The path to the top of the hill was longer than it seemed. With each turn, the sound of hammering echoed louder, and the smell of molten iron mingled with the salt of the sea rising from the docks. Samira and Bellatrix walked in silence, their steps rhythmic on the damp cobblestones. When they finally reached the gates of the Veil Company, they were greeted by attentive guards—two men in simple but well-maintained armor, who watched their every move with eagle eyes.

"Business?" asked one of the guards, the taller one, with a scar on his chin and the Company's emblem embroidered on his chest.

Bellatrix held his gaze steadily. "We want to speak with Erik Haldar."

The other guard, younger, tilted his head suspiciously. "The master doesn't receive visitors without an appointment. If you're here on business, speak with the steward."

Samira stepped forward impatiently. "We didn't come to sell fish, darling. It's a matter directly with him."

The older guard crossed his arms. "As I said, no appointment, no audience."

"How funny," Samira muttered, twirling her dagger between her fingers. "I thought 'work with honor' also meant 'attend to those who come in good faith'."

"Samira," Bellatrix warned, her tone calm but laced with warning.

She sighed and gave the guard a half-smile. "Alright. But tell him that two travelers are here to discuss something he's been hunting in the underworld. If he wants to remain 'honorable,' perhaps he should listen to what we have to say."

The two guards exchanged a brief glance—one of those looks that say more than words. The older one cleared his throat, hesitating.

"I'll see what I can do," he said, before disappearing through the gates.

Samira leaned against one of the pillars, crossing her arms. "I bet ten coins he'll come back saying, 'the master is busy.'"

"I bet twenty you'll lose," Bellatrix replied dryly.

But she was wrong.

Ten minutes later, the guard returned, accompanied by another man—taller, broad-shouldered, and with a stern expression. His short beard and hardened gaze made it clear he wasn't just a simple soldier. He stopped in front of them, analyzing them as if weighing threats and intentions.

"I hear you're looking for Master Haldar," he said, his voice deep. "May I know why?"

Bellatrix answered before Samira could open her mouth. "It's about something he's trying to find out."

"And what would that be?"

She stared at him coldly. "The same thing he's been buying information about on the black market."

The reaction was subtle, but visible. The man raised an eyebrow, the muscles in his jaw tensing for a brief moment.

"Interesting," he murmured. "And who said the master is getting involved in that kind of thing?"

Samira stepped forward, her smile sharp. "Let's just say we have good sources. And if he really is buying information about certain names... it would be smarter to listen to someone who's willing to talk about it personally."

The man studied them for a long moment, then sighed. "Wait here."

He disappeared through the gate, and the sound of metal and commanding voices filled the air again. Samira snorted loudly. "I told you. Everyone here has a habit of making us wait."

Bellatrix remained motionless, observing the movement within the walls. "It's a test. They want to see if we're lying, if we get nervous, or if we give up."

"Then they're going to love what's going to happen in five minutes if he doesn't show up." Samira tossed her dagger into the air and caught it again without looking. "Because I'm already losing my patience."

Bellatrix didn't answer. She simply kept her gaze fixed on the central tower of the fortress, where a blue flag fluttered in the wind.

It was then that the gate opened again. The same man from before returned, now with two guards beside him. He gestured for the two women to follow him.

"Master Haldar has agreed to receive you."

Samira gave a half-smile. "See? Persistence pays off."

Bellatrix glanced at her. "Or the provocation worked."

They followed through the gates, entering the heart of the Company of the Veil. The inner courtyard was spacious, filled with active forges, hunters organizing loads of furs, and workers moving crates and weapons with almost military precision. The sound of iron clanging in a constant rhythm gave the feeling that the entire place breathed through the flames.

The man led them to a stone building in the center of the complex. The doors opened to reveal a corridor adorned with tapestries bearing the symbol of the blade and the feather—and the motto carved in golden letters: Work with your hands, fight with honor, trade with truth.

Samira ran her fingers over the inscription and murmured, almost mockingly: "Yes, they really take that motto seriously."

"Perhaps more than we imagine," Bellatrix replied, without averting her gaze.

They climbed a narrow staircase to the second floor, where a large hall opened up, illuminated by tall windows. Maps, records, and antique weapons decorated the walls. And in the center, behind a dark oak table, was him.

