Once more, I delved into my Story Engine cards. This time, I drew cards that led to a scoundrel who wants to get revenge using a complex forgery, but he’ll have to keep a promise he’s been avoiding.

Gavyn Voss never ignored a grudge, especially one as personal as the one between himself and Lord Tendyll Creighton. Hardly surprising—revenge, after all, had always been at the heart of his trade. Raised on the streets, he learned early on to take advantage of others’ mistakes, and excelled in the fine art of deception. His expertise with a quill was as sharp as his tongue. Denizens of the local underworld knew Gavyn could forge anything: letters, documents, contracts, even royal seals.

But this time was different. This time, the target wasn’t just a mark to exploit for coin. This time, it was about something far, far deeper—a betrayal that’d taken everything from him. He’d promised himself, years ago, that he’d destroy Lord Creighton, that he’d make the nobleman pay for the false accusation that had sent him into exile. And now, after years of biding his time, Gavyn had finally come up with the perfect plan.

Secrets flourished in Mearles like weeds in the cracks of a stone street, and the palace held more hidden chambers than most people could count. But even in the shadows of Lord Creighton’s mansion, Gavyn could not escape the weight of his own promise.

He sat in a low, dim tavern, the kind with floors sticky from spilled beer and air smelling of stale smoke. Fingers tracing the edge of his half-empty glass, he considered the task ahead: a forged document—a letter, to be precise. And not just any letter, but one bearing the royal seal, ordering the immediate execution of one Lord Tendyll Creighton for a series of crimes. Crimes that, in truth, no one had ever committed. Gavyn made them seem so real, so indisputable. But the problem came with the last piece of the puzzle: who would sign it.

He needed the signature of a royal, someone with the power to sanction such an order. The challenge wasn’t merely in forging the letter itself—no, that part was small beer. The challenge lay in getting that last stroke of ink to make it official. And for that, he needed the one person he’d been avoiding for years: Captain Keeley Arlen.

Keeley had been his partner once. More than that, she had been the person he’d trusted most in a world where trust was as rare as gold. Their relationship had begun like any other in his life—based on mutual benefit, but over time, the line between business and affection had blurred. She was smart, capable, and fearless. And when Lord Creighton accused Gavyn of a crime he didn’t commit, she promised to help clear his name. But promises, as always with Gavyn, were broken. She’d disappeared.

When she resurfaced, she was Captain of the Royal Guard, one of the most powerful figures in Mearles. The same Keeley he’d sworn never to see again. He hadn’t heard from her in years, but knew she’d never forget the past. She couldn’t, not after what happened. She wouldn’t forget the man she once loved had betrayed her in the worst possible way.

His fingers drummed restlessly against the table. He had to see her. He had no choice. The letter had to bear her signature, and he needed her to do that.

“Still thinking about it, are you?” A low voice interrupted his thoughts. The voice belonged to Zania, his long-time associate and the only person who still trusted him. She slid into the chair across from him, her bright red cloak catching the dim light. Her dark eyes gleamed with mischief, but there was something softer in them now, something that spoke of a bond that went beyond mere business.

“Does it show?” Gavyn smirked, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Ye’ve got that faraway look,” Zaina teased. “That look ye get when ye’re planning something monumentally stupid.”

“Maybe,” Gavyn replied, his tone flat, “but I don’t have a choice.”

“Oy, that promise.” She leaned in closer, her voice quieter now, more serious. “Ye’re really going to risk it all for that?”

He clenched his jaw, trying to push back the gnawing feeling that she might be right.

“I owe her,” he said at last, though the words felt foreign, even to him. “I owe her more than I can ever repay.”

Zania studied him, expression softening.

“And if she won’t sign? What if she’s moved on, forgotten what happened, forgotten ye?”

“I’m not asking her to forgive me.” He leaned back in his chair, the thought of facing Keeley already twisting his gut. “I’m counting on her to see what I can offer. This isn’t just about revenge. It’s… about justice. It’s about making sure Creighton’s crimes don’t go unpunished.”

“I thought ye’re the one that made his living off selling people out,” Zania quipped. “Now ye’re talking like a man with honor.”

Gavyn didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Zania studied him for a long moment, then let out a quiet sigh.

“Well, if ye’re set on it, I know how to get ye into the palace. I’ll make sure ye don’t get caught. But ye’ll need more than a forged letter. Ye’ll need a story—something believable enough to make her believe it’s worth her time.”

“I’ll handle that part.”

Zania’s eyes darkened, and she nodded. “Just don’t make the mistake of thinking this’ll be easy. Keeley’s changed. She’s not the person ye remember.”

Gavyn didn’t reply. He didn’t need to—he wasn’t looking for redemption. Nor looking to undo the past. He simply wanted the power to erase the man who had destroyed his life. If that meant facing Keeley again, then so be it.

The next morning, Gavyn stood outside the gates of the palace. The sun was low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the white stone of the royal residence. His heart pounded in his chest, a familiar rhythm that reminded him of his purpose, of everything that had brought him to this moment.

Zania had arranged everything. A secret entrance. A hidden alcove. He moved through the palace grounds like a shadow, undetected. He reached the royal chambers, the heavy door open just enough for him to slip inside.

The room was grand, draped in rich tapestries of crimson and gold. Keeley stood by the window, her back to him. She had changed little. Her dark hair, now tied back in a tight braid, gleamed in the light. Her posture was the same—straight, poised, and proud. But something in the way she held herself made Gavyn pause. The fire, the intensity that had once drawn him to her, was gone. In its place was something harder, something colder.

“Keeley,” he said, his voice low but steady.

She turned at the sound of his voice, and for the first time in years, their eyes locked. For an instant, everything fell away—the years, the betrayal, the anger—with the weight of the promise the only thing left.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice clipped.

“Then why are you still looking at me?” he shot back, a hint of bitterness creeping into his words.

“What do you want, Gavyn?” Keeley’s gaze hardened, but she didn’t move.

“Your signature.” He stepped forward, pulling the forged letter from his cloak and holding it out to her.

She didn’t reach for it. Instead, she looked at him with a mix of contempt and sorrow.

“And what makes you think I’ll help you?”

“I don’t care if you help me,” Gavyn said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m asking you to help the city.”

Keeley’s hand trembled as she reached for the letter. Her fingers hovered over the parchment for a long moment, but in the end, she read it, then picked up a quill. And with one swift motion, she signed her name.

But the ink hadn’t even dried when she looked at him, and for the first time since they’d met, Gavyn saw the truth in her eyes: she’d signed the letter, but not for him. She signed it in the name of justice. For what had been done, and still needed to be undone.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she said, her voice as cold as the stone walls around them.

“I won’t,” he promised, though he knew in his heart that promises, like trust, were fragile things.

And so, as the ink dried on the forged letter, Gavyn Voss walked away—one step closer to vengeance, forever bound by a promise he couldn’t escape.