Chapter 159

Chapter 159
Lyra's POV

Sylvia stood still for a moment, her fingers tapping unconsciously against her arm as she mulled something over. Then she spoke.

"Given Kaelum's status and personality, he'd definitely choose something more thrilling. Those Texas Hold'em tables and Sic Bo games in the main hall wouldn't even register on his radar."

She paused, her expression darkening slightly. "He enjoys watching people break down at the betting table."

I nodded. That aligned with everything I knew about Kaelum.

A man like him wouldn't be satisfied with mere wins and losses of chips—he craved control, that twisted satisfaction that came from watching others squirm in desperation.

As I considered our next move, a familiar scent drifted into my nostrils.

Faint. Almost drowned out by the casino's heavy miasma of perfume, cigar smoke, and alcohol. But I recognized it—Sera.

My only friend in the Red Fang pack. I couldn't possibly mistake her scent.

Sylvia's sharp eyes caught the shift in my demeanor immediately.

"What is it? Have you already figured out where Kaelum is?"

"No," I shook my head, my gaze lingering in the direction the scent had come from. "But I think I've picked up on someone familiar."

"How is that possible?" Sylvia lowered her voice, disbelief threading through her words. "This is Varyn's casino, not some place anyone can just waltz into. How could you possibly have an acquaintance here?"

I wanted to know the answer to that question myself.

Sera should have been in Red Fang right now, living a quiet life beside Bran—not appearing in this vampire-run underground gambling den.

I almost convinced myself it was just my imagination, but I couldn't. That elusive scent was like an impossibly fine thread, pulling me in a particular direction.

I was about to follow it when Sylvia suddenly grabbed my arm, her eyes fixed on the far side of the hall, pupils dilating involuntarily.

I followed her line of sight.

Several men in white lab coats were crossing the hall, heading toward a side corridor off the VIP section. They wore identical badges pinned to their chests and carried sealed silver briefcases.

"Those are Varyn's people—the ones who develop all kinds of potions!" Sylvia's voice trembled with barely contained excitement, her fingers digging into my arm. "They must be carrying the antidote to that drug. Lyra, wait here for me. I'll be right back. Once I get the antidote, I promise I'll help you find Kaelum."

I looked into her eyes and saw something I couldn't quite name.

A flicker of concern passed through me—her reckless action could be dangerous. This was Varyn's territory, and every step risked walking into a trap.

But I didn't try to stop her.

I could see how desperately she wanted that antidote, and stopping her now wouldn't be wise.

With my tacit permission, Sylvia released my arm, crouched low, and slipped toward those men, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

I watched that direction for a moment before turning back to follow Sera's scent.

I moved through a corridor carpeted in dark crimson and stopped before a heavy oak door. It was shut tight, but the scent seeped through the gap beneath it.

As I tried to identify the smell more precisely, two werewolves appeared from the other end of the corridor, each clutching an ivory-colored chip.

Without thinking, I slipped into the shadows at the corridor's turn.

"Alaric, it's been ages since we played this big. I can't help getting excited already," said the one on the left, his voice carrying a nauseating thrill.

"Last batch didn't last long—dead before the first round was even over."

The one called Alaric flipped the chip in his hand. "I had to complete several trade missions to earn this opportunity from the higher-ups. Let's hope this new batch won't disappoint."

Their voices rooted my feet to the spot.

Though the door was closed and I couldn't see what lay beyond, I was almost certain—Sera was behind that door.

"Damn it, I forgot to collect the chips I won last time," Alaric said suddenly as they neared the door, clapping the other man on the shoulder.

His companion wrinkled his nose in distaste. "You're so slow. By the time you get back, this new batch might already be used up."

"Go ahead without me. I'll grab them and be right back."

The other man nodded and walked alone to the oak door, knocked twice, and handed his ivory chip to whoever stood guard inside. The door opened just wide enough for him to slip through sideways.

I stood in the shadows for a moment, memories flashing through my mind—Sera rescuing me from the dungeon in Red Fang, staying awake all night to watch over me.

Whatever else was true, she had saved my life. I couldn't just abandon her.

I slipped silently from the shadows and caught up to Alaric as he walked down the corridor. Before he could register my footsteps, my arm was already locked around his throat.

He struggled twice, then went limp.

I caught the ivory chip as it slipped from his hand, dragged his unconscious body into the nearest storage room, stuffed him behind a pile of grimy tablecloths, and gently kicked the door shut with my foot.

After confirming the chip was intact, I adjusted my appearance, making sure my disguise was flawless. I loosened a few strands from my low ponytail to partially obscure my face, flipped up my collar to hide my jawline, then approached the oak door.

I knocked the way the previous man had.

The door cracked open, and a callused hand extended through the gap.

I handed over the ivory chip.

The hand accepted it, turned it over for inspection, then pulled the door open just wide enough for me to squeeze through sideways.

The room was larger than I'd expected.

The lighting was dim and yellow, the air thick with heavy smoke and a sharper, more pungent metallic tang.

Against the walls stood several "gamblers," each wearing a blood-magic-powered collar around their neck. The runes on the collars glowed with a sinister crimson light in the murky illumination.

Their faces bore no trace of a gambler's excitement—only the terror and despair of prey.

Sera was among them.

Her hands were bound behind her back, her hair disheveled, a still-damp streak of blood marking her face.

Seeing her in such a wretched state made my heartbeat skip.

Just then, I caught the faint scent of alcohol.

I turned my head, following the smell.

A masked man sat in a high-backed chair at the center of the room, one hand propped lazily beneath his chin, the other holding a wine glass.

The mask covered the upper half of his face, revealing only a jawline and a pair of lips.

But I knew that curve of the mouth, that line of the jaw, intimately.

Even with the mask, I recognized him instantly.

Kaelum.

He sat there like a king surveying his prey on his own hunting grounds.