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The door opened three minutes after Ella left.
Mark was still standing by the overturned cup. Tea soaking into the rug. His heart hammering like he'd just run a mile, which at forty-one and with his knee, would've killed him faster than the poison.
The man who stepped in didn't knock.
Tall. Maybe six-two. Leather coat worn enough to move quiet, boots that had seen mud and worse. Dark hair pulled back. Scar cutting through his left eyebrow. He looked at Mark the way you'd look at a stain you had to scrub out before anyone noticed.
Mark's mouth went dry.
The man's hand rested on the pommel of a short sword. Not holding it. Just... resting. The kind of guy who didn't need to draw to make a point.
"You're still awake," the man said. His voice was flat. Tired.
Mark didn't move. Didn't trust his voice yet.
The man's eyes flicked to the cup. The wet rug. Back to Mark.
"She told them you drank it."
Mark swallowed. "Yeah."
"You didn't."
"No."
Silence.
The man stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Locked it. The click was too loud.
Mark's brain was screaming at him to do something. Run. Fight. Beg. Except running meant a sword in the back, fighting meant dying faster, and begging never worked on guys who looked like this.
The man walked closer. Slow. Taking in the room. The toppled chair. The spilled tea. Mark's face.
"My name is Veran Dusk," the man said. "I'm here to make sure the summoning mistake gets corrected."
Mark's stomach dropped.
Veran stopped six feet away. Close enough that Mark could see the faint lines around his eyes. The kind you got from squinting into too many bad situations.
"You speak the language," Veran said. Not a question.
Mark's throat closed up.
Veran's expression didn't change. "The girl didn't notice. She's new. But you answered her in court speech. Proper syntax. No accent."
Shit.
Mark hadn't even realized. He'd been so focused on not dying that he'd forgotten to play dumb.
Veran tilted his head. "That's not normal for a summoning. Even the heroes take weeks to learn."
"I'm a fast learner," Mark said. His voice came out hoarse.
Veran's eyes narrowed. "You understood everything. From the beginning."
Mark didn't answer.
"The high priestess. The mage. What they said about you."
"Yeah."
Veran exhaled through his nose. He looked at the cup again. Then back at Mark.
"You're not supposed to be here," Veran said.
"Trust me, I didn't ask for this."
"The prophecy called for an eighteen-year-old. Pure-hearted. Chosen by the gods." Veran's mouth twisted. "You're forty-one. Divorced twice. Knee surgery last year. You got summoned in the middle of signing paperwork."
Mark stared at him. "How the hell do you know that?"
"Because the mage wouldn't shut up about it. He thinks it's hilarious. A bureaucratic fuck-up on a divine scale." Veran's hand shifted on the sword. "Except it's not a fuck-up. Someone changed the summoning circle."
Mark's pulse spiked. "Ella told you."
"No." Veran's eyes were cold. "I was there when they drew it. I watched the royal mage add four extra runes. He said it was a stability enhancement. I didn't question it."
Mark's mind raced. "You knew."
"I knew something was off. I didn't know what." Veran stepped closer. "Fifty-one runes instead of forty-seven. That's not an enhancement. That's a retargeting."
"So someone wanted me here."
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Veran's jaw tightened. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. Before I finish the job."
Mark's blood turned to ice. "The job."
"You're a liability," Veran said. "The prophecy failed. The church wants a do-over. That means you need to be gone."
"And you're the guy they sent."
"I'm the guy they always send."
Mark's hands clenched. He wanted to throw a punch. He wanted to scream. He wanted to wake up in his shitty apartment and realize this was all some kind of stress dream.
But Veran wasn't moving. He was just standing there. Watching.
"Why haven't you done it yet?" Mark asked.
Veran was quiet for a long moment.
"Because you weren't supposed to know," he said finally. "The poison was supposed to look like summoning sickness. Natural causes. No mess."
"But I didn't drink it."
"No. And now the girl's involved. She lied to cover for you. That makes her a problem too."
Mark's chest tightened. "She's a kid."
"She's a priestess. She took an oath."
"She saved my life."
"That's why she's a problem."
Veran's hand moved. Not to draw. Just adjusting his grip.
Mark took a step back. His bad knee almost buckled.
Veran noticed. His eyes flicked down. Then back up.
"You can't run," Veran said.
