Rain slicked the pavement under my feet, each drop tapping out an impatient rhythm that mirrored my own hesitation. The dim glow of a flickering streetlamp cast long shadows across the storefront, the words Vale Antiques peeling in elegant script above the door. I lingered there, my collar pulled high against the drizzle, fighting the urge to turn on my heel and leave it all behind.

  Nyssa's shop had always exuded an otherworldly charm, a beacon for the curious and the desperate alike. Tonight, it felt more like a trap—one I was knowingly stepping into. But with Slim off chasing whispers in the ether, I would be remiss if I didn't do everything in my own power to chase up intel. If the Crimson Accord had left out any information about the Chalice, Nyssa Vale would be the one to clue me in.

  I took a deep breath, the air heavy with the scent of damp asphalt and something sweeter—lavender, maybe, drifting from the shop's slightly ajar door. I hadn't even noticed it ease open. Typical. Nyssa always knew when someone was lingering outside. Whether that was due to some Void-touched sixth sense or just an uncanny knack for theatrics, I couldn't say.

  "Get it over with," I muttered to myself, pushing the door open. A chime echoed softly above me—real bells, none of that electronic nonsense—announcing my arrival like an unwelcome guest.

  Inside, the shop was a labyrinth of the bizarre and the arcane. Shelves overflowed with trinkets and relics from countless cultures and eras, each item whispering its own secrets. The low light was tinged with hues of violet and silver, casting everything in a dreamlike haze. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but my guard was already up.

  "Well, well, if it isn't Gideon Shaw," came a lilting voice from somewhere between the aisles. Smooth and cool, like silk over steel. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

  Nyssa slipped out from behind a display of ancient globes, each one spinning lazily—seemingly of their own accord. She moved with that same unhurried elegance she always carried, her steps accompanied by the soft whisper of fabric.

  Tonight, she wore a deep emerald green dress that seemed to drink in the dim light and make her pale skin glow. The material hugged her frame in a way that left little to the imagination, teasing at the long, lean lines of her legs beneath. Around her neck hung a delicate silver necklace, the pendant shaped like tiny, intricate skulls. It rested against her sternum, rising and falling with each measured breath, catching the light and dragging my gaze no matter how much I tried to resist.

  Her hair, a midnight waterfall streaked with a single strand of silver-blonde, was gathered loosely atop her head, though a few rebellious strands framed her face. And her eyes—those unsettling, amethyst-colored eyes—glinted in the shop’s strange lighting, locking onto me with a focus that made my skin prickle.

  I shifted my weight, trying not to show how much her presence affected me. I shouldn't have bothered. When she stopped just a few feet away, a faint, knowing smile tugged at her lips. Those violet eyes were hungry.

  "Evening, Nyssa," I replied, keeping my tone flat. "I need information."

  She placed a delicate hand over her heart, feigning surprise. "Straight to business? And here I thought you'd come by to see me."

  I ignored the bait, stepping further into the shop. "I'm looking for something, and I think you might be able to help."

  Her eyebrow quirked, and that damn Cheshire grin spread across her lips.

  "Oh, Gideon, I possess many intriguing items that might catch your fancy. Perhaps you could be more... specific?" Her voice was honeyed silk, and those unsettling violet eyes of hers locked onto mine with a weight that felt like a physical shove. There was a challenge in her gaze, playful and predatory, like a cat toying with a mouse that thought it was clever.

  She leaned in just enough to draw my attention, the movement shifting the fabric of her dress to expose curves she knew full well how to weaponize. Every motion was deliberate and calculated, like a chess master setting up a trap three moves ahead.

  The air between us seemed to hum, thick and electric, charged with something I couldn’t quite put a name to. Temptation, maybe. Danger, definitely. Nyssa thrived in moments like this, surrounded by her bizarre collection of oddities and relics, spinning her web with a look, a word, a tilt of her head. She was baiting me, and I could feel the hook dangling just out of reach.

