Kaelen's pov
The abandoned building stood behind the broken the city's edge had seen better days. Broken windows, crumbling walls, floors stained with years of spilled ale and neglect. But tonight it was alive with energy, packed with people who had nowhere else to celebrate victories they couldn't claim openly.
The Rendered. And their growing network of supporters.
I stood near the back, mask still in place though I'd pushed it up onto my forehead, watching the crowd. Fifty, maybe sixty people filled the space. Not all of them were members, some were dock workers who'd helped spread rumors, merchants who'd looked the other way during our attacks, street runners who'd carried messages.
People who'd suffered under the crown's rule and wanted to see it bleed.
The mood was jubilant. Reckless. Dangerous.
Marcus was holding court near the center, recounting the warehouse attack to a captive audience. His voice carried over the din.
