Chapter 29: The Queen’s Job

Thirteen people, it wasn’t a lot.

That was Adam’s thought as he sat on the roof of a building, legs hanging over the edge, his gaze fixed on the small warehouse ahead, his target. He had arrived a short moment ago, after spending most of the day with Lorelei in her garden, a place he really enjoyed and had learned to use to calm his mind. Upon arriving, he’d scouted the whole area first to confirm the existence of the smuggling ring, and they existed. He’d watched them load crates with all kinds of materials; herbs, strange vials and flasks, even tightly wrapped weapons marked with sigils that definitely weren’t of this kingdom. None of it looked remotely clean. They were a smuggling ring through and through.

Adam wasn’t sure quite what he’d expected to find when he arrived, but the fact that it was exactly what the Queen had said felt strangely off. Still, he had done further scouting on the place, checking for watchers, hidden entrances, traps, and people.

He had counted thirteen. All of whom would have to die today.

As the thought flitted into his mind, he caught himself adding the number to the running tally of those he’d already killed in this world, and he stopped it. There was no point counting the number of people he’d killed, or was about to kill, not when he knew it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Even if he ignored the shadowy group, there was probably more trouble waiting in his future. He didn’t know how or when it would come to him, but he was certain that a lot more people were going to die by his hands.

Shit ... he was starting to sound like a fucking serial killer.

With a deep breath, Adam pushed the thoughts from his mind and lifted his face to the sky, noting the deepening gloom. Night was settling in, the last traces of daylight fading away into shadow. It was almost time for him to start.

Adam rose to his feet, exhaling slowly to steady his breathing. The rooftop gravel crunched faintly under his boots as he moved, but he barely heard it, his mind had already shifted to a predatory state. Below, the warehouse lights were dim, only a few lanterns hung from iron hooks, throwing uneven pools of light across the loading yard.

Shadows dominated everything else...

He stepped to the very edge of the roof, his clothes flailing in the wind. He took a final breath, then, without ceremony, he simply stepped off. There was no thought, no pause, only gravity taking hold as the cool night air rushed past him. The drop wasn’t especially high, but it was enough to break a leg on an awkward landing. But Adam had no intention of landing. He had all but mastered shadow-warp, he no longer needed the deep focus it required several weeks ago, just the intention was enough.

Midway down, he exhaled a calm, controlled breath. The moment his feet should have hit the ground, the shadows beneath the building swallowed him whole; ankle first, then waist. It was smooth, cold, like sliding into deep water without making a ripple. There was no impact, no sound. In the span of two seconds, his falling form simply sank and disappeared into the shadows spread across the ground.

The world above vanished for Adam, leaving only utter blackness as he slipped through something that wasn’t quite space and wasn’t quite matter. A moment later the darkness spat him back out, and he emerged standing in the rafters above the warehouse floor—inside now, unseen, watching ... waiting patiently to descend.

A pungent smell drifted through the warehouse; damp wood, herbs, lamp oil, and rust all mixing together to create something sharp enough to sting his throat. Stacks of crates lined the walls, some open, revealing the same materials he had seen earlier: vials, bundled weapons, and sealed containers marked with strange, unfamiliar sigils.

Voices rose nearby, several of them. They hadn’t noticed him yet.

Adam dropped silently from the rafter, landing in a crouch between two towering stacks of crates. The impact was mostly quiet, his boots making only a dull thud on the dust-covered ground. The voices—gruff, overlapping, careless—continued without any pause. They still hadn’t noticed him. He straightened himself, letting out a slow breath, feeling the familiar rush in his veins that usually preceded violence.

He didn’t intend to hide or strike from surprise. It wasn’t about principle, he had none that would stop him, and he definitely wasn’t above assassinations. If anything, it would’ve been easier. All he needed was a few broken lanterns, the warehouse drowned in darkness, and he could pick them off one by one from the shadows. It would’ve been faster and a lot cleaner, but that wasn’t what he wanted, not tonight.

Adam wanted them to see him, to understand why they were about to die, to hear the Queen’s name. He wanted to see if there was any recognition, if there was, then they would tell him why the Queen wanted their little group destroyed. He didn’t know how big this operation was, but he knew the Queen hadn’t asked him to wipe them out simply because she cared about crime. Hopefully, he could learn the real reason.

Without the slightest hesitation, he stepped out from between the crates and into the open floor space. The nearest man—a short, barrel-chested brute with a shaved head and a long, thick scar running from his ear down to his jaw—saw him first.

The man froze mid-sentence, one hand still gripping the handle of a wooden crate he’d been about to lift. His mouth hung open for a second, then instinct kicked in. “Who the fuck are you?” He barked, voice cracking with sudden alarm. He dropped the crate with a heavy thud and reached for the sword at his hip. “How did you get in?”

The other voices cut off instantly and several heads snapped toward him. There was a rush of movement as others who weren’t close rushed forward to get a look at the intruder, while those who did see him reached for their weapons. The thirteen men were no longer scattered across the warehouse, and they were all suddenly alert.

Adam didn’t respond. He simply stood there, calm, as if he’d just stepped into a casual meeting instead of a den of criminals. His gaze passed over them, observing.

A young man, maybe in his mid or late twenties, pushed through from the back of the group. He was clean-shaven, his blond hair neatly tied back, wearing a black wool coat with gold embroidery, and boots polished enough to catch the light. His appearance was neat, his clothes better tailored than the rest, carrying no weapon, and from the way the others shifted to give him space, it was clear that he was the one in charge.

The man stopped a few paces in front of the scarred brute, raising one hand in a small, calm gesture that instantly stilled the rising growl of threats. His sharp, gray eyes locked onto Adam without blinking, then he spoke in a smooth voice. “Who are you?”

“You’re in charge of all this?” Adam asked, ignoring the question.

“I suppose that depends on who’s asking,” he replied.

Adam thought briefly, then responded. “Who’s asking isn’t important, but I was sent by the Queen.” As he said the words, he watched the man’s face closely, searching for any flicker of anger, fear, anything that might hint at a deeper connection.

The man’s brow furrowed, showing no emotion but genuine confusion. Then the frown cracked, and he burst into deep, raucous laughter, his men joining him. “Oh, you almost had me. For a second I truly thought you were serious.” He wiped at the corner of his eye, still chuckling. “That was a good one. The Queen herself, eh? What’s next, the King is coming through the back? Oh, that was something.”

Still watching him, Adam noted the laughter wasn’t forced; it was real. If he was connected to the Queen in any way, he wouldn’t have laughed at the idea of her sending someone to him. So why had she targeted him? What was really going on?

The man settled down after a moment, though a slight amusement still lingered in his eyes. “Alright, now that that’s over with,” he said, straightening as his composure returned. “I’ll ask nicely one more time, who are you? And how did you get in?”

At the question, the atmosphere around the warehouse suddenly changed. Hands tightened around weapons, feet readjusted, some of the men inched forward like a pack of wild dogs ready to give chase. The air grew heavier, thick with anticipation.

Adam ignored the growing threat and the question, his gaze calmly fixed on the young leader. “From your reaction,” he uttered evenly, piecing his thoughts together. “I take it you’ve never actually encountered or had dealings with the Queen.”

The scarred brute let out a snort. “Oh, we’ve encountered a queen, alright. Works at the brothel three blocks down. Ugly as sin, but Divine, that mouth of hers could—”