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good. Because I need answers before anyone else gets stupid ideas."
Mark blinked. "What?"
Veran moved fast. He grabbed Mark's arm and shoved him toward the window. Mark stumbled, caught himself on the sill.
"Look," Veran said.
Mark looked.
Outside, in the courtyard below, two figures stood in the pre-dawn gray. One was the royal mage. Tall, silver-haired, robes that probably cost more than Mark's car. The other was a woman in black and white. High priestess Kallia.
They were arguing.
Mark couldn't hear the words, but the body language was clear. The mage was gesturing sharply. Kallia's arms were crossed. Her face was stone.
The mage said something. Kallia shook her head.
The mage stepped closer. His hand glowed faintly.
Kallia didn't flinch.
After a moment, the mage turned and walked away. Kallia stayed where she was, staring after him.
"They're not on the same page," Veran said quietly.
Mark's brain was spinning. "About me."
"About everything. The summoning. The prophecy. You." Veran let go of Mark's arm. "Someone modified the circle to bring you here. The mage says it was a mistake. Kallia says it's divine will gone wrong. But neither of them is telling the truth."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've killed enough liars to recognize the smell."
Mark turned to face him. "So what now? You kill me anyway and hope it sorts itself out?"
Veran stared at him. His face was unreadable.
"I haven't decided yet," he said.
A soft knock at the door.
Both of them froze.
The knock came again. Hesitant.
"Mark?" Ella's voice. Quiet. Scared.
Veran's hand went to his sword.
Mark's heart slammed against his ribs. "Don't."
"She's a witness," Veran said.
"She's a kid who made one bad call."
"That's all it takes."
The door handle turned. Locked.
"Mark, are you okay?" Ella's voice was louder now. Shaking.
Veran looked at Mark. His expression was flat. Empty.
"Last chance," Veran said. "You tell me why someone wanted you here. Right now. Or I open that door and finish both jobs."
Mark's mind raced. He didn't know. He didn't have an answer. He was just a guy who wrote code and paid alimony and lived in a one-bedroom with a broken AC.
But Veran was waiting.
And Ella was on the other side of the door.
Mark took a breath. "I don't know why they wanted me. But I know who might."
Veran's eyes narrowed. "Who."
"Whoever changed the circle didn't do it for fun. They needed something I have. Something an eighteen-year-old hero wouldn't."
"Like what?"
Mark's mouth was dry. He was guessing. Bluffing. Buying time.
"Experience," he said. "I've been fired three times. Divorced twice. I know what it's like when people smile and plan to screw you over. I know how to spot a rigged game." He met Veran's eyes. "And I know you're not going to kill me. Because you want to know who set this up just as bad as I do."
Silence.
Veran's hand stayed on the sword.
Then, slowly, he let go.
"You've got two days," Veran said. "Find me something useful. A name. A reason. Anything." He stepped toward the door. "If you don't, I'll finish the job. And the girl goes too."
He unlocked the door and opened it.
Ella stood in the hallway, pale, eyes wide. She looked at Veran. Then at Mark.
"He's fine," Veran said. "For now."
He walked past her without another word.
Ella stepped inside. Her hands were shaking.
"What did he say?" she whispered.
Mark leaned against the wall. His knee was killing him. His heart was still racing.
"He said we have two days to figure out who wants me alive," Mark said.
Ella's face went white. "And if we don't?"
Mark looked at her. At the kid who'd saved his life with a lie she didn't have to tell.
"Then he kills us both," Mark said.
Footsteps echoed in the hall outside. Fast. Multiple people.
Ella's head snapped toward the door. "That's the morning guard change."
Mark straightened. "So?"
"So they'll check the room. They'll see the cup. The spill." Her voice was rising. "If they report it, Kallia will know the poison didn't work."
Mark swore under his breath.
The footsteps were getting closer.
Ella looked at him. Her eyes were terrified. But her jaw was set.
"We need to run," she said.
"Where?"
"I don't know. But if we stay here, we're dead by noon."
The footsteps stopped outside the door.
A voice called out. "Apprentice Faran. Report."
Ella's breath caught.
Mark grabbed her arm. "You lied once. Can you do it again?"
She stared at him.
The door handle started to turn.
Ella pulled free, stepped to the door, and opened it before the guard could.
