Chapter 285: Allison Declares War
byThe crystalline chime of glass rang softly through the hall. Mason swirled the amber drink in his glass, watching it catch and fracture the chandelier light above. Around him, the city’s power players clustered in small groups, trading rehearsed smiles and empty chatter. The clash between the room’s luxury and the silent weight of his mission almost made him forget where he really was.
People had adapted to this new reality as if it were the most natural thing in the world. They spoke about the future without a shred of urgency, their hopes and fears dulled by the routine of this crumbling world. It was a banquet of false comforts, each laugh another layer of disguise over a society one step from collapse.
Across from him, a young woman was in the middle of a story, her hands sketching the scene with exaggerated gestures.
“So there’s this guy,” she said, “an idiot who walks into the inn and claims he’s not talking to me but to the plant on the counter.”
Mason lifted an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Your name’s Layla, right?”
“That’s right.” She gave him a graceful nod.
From the far side of the hall, Mason caught sight of a cluster around Bartholomew, Allison, and Oswald. The trio drew whispers and glances like magnets, radiating authority. Even the soldiers who had been invited stood as background actors in this political stage play. Among them, Mason spotted Kruger’s assassins, dressed as distinguished guests, laughing and drinking like anyone else. The sight sent a chill down his spine. Evangeline flickered in his thoughts.
If she were here, one slip into shadow could get her caught instantly.
But the real problem was getting Luke back into the hall. For the hundredth time Mason wished he had a tracking skill.
If only I could tag that guy and see him coming through the walls. But skills like that belonged to rare, privileged classes, and he wasn’t one of them.
The risk was huge. At any moment Bartholomew might ask after Lucy, Mason’s supposed girlfriend, and suspicion would bloom. Luckily Allison was a black hole of attention, every smile from her bending the room’s focus like tides drawn by the moon.
There were only two ways Lucy could return to the party. Stroll through the main corridor, feigning drunkenness to get past the guards, far too risky. Or wait for Mason and Allison to engineer a distraction, giving her a chance to slip under the sealed door in mist form. Either way was dangerous.
Layla’s voice broke through his thoughts with a revelation. “Can you believe I found out that guy was a criminal?”
“That must’ve been tough,” Mason said, raising his glass. He barely processed her words.
“It was that Luke.”
Mason choked and coughed into his drink, recovering with a tight, awkward smile. “Small world, huh?”
“Yes. That scumbag ruined us,” Layla said, bitterness dripping from every word. “Because of him my father and I were arrested. We almost lost our inn.”
Mason tilted his head, trying to mask his tension. “That’s… awful.”
“I hate scumbags!” she snapped. The women around her nodded in fervent agreement.
“He complimented my hair and gave me a necklace,” one of them said.
“Me too. Total scumbag,” another chimed in.
Mason widened his eyes, feigning surprise. “You all know Luke?”
“Yes!” they chorused.
“I got demoted because of him!” a third complained. “I was this close to getting clearance for internal patrol duty!”
Mason drew a steady breath, letting the moment stretch. “Truly a terrible man. Ladies, if you ever need someone to teach him a lesson, you know where to find me.”
As their glasses clinked together, something shifted at the edge of his vision. A slip of white paper slid soundlessly under the sealed double doors and into the hall. Luke. The signal.
Keeping his expression perfectly neutral, Mason shifted his foot over the paper. The women kept chatting, oblivious. With a discreet flick of his system menu, he removed his shoe, touched the paper with his toe, and sent a flicker of heat into it, just enough to burn one edge. Then the shoe reappeared as though nothing had happened. The paper drifted back under the door. Two minutes. That was the plan.
“Ladies,” Mason said with a polite smile, “I need to speak with Lady Rhiannon for a moment. I’ll be right back.”
He slipped away from the little circle, inhaling the heavy scent of flowers and the faint metallic tang of wine that clung to the hall. Each step toward the center felt rehearsed, calculated, every movement practiced so no one would suspect anything, at least not yet. He would only get one chance.
As he crossed the floor, his gaze scanned the room with precision. Soldiers pretending to be at ease, Kruger’s assassins scattered like chess pieces, eyes following every gesture. Bartholomew sat with Allison and Oswald, ringed by protectors. That was the focal point. That was where the break had to happen.
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Mason raised his hand slowly. Mana flared under his skin like molten copper until a small sphere of fire coalesced above his palm, casting his features in an otherworldly glow. He arced it upward. The orb burst just beneath the main chandelier, not lethal but bright enough to blind, a miniature sun blooming overhead.
A stunned silence fell. Steel hissed from sheaths. Hands tightened on weapons.
“What do you think you’re doing?” a soldier barked.
“Explain yourself!” snapped another.
Mason held his ground, arm raised, hand still wrapped in fire like a herald of war.




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