The subterranean reservoir beneath the high tower of Ironclad Citadel smelled of old copper, stagnant water, and ancient, freezing stone.
Thirty feet above the flooded stone basin, a single, narrow arched walkway of black granite spanned the cavernous gloom. torchlight from two iron sconces flickered against the damp walls, casting long, frantic shadows across the water below.
The air was so cold that every breath was a visible plume of white mist.
Silas, chief enforcer of Crescent Moon, paused in the center of the granite bridge. His dark leather mask was pulled down beneath his chin, revealing a jagged, pale scar that ran from his ear to his jaw. Behind him, eleven shadow-guards moved in tight, silent single file, their short-blades drawn and coated in non-reflective grease.
"We are