Two men in temple armor. Swords at their hips. One of them older, graying beard. The other young, barely twenty.
The older one looked past Ella at Mark. Then at the overturned cup.
"What happened here?" the guard asked.
Ella's voice didn't shake. "The summoned one had a reaction to the tea. Nausea. I've been monitoring him."
The guard's eyes narrowed. "He's still alive."
"Yes."
"High Priestess Kallia said he'd be—" The guard stopped. Glanced at his partner. "She said he'd be resting."
"He is," Ella said. "Just not peacefully."
The older guard stepped inside. He looked at Mark. "You. Sit."
Mark sat on the bed. His knee screamed.
The guard picked up the cup. Sniffed it. His face went still.
He looked at Ella. "This was blessed tea."
"Yes," Ella said.
"From the high priestess."
"Yes."
The guard set the cup down. His hand moved to his sword.
"And he's still breathing," the guard said slowly.
Ella didn't move. "Divine mercy."
The guard stared at her.
Then he turned to his partner. "Get the captain. Now."
The younger guard ran.
The older one looked at Ella. Then at Mark.
"Neither of you leaves this room," he said.
He stepped outside and closed the door.
The lock clicked.
Mark and Ella stood frozen.
"That's bad," Mark said.
"That's worse than bad," Ella whispered. "They're going to tell Kallia. And when she finds out you're alive—"
A new sound. Footsteps. Running.
Mark's stomach dropped.
Ella grabbed his arm. "The window."
"We're on the third floor."
"There's a ledge. It leads to the east tower."
"I'm forty-one with a bad knee."
"Then you better not fall."
The footsteps were right outside.
Ella shoved the window open.
Cold air rushed in.
Mark looked down. Three stories. Stone courtyard. No bushes.
"I'm going to die," he said.
"Not if you move," Ella snapped.
The door burst open.
Four guards. The captain at the front. Sword already drawn.
"Stop," the captain barked.
Ella climbed onto the sill.
Mark followed. His knee almost gave out.
The captain lunged forward.
Ella jumped.
Mark didn't think. He just went.
Wind. Cold. His stomach in his throat.
He hit the ledge hard. His knee buckled. Pain shot up his leg.
Ella grabbed his arm and hauled him forward.
"Move," she hissed.
Behind them, the captain was shouting. Leaning out the window.
Mark limped along the ledge. Six inches wide. Crumbling stone. Nothing to hold onto.
Don't look down.
He looked down.
Big mistake.
Ella pulled him around a corner. Another window. Smaller. Dark inside.
She pried it open and climbed through.
Mark followed. His knee gave out halfway and he crashed onto a stone floor.
Ella slammed the window shut.
They were in a storage room. Dusty. Shelves of old books and candles.
Mark lay on the floor, gasping.
Ella crouched beside him. Her face was pale. Her hands were shaking.
"We just ran from the temple guard," she whispered.
"Yeah," Mark panted.
"They're going to kill us."
"Yeah."
"What do we do?"
Mark closed his eyes. His knee was on fire. His heart was trying to break out of his chest.
Two days. Veran had given him two days.
But the temple guard wasn't going to wait that long.
He opened his eyes and looked at Ella.
"We find out who changed the summoning circle," he said. "And we do it before anyone else finds us."
Ella stared at him. "How?"
Mark pushed himself up. His knee screamed. He ignored it.
"You said your mother was executed," he said. "For heresy."
Ella's face went white. "Yes."
"What was the charge?"
Ella's voice was barely a whisper. "Altering divine scripture."
Mark's blood ran cold.
"The summoning circle is scripture," he said.
Ella nodded slowly. "Yes."
"So if someone modified it—"
"They committed the same crime my mother died for."
Silence.
Mark looked at her. At the kid who'd just jumped off a ledge to save a middle-aged stranger.
"Then we find out who framed your mother," Mark said. "Because I'm betting it's the same person who brought me here."
Footsteps. Distant. Getting closer.
Ella grabbed his arm. "We have to move."
Mark nodded.
They slipped out of the storage room into a narrow hallway.
Behind them, voices echoed.
"Find them. Both of them."
Mark's pulse hammered.
Two days.
He had two days to solve a three-year-old murder and figure out why someone wanted a washed-up coder in a world that wanted him dead.
No pressure.