Seris did not sleep.
She lay awake long after the city settled, listening to the soft sounds of people pretending tomorrow would be normal. When dawn finally came, it found her already dressed, hair tied back, expression set into the calm focus she used to wear like armor.
"They're not going to stop," she said.
Aiden looked up from where he sat, half-asleep and nursing a cup of something that only vaguely qualified as tea. "I was hoping you'd say something else."
"I know," she replied gently. "But hoping doesn't slow people like Varros."
Liora leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "So what do we do?"
Seris didn't answer immediately. She picked up a folded sheet of paper from the table—old reports, copied by hand, ink faded but legible. Names. Dates. Approvals that never should have been granted.
"We remind them," Seris said, "that secrets rot fastest when exposed to light."
Aiden frowned. "You're going to leak things."
"I'm going to place things," she corrected. "Carefully. To people who already suspect something's wrong but are afraid to say it first."
She met Aiden's eyes. "This will make things worse before they get better."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Then we do it together."
Seris smiled faintly. "No. This part is mine."
She left before he could argue.
---
By midday, rumors had teeth.
Not accusations—questions.
Why had certain church funds vanished years ago?
Why had specific Mage Guild audits been quietly buried?
Why had multiple officials signed off on emergency measures that benefited the same private interests?
No single story was damning.
Together, they were inconvenient.
Enough to make people nervous.
Enough to make people start looking at each other instead of outward.
Enough to make Varros smile.
---
Varros stood before a different painting now.
This one unfinished.
He watched as a servant delivered the morning's correspondence, skimming it with amused interest.
"Oh," he murmured. "She's clever."
He chuckled softly. "I do enjoy it when prey bites back."
He turned as another guest entered—this one pale, sweating, important enough to warrant fear but not important enough to matter.
"My lord," the man stammered, "there's… concern. Certain documents are circulating. Names are being whispered."
Varros waved a hand. "Yes, yes. I'm aware. Quite untidy."
"Should we suppress it?"
Varros tilted his head. "Why would we do that?"
The man froze.
"You see," Varros continued pleasantly, "when people panic, they reveal priorities. Alliances. Desperation."
He stepped closer, voice dropping. "And those who rush to silence the noise make themselves very visible."
He smiled. "Which is helpful."
The man swallowed. "And Seris Valen?"
Varros' eyes gleamed. "Let her run. Every move she makes lights another candle. And candles, my dear fellow, cast shadows."
He gestured toward the window. "Now, about Councilor Brenn—did you know he's been quietly courting guild support behind my back?"
The man stiffened. "I… no."
Varros sighed. "Such a shame. I was almost fond of him."
---
Councilor Brenn was arrested that evening.
Not publicly.
Not dramatically.
An accounting discrepancy. A forged signature. A witness who suddenly remembered something important.
By nightfall, his office was sealed and his allies silent.
By morning, his name was already being spoken in the past tense.
Varros raised a glass to the city skyline.
"One less rival," he said softly. "And not a drop of blood on my hands."
---
Seris felt it like a punch to the gut.
"Someone fell," she said quietly as she returned. "Fast. Clean."
Inkaris looked at her from where he stood, expression unreadable. "Not because of you."
"I know," she replied. "But because of this."
She gestured vaguely—to the city, the tension, the invisible war tightening around them.
Aiden frowned. "You expected pushback, not… this."
"I expected resistance," Seris said. "Not acceleration."
Liora's voice was small. "You shook the nest."
Seris nodded. "And something bigger moved."
She exhaled slowly. "Varros is clearing the board."
---
That night, Caelum watched from above, wings hidden, presence barely brushing the world.
"Oh, this is delightful," he murmured. "She plays like a mortal who thinks truth is a weapon."
His gaze slid toward Varros' district.
"And he plays like someone who knows weapons aren't necessary."
Caelum smiled faintly.
"Let's see which philosophy survives."
---
Seris stood at the window long after the others slept.
She had wanted justice.
What she had started was war.
And somewhere in the city, Varros was already planning the next move—using her courage, her integrity, and her refusal to stay silent as the very tools that would draw out every remaining rival.
The knife was out.
Wrapped in paper.
Smiling.
---
End of Chapter 90