Page 54 of Nocturne

Axel clears his throat, his face twisted in barely concealed anger. There’s something new in his expression, though—a tension I haven’t seen in him before. It piques my curiosity, and even Iblis shifts uncomfortably beside me.

“It’s Cruxis,” Axel says through gritted teeth.

I suppress the flicker of interest that surges through me.

The memory of Cruxis lingers like an old scar. Everyone here knows what the name signifies: death, stealth, and an absurd level of skill. The kinds of people you call when all other options have failed. I remember my own short-lived intent to join them.

They were and still are a legend, practically untouchable. And I liked that. But then came Crescenzo bastards, dragging me in the opposite direction. It feels like another lifetime now. These days, I don’t need Cruxis. That door closed the second I committed to the Dark Accord.

No regrets. Cruxis now sits on the other side of my ambitions—a shadow I no longer need or want.

The fuckers keep a low profile, but whenever they show up, they leave bodies. Not just any bodies—targets that someone’s beenwilling to pay a hell of a lot to see dead. As far as I know, they have no allegiances, no visible ties to anything or anyone. Like phantoms, the Cruxis assassins appear, fulfil their contracts, and fade away without a trace.

“What about them?” Amon’s voice is wary, his gaze sharpening.

Axel’s eyes shift, his anger intensifying. “They killed my uncle.”

For once, I have to respect the quiet rage settling over Axel. Whatever else he is, he’s always taken family seriously, even if that family’s long been fractured and full of resentment. But to mess with a Morvain family member? Cruxis doesn’t usually play in our territory. They’re damn expensive, and I’ve always assumed they don’t cross us unless absolutely necessary.

I ask the question anyway. “Why?”

Axel’s response is reluctant. “Fuck if I know.”

Charon leans forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I received an encrypted email today.”

Amon raises a brow. “What?”

Charon straightens his suit and flicks a glance at the rest of us. “I held off mentioning it until we were all here. It appears to be from Cruxis’s in-charge.”

Axel’s face twitches, though he keeps his temper under control. Barely.

“Go on,” he snaps.

Charon gives a nod. “It’s best I forward the email to each of you.”

A moment later, my computer chimes with the new email. I open it, seeing the Cruxis emblem—the scorpion’s tail stabbing into itsown head. Dark, twisted, just like I expected. My eyes skim over the message, taking in each line with growing annoyance.

To the Brothers of the Alliance,

In the aftermath of your recent loss, we offer our condolences, though we regret the circumstances that necessitate this message. The death of Lev Morvain has undoubtedly stirred the waters, and clarity must be brought to the situation.

It has come to our attention that Cruxis has been implicated in this affair. There is truth to your suspicions, though not in the way you might believe. Two of our own have severed ties and pursued their own interests. Cruxis, as an organization, does not operate on individual whims, nor do we sanction rogue actions. Let it be understood: the assassination of Lev Morvain was not the will of Cruxis.

In light of this, we extend a word of caution. The individuals responsible are among the most formidable in our ranks. Engaging them will require more than mere skill; it will demand precision, patience, and wisdom. Their motives remain unknown to us, and we will not involve ourselves in their hunt.

This is as much as we can offer. Proceed carefully.

A spike of fury hits as I finish reading. Typical Cruxis—washing their hands clean. They don’t give a damn who they’re selling this to or what damage they cause. They claim neutrality, but they’re cowards hiding behind encrypted messages, letting rogues run wild in our cities.

“Despite one of them screwing us over, they offer no real help,” Axel hisses, his eyes blazing.

“They weren’t offering assistance. This is diplomacy, meant to keep them safe from our retaliation.” Amon cuts in, his voice cool and measured.

“Why would they risk our wrath and let go of the only safe they have?” Iblis mutters, more to himself than anyone else talking about the rouge assassins.

Charon tilts his head. “They’re looking for something. Something important enough to risk our attention.”

“If Cruxis warns us to back off, then we’re looking at highly trained bastards who aren’t going to be easy to catch,” Amon shakes his head.

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