Mist curled through the smuggler tunnels like spectral snakes as Lina and Ronan led their strike team beneath the capital's outer wall. Snow-damp stone dripped overhead; the air tasted of damp earth and rebellion. A flicker of torchlight revealed the tunnel's exit—an ancient sally port half-buried in snow. Beyond it rose the citadel's outer ramparts, guards' lanterns blinking like watchful eyes.
Ronan pressed a gloved finger to his lips. “Quiet now," he whispered. Beside him, Bram bowed his head and opened the trapdoor. Lina crept forward, dagger at the ready, her silence as sharp as any blade. Seris waited behind the others, clutching a map of underground reliquaries sketched in starlight ink.
They spilled into the courtyard of the outer wall, where two startled guards froze at the sudd
