Page 21 of Until the Ink runs Crimson

Because even in my terror, even in this swirling chaos of fear and adrenaline… I realize that I have leverage.

And leverage means power.

It’s selfish. It’s dangerous. But I was raised in this world too, and I know how it works. Information is currency. Secrets are weapons. And right now, I’m holding one of the deadliest ones this empire’s seen in years.

I pace the room, barefoot, trying to stop shaking. My mind races, assessing, weighing risks. Use it. Be smart. Own this moment—not as a victim, but as a queen.

I know I can’t keep this to myself forever. But timing… timing is everything.

And this secret could change everything.

I move to the window, watching the sky shift from black to smoky gray. Dawn creeping in, gradual and soft. Somewhere below, guards are switching shifts, birds are stirring in the trees lining the estate’s courtyard. And war is brewing.

But I’m not just a pawn anymore.

I’m a player now.

And I’ve made my first move.

Chapter 10 – Lazaro

Two days. Two days since the dinner, since the kiss, since everything started to feel like it was tilting just slightly off balance. And maybe it's not just the leak or the threat crawling beneath our walls—maybe it's her. Calista. That damn kiss. I haven’t been able to shake the taste of her mouth, the way she looked at me like she wanted to tear me apart and kiss me again all at once. It's a distraction, and I hate how much of one it’s become. I keep telling myself this is about strategy, about control—but every time I close my eyes, she’s there. It’s messing with my head, and that’s dangerous. I can’t afford distractions. Not now. Not when the walls are starting to crack.

I stand in the surveillance room, hands gripping the edge of the desk so hard, they ache. The room is crowded—three tech operators at their consoles, two armed guards stationed by the door, and Lucrezia's presence sharp and controlled beside me. The walls are lined with screens—dozens of them—each displaying feeds from across the estate, the city, and our external checkpoints. Some screens are grainy, others crystal clear, but all pulse with information. It's chaos disguised as order. I catch whispers between techs, notes being scribbled, keyboards clacking. My eyes move from one feed to the next, dissecting every movement, every lapse, trying to make sense of where we went wrong. The room is charged, everyone aware that something's unraveling beneath our feet.

The footage from the last arms drop plays again on the central screen. The timestamp glitches for a second—barely noticeable unless you’re trained to catch it. And I am. I catch everything.

“Roll it back,” I mutter to the tech at the console.

He rewinds, slows the feed down.

There it is. A patrol route left unguarded for exactly six minutes. Just enough time to let someone slip in—or out. Six minutes is a lifetime in our world—long enough to plant explosives, transfer shipments, or slit a throat and disappear.

Another screen comes to life. Security logs jump erratically, entire timestamps shifting by a few seconds—barely enough to notice unless you're trained for it. Patrols that didn’t report in on time, overlapping shifts that create gaps no one questioned—because someone made sure no one would. This wasn’t a simple oversight. Someone inside our walls engineered this.

Calculated. And dangerously close to slipping past us.

My pulse spikes. The urgency is razor-sharp now. We have to root this out fast, or everything we’ve built will start to rot from the inside out.

And I won’t let that happen.

"Something’s off," Lucrezia says finally, voice low. "This wasn’t a coincidence."

"No," I agree, eyes fixed on the screen. "The arms drop wasn’t compromised by chance. Someone knew the holes in our patrol schedule. Someone created them."

Lucrezia’s brow furrows. "But all protocols were cleared. Everyone’s been background checked. No one would dare cross you, Lazaro."

I shake my head. "Don’t be so sure. Fear wears off. Money talks louder. Maybe it’s someone new. Someone from the estate—someone who slipped through the checks."

"You think it’s an inside job?" she asks, tone skeptical but not dismissive.

"I’m sure of it," I snap. "These gaps—these misalignments—they’re intentional. Not the work of an outsider poking around. Someone’s inside the walls, Lucrezia. And they know how to cover their tracks."

"I’ll run deeper sweeps on the estate staff. Start with the most recent hires. Cross-reference every route, every clearance. If someone’s working against us, I’ll find them."

"Do it quietly," I add. "We spook the wrong person, and they’ll vanish before we get to them."

She nods and moves closer to the console, eyes scanning the flickering feeds.

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