Frozen in Time

Terms of Freedom

Once I exited the bar, I circled around the building’s shadowed edge, slipping into the silence of the trees. The voices and heat of the tavern dulled behind me as I moved. I paused only when I was certain no one was watching. A quick scan of the area confirmed I was alone.

Reaching into my cloak, I pulled out the mooncake and cracked it open. Goo oozed between my fingers, and nestled in the center of the sticky white was a small iron key. Its handle was carved in the shape of a raven with its wings tucked, proud and watchful. The opposite end was a delicate hollow feather, masterfully crafted. The signature mark of the Order.

I slipped the key into my pocket and ate the rest of the cake quickly, forcing down the cold, too-sweet lump as I made my way into the thicket. Trees thickened around me, branches interweaving like fingers trying to trap intruders. But I knew this path well. I twisted and ducked under low boughs, following instinct more than memory.

Minutes later, I arrived at a moss-covered boulder hidden among the trees. It bore the faint impression of a crescent moon etched into its face—a symbol invisible to most, unless you knew to look for it. My fingers brushed against a crack in the rock, just wide enough to slip the feathered key inside.

One last glance over my shoulder. The forest was still, silent.

I slid the key into place.

A low hum began to rise from beneath the stone, vibrating through the soles of my boots. A fine mist poured from the edges of the boulder, swallowing me in a thick veil of lavender-scented fog. The world vanished.

For a moment, I felt suspended—weightless, lost between two places.

Then I blinked, and the fog cleared.

I stood inside a hidden chamber lit by the warm glow of lanterns and the dusty scent of aged parchment. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, stuffed with scrolls, ledgers, and ink-stained maps. In the center of the room sat a long table piled with papers and inkwells. A single wooden chair faced the entrance.

A familiar voice called from deeper within. “Well, well, well… Look what the wind dragged back.”

I grinned despite myself. “Hey, Andrea.”

She stepped into view, arms crossed. Andrea hadn’t changed a bit—short and powerful, with curves wrapped in dark fabric that shimmered faintly when she moved. Her hair, a mass of wild curls the color of a raven's feather, cascaded down her shoulders like a silken waterfall. She looked like a goddess sculpted from midnight and charm, and she knew it.

“I don’t know whether to banish you to the Underrealm,” she scowled, “slap some gods-damned sense into you, or crush you in a bear hug until you can’t breathe.”

I lowered my eyes, ashamed. It had been years. I never said goodbye. Never sent word. Just vanished after Jonathan’s death.

Before she could choose any of those punishments, I closed the distance and threw my arms around her.

Andrea stiffened, startled—but only for a moment. Her arms wrapped tightly around me, and I felt her breathe in deeply against my shoulder. Lilacs and warmth—that was her scent. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it until now.

Silent tears crept down my cheeks. I didn’t even notice them until I felt the wetness on her collar. She was crying too.

After a long moment, she pulled back and cupped my face gently. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? You just… disappeared.”

She wiped at my tears, her touch soft. Then, with a flick of her wrist, an unseen force shoved me backward into the wooden chair at the table.

Andrea planted her hands on her hips, towering over me like a mother hen scolding her reckless chick.

“You should be ashamed,” she hissed. “We searched everywhere. You know how dangerous it is out there alone, especially for someone like you! No note. No contact. Nothing! Jonathan would’ve—” Her voice cracked. “He would’ve been disappointed.”

That one landed deep. I stayed quiet, letting her storm rage through me. She had every right.

Jonathan was everything to us. Our mentor. Our protector. Our family.

I looked up and met her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Andrea stared at me for a moment, her lips pressed thin. “I’m sorry?!” she echoed, incredulous. “That’s all you have to say?”

I reached out and gripped her shoulders before she could launch another barrage. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I’m here now because I need something. A contract. A high-value one.”

Her gaze hardened. “That’s why you came back?”

“Yes.”

Andrea narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want a high-tier contract, Val?”

I didn’t bother lying. Not to her.

“I want out. I want freedom. I’m tired of all of this—blood, violence, shadows. I want a life that’s mine.”

That surprised her less than I expected. But what she said next nearly knocked me out of the chair.

“Then you’re taking me with you.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I… I can’t,” I stammered. “Your place is here.”

“No, sweetheart. My place is with you.” Her voice softened, but her eyes glinted with iron resolve. “If you’re leaving this gods-cursed world behind, I’m going with you. Don’t make me cast a binding curse. You’ll be stuck in this place forever.”

Gods damn this woman. She wasn’t bluffing either. Andrea had enough magical talent to ruin anyone’s life six different ways with a flick of her wrist.

“Fine,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

She beamed like a sunbeam after rain. “Good.”

She turned on her heel and marched to the other end of the room, shuffling through papers stacked on the desk.

“These came in yesterday,” she said, handing me a handful of contracts. “Nothing flashy, but enough to keep the lights on.”

I thumbed through them, unimpressed. One-man jobs, maybe two. Nothing remotely worthy of five million gold.

“Got anything… bigger?”

Andrea paused, then grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

She rifled through another stack, muttering to herself before letting out a triumphant “Ah!” and slapping a scroll on the table.

“This,” she said, “is our ticket out.”

The contract was simple. Too simple.

Anonymous Contract

Target: Lord Duncan of Bramble

Objective: Cease to exist.

Reward: 5,000,000 gold pieces.

Notes: Will be passing through the village of Crims.

Contact a household representative upon completion.

I stared at it, rereading the lines three times to be sure I wasn’t imagining the number. Five million.

No background. No instructions. No method specified. Just a name and a destination.

“This… is it,” I breathed. “This is the one.”

Andrea nodded slowly. “I figured you'd say that.”

High-reward contracts usually came from powerful enemies and came with strings. This one had none. That worried me.

“Andrea… This is too clean. No backstory? No stipulations?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes they want it clean and fast. No questions. No names.”

I traced the elegant lettering on the parchment. Five million gold. That would buy a ship, a home, safety, anonymity. Freedom.

But nothing that valuable comes without blood.

“I’ll need a team,” I said finally. “Lord Duncan will be heavily guarded.”

Andrea grinned. “Already thought of that. I’ve got a few names in mind.”

“Let’s make this clean,” I muttered, rolling the contract up and tucking it into my coat. “No mistakes.”

She raised her brow. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

I met her gaze. “No. But we’re doing it anyway.”

Andrea smiled—soft and sad. “Then let’s go write our ending.”