monsters never truly slept. It only crouched low, waiting.

Cain led them through a crooked maze of alleys, his pace measured, every step a calculation. He could feel the net tightening, invisible strands strung by unseen hands. The phantom wasn’t working alone. No one this disciplined ever worked alone. That meant more eyes. More ears.

Good. Let them listen. Let them think they understood.

A flicker of lamplight pooled at the corner ahead, painting the slick cobblestones with gold. Beyond it, the faint sprawl of the market square stretched like a corpse picked clean—stalls stripped bare, awnings sagging with rainwater, shadows crouched between warped beams.

Cain stopped just shy of the light. The others followed, instinct pulling them into his orbit.

"This isn’t random," Hunter murmured, scanning the empty stalls. His fingers brushed the hilt of his blade as though testing the edge. "Someone is feeding them our movements."

Cain’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Someone always is. Information flows like water—it only takes one crack for the flood to start."

Susan hissed softly, temper fraying. "Then let’s plug the crack before we drown."

Cain turned his head just enough for his eyes to catch hers. "Plugging a crack is useless if the whole wall is rotting."

Her jaw clenched, but she said nothing more. That was good. Words had weight, and wasted ones could bury you before the enemy ever did.

They crossed the square, boots stirring puddles that shivered like mirrors in the lamplight. The rain had scrubbed the city raw, leaving behind a smell Cain knew well—stone, smoke, and something deeper, something old. A predator’s breath lingering long after the body was gone.

As they slipped into another alley, narrower this time, Cain’s thoughts unraveled in silence.

The phantom wasn’t probing defenses. No. This was something else—a thread tugged to see which way the weave shifted. Which meant every move from here mattered. Every step could spell which of them lived to see another dawn.

He felt Susan behind him, still brimming with restless fire. Roselle—steady, coiled like a serpent that hadn’t yet decided whether to strike or wait. Hunter, quiet as bone dust, but Cain knew that mind was grinding like millstones, reducing every variable to powder.

Good. Let them think. Let them doubt. Doubt was a forge, and Cain had always known how to shape steel from weakness.

The headquarters loomed ahead at last, rising like a jagged tooth against the bruised sky. Fifteen stories of old-world arrogance, its bones half-eaten by time but still holding the weight of power. The sigil of the Golden Asura flickered faintly on the entrance—burnished metal dulled by years of grime.

Cain paused at the threshold, head tilting slightly as his senses stretched thin. No new scents. No tremor in the air. Whatever shadow had tailed them was gone—or clever enough to vanish where most men failed.

He pushed through the door, the others trailing in silence.

Inside, the hall breathed with heat and muted voices. A handful of guild members hunched over tables littered with maps and half-empty mugs, their murmurs slicing through the thick air like dull knives. Eyes turned as Cain entered, some bright with relief, others dark with questions they didn’t dare voice.

Cain didn’t slow. He cut through the room, up the spiral of iron stairs that wound toward the war chamber like a spine twisting into the building’s skull. The others followed without a word.

The chamber waited at the top—stone walls sweating faint damp, the long oak table scarred by years of plans carved into its flesh. Maps sprawled across it now, ink bleeding rivers and borders, the names of factions coiled like serpents across their domains.

Cain circled the table once, fingertips brushing the edges of parchment as if feeling for something hidden beneath the skin. Then he stopped, hands braced on the wood, head bowed for a heartbeat that stretched just shy of breaking.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet. A blade laid flat.

"They know."

Hunter didn’t flinch. "How much?"

"Enough to be dangerous." Cain lifted his head, eyes dark, hard. "Not enough to kill us."

Susan let out a breath that was almost a laugh, sharp and bitter. "Comforting."

Roselle’s gaze cut across the table like a thrown dagger. "What’s the play?"