Chapter 27 Enemy of My Enemy
The night market in the Lower District never truly slept.
Even under the weight of increased checkpoints and Sentinel patrols, Helgard's underground economy kept breathing — street vendors with threadbare tents, oil lamps swaying on lines strung between buildings, and hundreds of anonymous faces moving through the crowd like fish in a muddy river. The perfect place to become invisible.
Ren adjusted his collar. Tonight he wasn't Ren Ashford. He was Eren Valk — a spare parts trader from the industrial district with a forgettable face and an even more forgettable reason to be here.
"Position secure," Lyra's voice hummed softly in his left ear through the comm-piece. "I've got eyes on every corner within a three-block radius. But Ren — I still don't like this."
Ren didn't answer. His eyes swept the crowd, searching for one face among hundreds.
On the rooftop of a three-story building across the street, a shadow moved without sound. Nyx. Their failsafe. Her fingers had been resting on a blade handle since sundown, and Ren knew — one wrong move from anyone, and she wouldn't wait for orders.
Hopefully tonight wouldn't come to that.
Aela Corinth emerged from the crowd like a ghost.
No Sentinel uniform. No badge, no visible weapons, none of the rigid authority she usually wore like a shield. She had on a plain dark jacket and a scarf covering half her face — and for the first time, Ren saw her as human.
A human who looked wrecked.
The dark circles under her eyes weren't just lack of sleep — they were the mark of someone who'd spent days wrestling with something eating them from the inside. Her hair, usually pulled back neat, hung loose and tangled. Her stride was still straight, but there were fractures in it — like a wall still standing but riddled with hairline cracks waiting for one final blow.
She sat across from Ren without greeting. Without preamble.
"You came alone?" Ren asked.
"Do I look like I brought an army?"
Her voice was hoarse. Spent. Ren studied her face — looking for the lie, looking for the trap. All he found was exhaustion too deep to fake.
"Talk," Ren said.
Aela met his eyes. For a moment, there was hesitation — a last flicker of old loyalty at war with something larger. Then the hesitation died, like a candle that had run out of wick.
"My father," she began, and the word alone sounded like a confession. "Commander Draven Corinth. He doesn't just know about The Accord." A pause. "He's one of its founders."
Ren didn't react. Not because he wasn't surprised — but because he'd learned that reactions were a luxury he couldn't afford at a table like this.
"Sentinel," Aela went on, each word heavier than the last. "We were all taught that the organization was created to protect the people of Helgard. Keep order. Defend the weak." Her laugh was short, bitter, cracking at the edges. "From the very beginning — from the start, Ren — Sentinel was a tool of control. Built by The Accord to monitor, manage, and if necessary... eliminate Void users."
In Ren's ear, Lyra had gone silent. No commentary. No analysis. Just a quiet that spoke louder than words.
Aela reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small data chip. Her hand trembled slightly as she set it on the table.
"A list of names," she said. "Dozens of Void users who 'disappeared' over the past several years. Official records say they fled, died in the Ashlands, or never existed." Her eyes hardened. "They didn't disappear. They were sent to Gallax laboratories. Every. Single. One."
The air between them felt like glass — transparent but fragile, ready to shatter under the slightest pressure.
"Why come to me?" Ren asked. The real question: why now? Why me?
Aela looked at him straight. No filter. No diplomacy.
"Because you're the only person in this city crazy enough to go up against my father."
A second passed.
"And because..." Her voice dropped half a note — not hesitation, but weight. "Your real name is on the list for the next round of experiments."
Something cold detonated in Ren's chest. Not fear — more primitive than that. Instinct. The awareness that he was no longer the hunter, but prey that had already been marked.
Movement on the rooftop.
Ren sensed it before he saw it — a shift in the air, a tension changing like a bowstring being drawn. Nyx. The name Corinth must have reached her through the comm, and for someone built in a Corinth laboratory, that name wasn't just a word — it was a trigger.
Ren raised his left hand. Slow. Casual. Like scratching his temple. Three fingers open, then a fist.
Hold.
On the roof, the shadow stopped. Didn't retreat — but stopped. For now, that was enough.
Aela seemed unaware of how close she'd just come to a blade in her throat.
"There's more," she said. She slid a second data chip across the table. "Access codes to Sentinel's internal communications network. Encrypted frequencies, password rotations, emergency protocols. All of it."
Ren stared at the chip. Small. Unassuming. And the most dangerous weapon anyone could hand him right now — direct access to the operational heart of the enemy.
"In return?" Ren asked, because nothing was free. Not in this world.
Aela rose from her chair. For a moment, under the swaying light of the market lanterns, Ren saw something in her eyes he recognized — the same fire that burned in his own. The rage of a child who'd found a monster behind her father's face.
"Don't kill him," Aela said. Her voice wasn't pleading — commanding, even now. "Let me be the one to face him."
Then she turned and disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by the current of bodies and dim light, as if she'd never been there at all.
Nyx dropped from the rooftop three minutes later. Her landing was nearly silent — just a small push of wind and the sound of boots touching stone.
"She'll betray us," she said. Not a question. Not a guess. A statement from someone who already knew what it felt like to be betrayed by people who shared that same last name.
Ren slipped both data chips into his inner pocket. The cold of the metal bled through the fabric, pressing against his skin like a promise — or a threat.
He was quiet for a moment. Considering. Weighing every possibility like a merchant counting coins in his palm.
"Maybe," he said at last. "But we need what she has."
Nyx scoffed softly. Disagreed. But didn't argue.
They walked back to the safehouse in silence — two people who didn't trust each other, carrying weapons given by a third who might destroy them all.
Above, Helgard's sky was starless. Like an eye pressed shut, refusing to witness what was coming.