  Damn it, some reckless part of me actually considered biting.

  I pulled my coat tighter around me, more out of defensiveness than chill. "An artifact. Old. Potentially dangerous in the wrong hands."

  "You know..." she murmured, leaning just enough over the glass case to make damn sure I noticed. Obsidian knives gleamed beneath her, but they had nothing on the sharp curve of her figure, the sway of her hips as she shifted, adjusting her gloves like she had all the time in the world. A finger smoothed here, a wrinkle pressed there.

  Not a soul, living or dead, could’ve ignored the way that dress clung to her from this angle.

  She tossed a glance my way, casual as a blade drawn in the dark. "...enigmatic requests happen to be my second favorite. Care to get a little more specific?"

  I let out a slow breath through my nose, just enough to steady the rhythm pounding in my chest. Nyssa had a way of getting under your skin, and I figured it was better to give her an inch than let her take the whole damn mile. I let my gaze linger, just for a heartbeat longer than necessary—her lips, her eyes, the curve of her shoulder beneath that dress.

  "Alright," I said, leaning an elbow on the nearest display case like I belonged there. "You’ve got my attention. Satisfied?"

  She tilted her head, the corner of her mouth curling upward like she’d caught me in some unspoken lie. "For the moment."

  I snorted, pushing off the glass. "Yeah, yeah. Enjoy it while it lasts. You know anything about a Blood Chalice?"

  The smile didn’t leave her face, but it sharpened at the edges.

  "Good, I didn't waste my time. One of the Accord's Blood Chalices has been stolen," I said, watching her reaction carefully. For a split second, there was a flicker in her expression—gone as quickly as it appeared, but I clocked it.

  It was greed. Nyssa recognized an opportunity when she heard one, and she wouldn't be above brokering a deal for the stolen item. But there was no guilt or subterfuge—she didn't have the Chalice. Fane hadn't been here.

  That was a Shame. It could have made for a quick paycheck.

  "Ah," she sighed, drawing out the syllable as if savoring its taste. "Now that... is unexpected, coming from you. I haven't seen you working for the Accord before." She stood up and stepped closer, the soft scent of jasmine enveloping the space between us. "Dangerous indeed."

  Our proximity set me on edge, but I held my ground. "I need to find it—that means learning everything I can, including whatever the Reds aren't telling me."

  "Everything?" she asked, her face now so close I could feel the warmth of her breath. In heels, she nearly matched my 6'2 frame—a rarity for most women. But then again, Nyssa was not most women.

  "Yes, everything. Everything about the fancy cup," I replied, refusing to back away, but keeping my expression cool and disinterested. "Some of us aren't required to route all of our thoughts through our groins before we have them, Nyssa."

  She smiled at that, drawing even closer. It was only when she risked actually bumping into me that she brushed past, chuckling quietly.

  "Fine, Shaw, I'll play along." Her voice held a playful note of surrender. "Share what you've learned, and I'll help connect any missing pieces."

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I pulled the file from inside my coat and tossed it onto her counter, watching as the manila folder slid to a stop just in front of her. "Here’s what I know. The Chalice isn’t just some gaudy goblet for the Accord’s parties."

  Nyssa tilted her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips. She didn’t touch the file right away, instead letting her eyes linger on me, probing for something I wasn’t about to give her. Finally, she reached out with those eternally covered hands, flipping open the folder with deliberate care. Her eyes scanned the topmost page, but I could see she was more interested in what I had to say than what Alura’s dossier contained.

  “The Blood Chalice,” I began, leaning back against a nearby shelf cluttered with an assortment of tarnished trinkets and ominous-looking charms, “is vital to the Accord. It's their Swiss army knife for dark rituals, letting vamps who aren't world-class Binders handle magic they otherwise wouldn't be able to manage.”

  Her gaze flicked up to meet mine, curiosity gleaming in those unnatural violet eyes. She said nothing, so I kept going.

