Jenn’s fingers trembled as she wrung the cloth between her hands. The water’s chill seeped into her bones, but it wasn’t the cold that made her shiver. It was the silence, a quiet that stretched across this corner of Reevendale like a spider’s web, every thread laced with tension. The Gilded Chain hall was just down the street, the hall’s menacing stone buildings casting long shadows even at midday. Jenn and her companions, the washerwomen of the city, knew that members of the Chain always watched.

Jenn never intended to become part of the resistance. Her life had been simple—washing clothes, gossiping with the other women, living in a small but peaceful corner of Reevendale, near the river. But peace became a fragile thing after slavers moved in. Their arrival had brought a creeping rot, and soon the cries of kidnapped residents had replaced the songs of the children.

It was the Slaver’s Nemesis, a group from Tiernen, who’d reached out to Jenn. One member realized that women who spent their days washing the clothing of the elite of Reevendale might overhear things others wouldn’t. She hadn’t understood why they thought the washerwomen would be useful at first. But as the days wore on and Jenn learned of the horror plaguing the town, she understood.

She wiped the wet cloth against the washboard, sharp eyes scanning the street. The Nemesis had trained them quickly—how to watch, how to listen, how to gather information without ever being noticed. Every ripple of water felt like a warning, every crack of cobbles beneath her shoes a signal to retreat. The Chain hall was a nest of vipers, and the laundresses had to remain undetected.

Her fellow washerwomen were with her today. Maeve, the stoic elder, with her long brown braids and sharp eyes. Isha, the youngest, was barely more than a girl, but her spirit was fierce and her loyalty unwavering. Liria, with her gentle smile, hid a mind as sharp as a dagger. They worked in tandem, the cloths they washed floating gently down the river like offerings to the gods, each thread and fiber a silent witness to their covert mission.

“I saw a new face in the Chain hall today,” Maeve murmured as she worked. Her voice was low, but Jenn heard it clearly. “A tall man, dark-haired. Didn’t seem like one of their usual thugs. He were dressed in the garb of Tiernen.”

Jenn didn’t respond right away. She rinsed a blanket; letting it drift down the river to Liria, her eyes on the hall. The man Maeve spoke of wasn’t anyone Jenn’d seen before either. A recruit, perhaps. Or someone more dangerous.

“We need to know what they’re planning,” Isha’s voice was soft but urgent. “The Nemesis… they’ll be expecting something. But we can’t get too close. Not yet.”

Jenn felt the weight of the task pressing down on her, a mantle she never asked for but wore with grim resolve. She grew up with the sound of the city—its ebb and flow, its rhythms. But now it seemed to mirror the currents of fate itself, unpredictable and dangerous.

She forced herself to focus.

“If they’re making moves, they’ll be subtle. Watch the patterns. The little things.”

Liria spoke up next, her voice low and smooth. “We can’t stay here too long. The Chain will notice. They’re getting suspicious, I can feel it.”

Jenn nodded. Liria was right. The Chain had eyes everywhere. They weren’t fools; they had spies of their own, and Jenn noticed their increasing vigilance. The neighborhood wasn’t big, but it had enough traffic for them to watch every stranger passing through. Their influence seeped into every crevice of Reevendale, and Jenn felt it, the way the air grew heavier every time she neared the Gilded Chain hall.

“I’ll go back tonight,” Jenn said, her voice soft but resolute. “I’ll see if I can catch something. Maybe a guard will talk.”

The women nodded, but Jenn saw the unease in their eyes. This mission had become more than just a few stolen moments by the river. It was a dance with danger, and Jenn felt it in her bones. The Nemesis had trusted them, but she knew the price of failure would be steep.

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the river’s surface shimmered with pale golden light. The smell of soap and damp cloth filled the air, and the washerwomen packed up their baskets. There was no sign of trouble—yet. But Jenn felt the weight of the evening press on her. She knew the slavers watched, their unseen eyes trained on her.

The walk back to her cottage took longer than usual. Jenn kept her head down, the path winding through dense trees that led to her home. The distant hum of Reevendale seemed muffled by the woods, and the world felt small, quiet. But it was a false peace.

Jenn had barely stepped inside when she heard a knock at her door. It was Liria, looking more troubled than Jenn had ever seen her.

“They’re coming,” Liria whispered, glancing around. “The slavers. They figured it out. They’ll be here by midnight.”

Jenn’s heart skipped a beat. The words hit her like a physical blow. The Chain had figured out they were being watched, and now they were sending men to silence anyone who might know too much. She didn’t even need to ask how Liria knew. The subtle signs were enough—the tension in the air, the way the birds seemed to fly in tighter formations, the slight shift in the wind.

Jenn quickly grabbed a satchel and stuffed it with whatever essentials she could find. Her mind raced. The Nemesis would need information, but she couldn’t leave herself exposed. Not yet. Not when the slavers were so close.

Liria gave her a sharp look.

“You can’t do this alone, Jenn. We need to act together.”

Jenn shook her head.

“You go. Warn the others. I’ll follow.”

Liria hesitated, then nodded grimly.

“Be careful.”

As the door shut behind her, Jenn’s heart pounded in her chest. She knew what she had to do. She had to get to the hall, see what they were planning. If she failed, everything the Nemesis had worked for would be for nothing.

Nightfall was deep now, and the moon barely pierced the clouds as Jenn slipped through the woods. She was lighter than a shadow, her footsteps soundless against the earth. The Chain’s hall loomed ahead, dark and forbidding, its stone walls like the jaws of some great beast. She crept along the back of the structure, staying low, her breath steady and shallow.

Then she heard it—a voice, muffled but unmistakable. Jenn’s heart leaped into her throat as she pressed herself against the cold stone. She recognized the voice. It was one of the higher-ups from the Gilded Chain, a man named Beiron. He was dangerous, known for his cruelty, and if he was involved in whatever was happening tonight, it would be bad.

She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, as the conversation continued. Her mind spun, trying to pick out the details. Beiron spoke in clipped, urgent tones.

“They’ll be there tomorrow. We need to move faster. If the Nemesis is involved, we can’t afford to let them breathe.”

The Gilded Chain was moving faster. Jenn knew what that meant: They were preparing to strike hard, to take out the Nemesis in one blow.

But they weren’t the only ones who could strike fast.

Jenn waited until the voices faded, and then, heart hammering, she backed away from the building. She had the information she needed. She had the proof. Now, she had to get back to the Nemesis before it was too late.

The path to the tavern frequented by the Nemesis seemed to stretch on forever, the weight of what she knew pressing heavily on her shoulders. But Jenn was resolute. She’d learned that in times like these, there were no true good choices, no guarantees. But there was one thing she knew: she wouldn’t let Reevendale fall into the hands of the slavers. Not while she had breath in her body.

And with the Nemesis at her back, she would make sure of it.

A whisper of wind carrying the scent of the river ruffled her hair as she melted into the shadows—a reminder of what was at stake, of the quiet waters that witnessed so much. Jenn’s resolve solidified. This fight was hers now.

And the slavers had no idea what they were up against.