The capital city of Ravenhold stretched before them like a sprawling beast. Even in the pre-dawn darkness, smoke rose from countless chimneys. The scent of bread and horses and unwashed humanity filled the air.
Lyra floated beside Moira as they approached the outer walls. Her feet didn't touch the ground anymore. She was getting used to the sensation of being between worlds.
"Remember," Moira whispered, "you're still learning to control your solid form. Don't let your emotions make you visible."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Moira said as her white eyes fixed on her. "Because if you're seen, if you're caught, they'll find new ways to torture banshees. Ways that make burning look merciful."
Lyra shuddered. The thought of being chained, studied, experimented on while unable to die properly made her stomach turn. "I'll be careful."
"See that you are."Moira said as they passed through the city gates like ghosts. The guards couldn't see them, but Lyra noticed their blessed weapons were silver swords, iron-tipped spears, crossbow bolts carved with runes.
"How many supernatural beings are hiding here?" she asked.
"Hundreds. Maybe thousands." Moira said as she gestured toward the twisting streets. "They live in the sewers, in abandoned buildings, in hidden rooms behind false walls."
"And no one helps them?"
"Some do. There's an underground network. Humans who remember what it was like before the Purge and passed the knowledge down to each generation. But they're few and far between."
As they moved deeper into the city, Lyra began to see the propaganda. Posters nailed to walls showing twisted creatures with fangs and claws. "Report Supernatural Activity" in bold letters. "Reward: 100 Gold Pieces."
"They make us look like monsters," she said.
"To them, we are." Moira said, her voice bitter. "It's easier to murder someone if you don't see them as human."
They floated through the merchant quarter where early shopkeepers were setting up their stalls. Past the temple district with its soaring spires. Through the noble quarter with its walled gardens and mansions.
"There," Moira pointed. "The Ravencrest estate."
Lyra's breath caught in front of her was a mansion that was massive, built of black stone, tall windows looking out over the city as guards patrolled the walls, their armor gleaming with protective runes.
"It's like a fortress."
"It needs to be. They've made a lot of enemies over the years." Moira said but her smile was cold. "Even some humans hate what they've done."
A carriage waited in the courtyard, it was made of black lacquered wood with the Ravencrest crest painted on the doors. A raven with its wings spread wide, clutching a sword in its talons.
"He's going out," Moira observed. "Good. Easier to approach him away from all those guards."
"What do I do?"
"Follow him. Learn his habits. Find the best moment to strike." Moira's eyes gleamed. "Remember, you want poetic justice. Make it memorable."
The mansion's front door opened as a man in fine clothes stepped out, flanked by two guards. He was tall and lean, with dark hair and sharp features. He moved with the confident grace of someone who'd never known fear.
"Peter Ravencrest," Moira hissed. "The Young Butcher himself." But something was wrong. Lyra watched as Peter paused to speak to a servant. His voice was gentle, concerned. He asked about the man's sick daughter, and offered to send the family physician.
"He doesn't look cruel," Lyra whispered.
"Monsters rarely do. They wear masks of kindness to hide their true nature." Moira said but her voice was sharp. "Don't let him fool you."
Peter climbed into the carriage as the guards followed, and the whole procession began moving toward the city gates. "Come," Moira said. "Let's see what our young lord is really up to."
They followed the carriage through the winding streets as Lyra found herself studying Peter through the window. He was reading something, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looked more like a scholar than a killer.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"The lower districts, by the look of it." Moira's voice was puzzled. "Strange. What would he want there?"
The carriage stopped in front of a ramshackle building. A sign hung crooked over the door: "St. Mercy's Orphanage."
"An orphanage?" Lyra frowned.
"Probably scouting for more victims." Moira's voice was hard. "Supernatural children are easier to catch when they're alone."
But Peter didn't look like a hunter as he stepped from the carriage. He carried a bag of what looked like food, and a small wooden box. Children's voices echoed from inside the building.
"Stay back," Moira warned. "Let him make his move first."
Peter knocked on the door . An elderly woman opened it, her face lighting up when she saw him.
"Lord Ravencrest! The children will be so happy to see you."
"How is little holly?" Peter asked, his voice warm with genuine concern.
"Better, thanks to the medicine you brought. The fever broke yesterday."