  “It can amplify Vitae—the life-aspected energy vampires drain from their victims—and turn it into whatever twisted magic they need at the moment. Blood-binding rituals? The Chalice makes them stronger, harder to break. Sacrificial divination? The thing drinks up the blood like it’s fine wine and spits out visions of the future—or at least, their version of it.”

  Nyssa’s lips curved into a slow smile as she leaned slightly over the counter, one gloved finger tracing idle circles around the edge of the folder. “Charming visual,” she murmured. “You should stop all this running around and start writing like that roommate of yours.”

  “Not a chance,” I said flatly. “Regardless, the Chalice doesn’t just make their rituals easier—it makes them nastier. I'm betting they’ve used it for healing rituals too, patching up wounds that would’ve dropped even a Crimson Lord. That's not in the file, just something I heard about how frighteningly reslient their leadership tends to be. Darius Vharn supposedly had his upper half blown off in an assassination attempt, then showed up the next day for a breakfast meeting with the mayor.”

  That seemed to catch her attention. She straightened slightly, her playful demeanor giving way to something more serious. “It borders on resurrection,” she said softly, almost to herself.

  “And that’s just scratching the surface.” I crossed my arms and gave her a pointed look. “The file says there are accounts—unconfirmed, but believable—that it can also act as a focus for channeling Dark Matter.”

  Nyssa’s hand froze mid-circle on the folder. Her eyes snapped back to mine, and for once, there was no trace of amusement in them.

  “Dark Matter?” she echoed, her voice quieter now.

  “Yeah,” I said grimly. “And you know as well as I do what that means.”

  She didn’t respond right away, which was fine by me. It gave me a chance to drive home just how bad this situation was.

  “The Accord claims they keep it locked up most of the time—too risky to use casually, even for them—but now that it’s missing?” I shook my head. “If Fane figures out how to use it... We're in for something messy. So w—”

  “Shaw,” she interrupted, her voice sharper now. "Be very clear about this: can the Chalice help manipulate Dark Matter?"

  I hesitated, caught off guard by the intensity in her tone. My eyes tracked unconsciously from the streak in her hair, to her jewel-toned eyes, to her perpetually gloved hands. I should have realized how strongly she would react to the mention of Dark Matter, given her history with the Void.

  “Yeah,” I said, frowning slightly. “That’s what the file suggests. Why?”

  Her fingers curled against the edge of the counter, and for a moment, her usual air of detached amusement evaporated, replaced by something colder. Calculating. “If the Chalice can manipulate Dark Matter,” she said slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle, “then it’s far more than just a ritual tool. Do you even understand what that means, Gideon?”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but she didn’t give me the chance.

  “If the Chalice can manipulate Vitae, touch upon affinities like Divination and Restoration, and manipulate Dark Matter,” Nyssa said slowly, her voice dropping into something dangerously close to reverence, her eyes narrowed, the playful spark in them completely extinguished. She leaned forward on the counter, her gloved fingers pressing against the aged wood as though anchoring herself to something solid. “Then it’s not just a powerful artifact, Shaw. It’s a Keystone.”

  "A Keystone?" I repeated, the word felt familiar, but its full meaning eluded my grasp.

  "Keystones are relics from the dawn of the current age," she said with an intense nod. "Near-mythical artifacts created by the first Binders—long before Houses and councils and laws—when humanity still teetered on the edge of understanding the spiritual and metaphysical forces around them. They were used to draw the Veil."

  "The Veil," I frowned, crossing my arms over my chest. "As in, what separates us from the Void? Capital 'V' Veil?"

  "Precisely," she said, her voice sharper now. "The reason why you’re not being devoured by Void Entities every time you take a drive outside the city wall, Gideon. The first Binders created Keystones to stabilize that barrier—to weave our reality apart from theirs."

  That sat heavy in my chest for a moment. The idea of a chalice—this chalice—having any connection to something like that made my stomach churn.