Erik Haldar.

The man looked up from his papers when the two entered. Tall, with a firm posture and an expression that mixed authority and weariness, his gray hair cut short and his hands marked by work. His gaze, however, was what was most striking—cold, calculated, but not hostile.

"I was told that two outsiders insisted on seeing me," he said, his deep voice echoing through the room. "And that the reason would be… a matter I've been 'looking for' around here."

Bellatrix tilted her head slightly. "Erik Haldar, right?"

"Yes. And you are?"

"Women who know more than most about what you've been trying to find out," Samira replied, crossing her arms. "And, frankly, we're curious to know why a man with your reputation is buying information on the black market about a certain name."

Erik narrowed his eyes. "What name?"

Bellatrix answered calmly, but firmly: "Strax."

The silence that followed was heavy. For a moment, only the distant clanging of the forges and the rustling of the flags outside could be heard.

Erik slowly rose, his steps controlled. "I don't know what you're talking about, if that's all, you can leave."

Erik hadn't even finished pronouncing the last word when Samira moved.

Quick as an arrow released from a bow, she lunged forward, the sound of her leather boots barely brushing the stone floor. The dagger gleamed in the light coming through the window—a silver flash crossing the air before touching the man's neck.

The impact was dry. Erik tried to react, instinctively raising his arm to block, but Samira had already twisted his wrist, spinning her body and pushing him against the table. Papers flew, inkwells shattered on the floor, and the sound of the impact echoed through the room.

She immobilized him in seconds—the dagger pressed against the side of his neck, her body pressed against his, one hand firmly holding his arm behind his back.

"I warned you not to lie," Samira murmured, her tone low, almost calm, but her eyes flashing. "You're good with words, Haldar, but I'm better with knives."

Erik tried to turn his face, his expression tense. "You're making a mistake."

"That's what everyone says before they confess," she replied, bringing the blade closer.

But then something moved—a whisper, a subtle displacement in the air behind Erik. Bellatrix, who until then had only been observing with the icy calm of someone who knows their partner acts on impulse, looked up. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer distorted the air beside the table.

She drew her sword in a single movement.

The metallic sound cut through the silence, and Bellatrix's blade described a precise arc in the empty space—only the space wasn't so empty after all. There was a crackling sound, like breaking glass, and a feminine silhouette materialized where there had been nothing before.

The woman wore dark leather, her face partially covered, and in her hands she held a curved dagger. She had stopped less than a meter from Erik—close enough to kill him.

But now it was she who was cornered. Bellatrix twisted her wrist forcefully, making the dagger fall, and pushed her against the wall with her forearm pressing against the woman's neck.

"Invisibility. I almost didn't notice," Bellatrix murmured coldly. "You're good, but you breathe too loudly." The woman gasped, eyes wide, struggling to breathe. "No… don't attack… I'm not an enemy!"

"Of course," Samira said, without moving, still holding Erik captive. "Every assassin says that when they're caught before the strike."

Erik, even restrained, seemed more indignant than frightened. "Let her go. Now."

"So she's yours," Bellatrix observed, tightening her arm slightly against the woman's neck. "Great. That makes everything easier."

Samira gave a short laugh. "I should have guessed. A 'good' man surrounded by invisible shadows."

"She's not a shadow," Erik snarled. "She's my personal guard."

"A guard who hides while you lie to us?" Samira pressed the dagger a little closer, just enough for him to feel the cold metal. "You certainly seem like a very honorable man."

The captured woman tried to speak, her voice failing. "He… he didn't lie…! I was just here to make sure you weren't a threat…"

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "And you were going to ensure that by stabbing me in the back?"

Erik took a sharp step—or tried to, because Samira kept him restrained, the dagger still close to his skin.

"Enough!", he roared, and the tone made the air in the room tremble. "I didn't ask her to attack! I ordered her to stay invisible, yes—because I don't trust anyone who comes out of nowhere talking about Strax! I only went to the black market to find out who he was and I didn't get anything! Nothing more than that!"

The name landed like a stone. Samira hesitated—for a moment.

Bellatrix, however, kept up the pressure. "See, all you had to do was be honest."

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