Page 3 of Savage Crown

She’s bold. Too bold for a human. That makes her either incredibly valuable or incredibly dangerous.

I close the door behind her with a quiet click, sealing us in. The Midnight Den is silent, save for the faint crackle of the torches lining the stone walls. The air is overflowing with ink, parchment, and the faint, metallic bite of steel hidden in the shadows.

I don’t speak. Not yet.

Instead, silence reigns, stretching like a blade waiting to be unsheathed.

She’s the first to break it. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”

I step closer, slow and deliberate. The flickering light casts long shadows over my skin, turning me into something more monster than man. Her fingers move a fraction at her side. Not a flinch—a tell. A fighter’s instinct bracing for the moment I strike.

Interesting.

“You reek of desperation, little human,” I murmur. “I don’t need to ask why you’re here. The real question is why I shouldn’t toss you back to the wolves you ran from.”

Her eyes flash—a dangerous, reckless light sparking in those sapphire depths. “I have something you want.”

I arch a brow. “Do you?”

She lifts the satchel, tilting it just enough for the moonlight filtering through the cracks in the ceiling to graze the parchment inside. It’s old. Fragile. And unmistakably stolen.

I don’t reach for it. Not yet. Instead, I step closer, drinking her in. She smells like sweat, blood, and the filth of the slums, but underneath it—fear. Not of me, though. No, her fear is sharper, honed by something worse than the unknown.

She isn’t afraid of the dark.

She’s afraid of what’s chasing her through it.

“You bled to get this,” I say, voice low, watching the way her pulse thrums at her throat. “Who did you steal it from?”

Her jaw tightens. “Does it matter?”

My lips curl. “It does if I don’t feel like dying over it.”

“Then I guess you’d better hear me out.” She sways, just slightly and I see the way her body is failing her. She’s run herself to the edge, and now she’s standing on the precipice, held together only by sheer will.

She’s close enough now that I can see every fleck of silver in her irises, the way the torchlight carves hollows into her sharp, defiant features. She’s small, thin from years of hardship, but there’s a fire inside her that hasn’t been snuffed out yet.

A shame. I’ve seen men and women with less spirit broken beyond recognition. I wonder what’s kept her intact.

I step around her, circling like a predator. Let her feel the meaning of my silence. Let her stew in it.

“You came to me for a reason,” I murmur, voice silken with quiet amusement. “You must know what I do.”

She watches me warily. “You buy and sell secrets.”

I smile. “Secrets. Lies. Lives, if the price is right.” I tilt my head. “And what are you offering me, exactly?”

She exhales sharply, shoulders stiff. “Information. A trade.”

My amusement deepens. “You’re in no position to negotiate, little thief. You don’t even have a blade.”

Her chin lifts, defiance warring with exhaustion. “I don’t need one.”

My smirk lingers, but I don’t push. Not yet. I let the silence weigh between us again, watching the tension coil in her frame, the way her fingers tighten around the satchel like it’s the only thing keeping her alive.

I could take it from her. Could snap my fingers and have her pinned against the wall, defenseless, bleeding out before she could even scream. She knows it too.

And yet, she doesn’t cower.

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