  "That..." I finally managed, rubbing at my jaw as if that would somehow knock sense into what I was hearing. "That sounds bad. And way above my pay grade."

  Nyssa smiled at that—a thin, wry thing that didn’t reach her eyes.

  "Oh honey," she said softly, "you’re gods-damned right about that."

  Then her smile faded completely as she straightened and folded her arms in front of her, staring down at the folder with an uneasy fascination.

  "But," she continued after a pause, her tone more measured now, "it’s unlikely that this Chalice is an actual Keystone—not in its original form." She reached out to close the file gently before looking back at me with those unsettling violet eyes.

  I frowned again. "What makes you so sure?"

  "Because people rarely leave mythical items tied intrinsically to the foundations of reality lying around to get nicked by the hired help," she deadpanned. "Objects of power like that have a metaphysical weight that's impossible to ignore, they literally warp the world around them—this Chalice is powerful, but if it were that powerful Lord Vharn would have mobilized the entirety of the Accord to find it."

  "Okay..." I said slowly, trying to keep up with where she was heading.

  "It’s far more likely," she went on carefully, "that this Chalice was crafted from the remains of one instead." Her voice turned grim as she added, "But that still makes it infinitely more dangerous than you’ve given it credit for."

  I shifted my stance uncomfortably under her gaze. This wasn’t what I signed up for.

  "Elaborate," I demanded after a beat. My voice sounded steadier than I felt inside. "This is important."

  “It means the Chalice isn’t limited to amplifying Vitae or binding spirits. Dark Matter is raw, unfiltered Void energy—it’s chaos given form. If this Fane fellow figures out how to wield it, he won’t just be playing at sacrificial divination or blood magic. He’ll have the power to unravel reality itself.”

  Her words hung in the air like a lead weight, and I found myself rooted to the spot as she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Pocket dimensions? Spatial anomalies? Living darkness crawling out of shadows? Those would be the least of our worries. Dark Matter doesn’t follow our rules, Gideon. It doesn’t care about boundaries or intentions. It consumes, corrupts, and distorts everything it touches.”

  Nyssa’s violet eyes locked onto mine, their usual playfulness replaced by an unsettling intensity. “If Fane uses the Chalice to channel Dark Matter, he won’t just tear through this city—he’ll tear through the Veil itself. Do you know what happens if the Veil collapses?”

  I shook my head, my throat dry. “I can guess.”

  “Don’t,” she snapped, her voice as sharp as broken glass. “Because whatever you’re imagining, it’s worse. The Veil is the only thing keeping the Void from spilling into our world. If it falls, we’re not just talking about a few anomalies or some power-hungry Neophyte with a god complex. We’re talking about an extinction event. No rules, no order—just whatever has been waiting Outside, hungry to get in.”

  The room felt colder, the air heavier, as her words sank in. I wanted to argue, to push back against the sheer weight of her warning, but the look in her eyes stopped me. She wasn’t exaggerating. If anything, she was holding back.

  “So yes,” she said softly, her tone edged with steel, “this is bad news all around—not just for me or you or even those damn vampires—but for anyone unlucky enough to be caught in Fane’s path if he figures out how powerful that thing really is.”

  For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then, with deliberate care, Nyssa closed the folder and slid it back across the counter toward me.

  "Tell you what," Nyssa purred, some of that dangerous playfulness creeping back into her voice. She tapped a gloved finger against the counter. "Give me ten minutes to change. This isn't the sort of mess you can handle solo."

  "I work alone." The words came out automatically.

  "No, you work with a ghost who can't throw a punch." She arched an eyebrow. "And this just became bigger than a simple retrieval job. You need someone who understands Dark Matter."

  I wanted to argue, but she had a point. Slim was great for intel, but useless in a fight. And if Fane really had something that could tear holes in reality...

  "Fine," I growled. "Ten minutes."

  Her smile widened. "I do love it when you're reasonable, Shaw."