Chapter 8: The Hidden Equation

The silence in the storehouse stretched between us, thick with unspoken tension. The weight of the grimoire in my hands felt heavier now—not just because of what it contained, but because of who might have written it.

Someone had taken the magical system I designed—my system—and turned it into a death trap.

And that meant two things.

One: Someone else understood the way magic worked at a fundamental level—beyond instinct, beyond tradition.

Two: They had weaponized it.

Ryn shifted, breaking the silence. “Alright, genius. What’s the next step?”

I looked up, still lost in thought. “What?”

“You figured out that book’s a trap. Now what?”

I hesitated, then ran a hand through my hair. “Now… we find out who wrote it.”

Lena frowned. “We already know where it came from. The Crimson Fangs had it.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “They weren’t the ones who created it. They were just holding it. This is advanced magical theory—beyond what a band of mercenaries would understand. Someone gave it to them.”

“And they let us take it,” Ryn muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Which means they knew what would happen.”

Exactly.

This wasn’t a simple theft. It was a setup.

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I placed the grimoire on the crate in front of me and flipped back to the pages with the corrupted formulas. The calculations were close—close enough that a trained mage wouldn’t immediately notice the flaw.

But there was something too familiar about the way the equations were written. The handwriting was elegant, precise—each stroke calculated.

And then I saw it.

A tiny, almost imperceptible notation in the margin.

My blood ran cold.

Because it was one of my personal shorthand symbols—a mark I had used back when I was designing spells in my notebooks on Earth.

Only one other person could have written this.

Me.

Or someone who had access to my original notes.

I exhaled sharply and snapped the book shut. My head was spinning. There was no way this was possible. No one else should have known about my magic system—not unless they had read my notes, my drafts, my theories.

Ryn must have noticed my expression because he raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

I forced myself to breathe evenly. I couldn’t tell them—not yet.

Instead, I straightened. “We need to find out where this book was before the Fangs got it.”

Lena narrowed her eyes. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

I hesitated. “We go back to Sable.”

Ryn chuckled. “Ah, I was wondering when you’d say that.”

Lena sighed. “Great. Another night of dealing with her.”

Sable was our best lead. She had been the one to give us the job in the first place, and if anyone knew where the grimoire had come from before the Fangs got their hands on it, it would be her.

The streets of Bellmare were quieter at night, but that didn’t make them safer. If anything, the real predators came out after dark.

We moved quickly, keeping to the shadows. The entrance to the Undercity—a sprawling network of tunnels and black-market dealings—was tucked away behind a rundown tavern. Ryn led the way, exchanging a few quiet words with the bouncer before we were let inside.

The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and burning incense. Hooded figures lurked in the corners, discussing trade deals, stolen artifacts, and assassinations in hushed tones.

Sable’s shop was nestled in the heart of it all. A small, cluttered space filled with scrolls, enchanted trinkets, and illicit artifacts. She looked up as we entered, her silver eyes glinting in the dim light.

“Well, well,” she purred, leaning against the counter. “Back so soon? Don’t tell me you already lost the book.”

I placed the grimoire on the counter. “Where did the Crimson Fangs get this?”

Sable raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

I leaned forward. “Because it’s booby-trapped.”

For the first time, Sable’s playful smirk faltered. She studied the grimoire with a more careful eye. “That… was not part of the deal.”

“No kidding,” Ryn said dryly.

Sable ran a finger along the book’s spine. “If you must know, the Fangs got it from an auction in Solmaris. Some noble sold it off to pay his debts.”

Lena frowned. “Which noble?”

Sable shrugged. “Lord Valcairn. Low-tier nobility, but old money. He dabbled in magical artifacts—had an entire collection of rare tomes before he went broke.”

My stomach twisted.

Solmaris.

That meant the book had passed through the capital before ending up here.

Which meant someone in Solmaris knew how to use my formulas.

I exhaled sharply. “We need to get to Solmaris.”

Sable smirked. “Well, if you’re looking for trouble, you’ll find plenty there.”

I already knew that.

Because if someone in Solmaris understood my magic…

Then they were either an ally I didn’t know about—or my greatest enemy.