"Thank the gods. I've brought more medicine, and some toys for the children who are still recovering."
Lyra watched in confusion as Peter was welcomed inside like a beloved uncle. Through the windows, she could see him kneeling beside sick children, checking their foreheads for fever, making them laugh with silly faces.
"I don't understand," she said.
"It's an act," Moira said, but her voice lacked conviction. "He's... he's probably planning something horrible."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. But he's a Ravencrest. They're all the same."
Peter spent two hours at the orphanage. He played with the children, read them stories, made sure they all had enough to eat. When he finally left, several children ran to the windows to wave goodbye.
"He's going somewhere else," Moira said as the carriage changed direction.
This time they stopped at a run-down clinic in the poorest part of the city. The same gentle concern, the same genuine care. Peter brought medicine and coin, spoke kindly to the patients, helped an old man who'd fallen.
"The Young Butcher?" Lyra watched him carefully lift a injured child onto an examination table. "Are you sure we have the right person?"
"It has to be him. He's the only Ravencrest heir." But Moira's voice was uncertain now.
"Maybe your sources were wrong."
"My sources are never wrong." Moira's white eyes blazed. "He's hiding his true nature. Playing the part of a good man to throw off suspicion."
"Or maybe he actually is a good man."
"Impossible. He's a Ravencrest. They're all monsters." But doubt had crept into Lyra's mind. She'd seen real kindness in Peter's eyes. Real concern for the suffering. The children at the orphanage loved him. The patients at the clinic trusted him.
"I need to get closer," she said.
"Absolutely not. Too dangerous."
"I need to hear what he's really saying. See what he's really doing."
"Lyra, no. If he can sense supernatural beings"
"Then I'll be careful." She began to drift toward the clinic. "But I need to know the truth."
"This is foolish. You're letting sentiment cloud your judgment."
"Maybe. But I won't kill an innocent man."
"There are no innocent Ravencrests!"
But Lyra was already moving. She floated through the clinic wall, becoming almost invisible. Peter was bandaging a woman's injured arm, his touch gentle and sure.
"important that you keep this clean," he was saying. "Change the bandage twice a day. If you see any sign of infection, send for me immediately."
"You're too kind, my lord," the woman said. "Most nobles wouldn't even look at people like us."
"People like us?" Peter's voice was confused. "You're citizens of this kingdom. You deserve care and respect."
"But we're poor. Common."
"So was our Lord before he was crowned. So was every saint in the temple." Peter's voice was firm. "A person's worth isn't measured by their coin or their birth."
Lyra drifted closer. Peter was reaching into his bag, pulling out a small bottle of expensive medicine."This should help with the pain," he said. "It's strong, so only take a few drops at a time."
"I can't pay for that, my lord."
"Did I ask you to?" Peter's smile was kind. "Your health is payment enough."
Lyra watched him work for another hour. Every patient was treated with the same care, the same respect. Rich or poor, young or old, he gave them all his full attention.
"He's not what I expected," she whispered to herself.
As Peter prepared to leave, an old man grabbed his sleeve. "Lord Ravencrest," the man said, his voice shaking. "Is it true what they're saying? About more hunts? About supernatural beings in the city?"
Peter's expression darkened. "What have you heard?"
"That Lady Vivienne is planning something. A big sweep. They're saying she's found a whole nest of them."
"If such a thing were true," Peter said carefully, "what would you think about it?"
"I think..." the old man looked around nervously. "I think some of them might not be the monsters they say they are."
"And why would you think that?"
"Because my grandmother was one. A healer. She never hurt nobody. But they burned her anyway when I was just a boy."
Peter was quiet for a long moment. Then he leaned closer."If you knew of supernatural beings in danger," he said very quietly, "what would you do?"
"I'd warn them. If I could." The old man's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I'd tell them to run."
"That's what I thought you'd say." Peter pressed a small bag of coins into the man's hands. "Be careful, old friend. These are dangerous times."
As Peter stepped outside, Lyra followed. Her mind was spinning. Everything Moira had told her, everything she'd believed about the Ravencrest family, was crumbling.
Peter walked to his carriage, but instead of getting in, he turned and looked directly at the spot where Lyra was floating.
"I know you're there," he said quietly. "Please, don't be afraid."