The Hollow Crown

The storm that had been threatening all day finally broke just after midnight. Rain hammered the windows of the abandoned courthouse, thunder rolling in long, angry waves that shook the rafters. Lightning sliced the sky, throwing stark shadows across the broken pews and shattered glass. It was a place the city had forgotten, but Raven and Knox knew better—sometimes the places everyone forgot were the most dangerous of all.

Raven moved first, boots silent on the warped wood floor. Her hood was pulled low, hair sticking damply to her cheek from the rain outside. She had her knife drawn, blade catching the light of every strike of lightning. Her eyes flicked across the space like a hawk, cataloguing threats, exits, the weight of silence itself.

Knox followed a step behind, slower, heavier, his presence deliberate. He didn’t bother trying to hide the sound of his boots; stealth was Raven’s game. His was intimidation, the kind of weight that pressed into a room and reminded anyone listening in the shadows that they weren’t dealing with prey. His hands were loose at his sides, but Raven knew he could snap a man’s neck before that man had time to finish blinking.

“This is a setup,” Raven muttered under her breath, voice barely audible over the groan of the old building.

Knox grunted. “Of course it is. They want us off balance.”

Lightning flashed again, revealing the far end of the courthouse—an altar still intact, draped in dust and cobwebs. A single chair sat in front of it, deliberate, centered like a lure. On the seat, wrapped in black cloth, was a box. Small, unassuming, but Raven’s instincts screamed.

Knox saw her hesitation. “You think it’s rigged?”

She gave a humorless laugh. “I think breathing in this city is rigged.”

Still, she approached. Each step calculated. Her knife hovered at her side, ready. She crouched in front of the chair, eyes narrowing as she studied the box. No wires. No immediate traps. But that didn’t mean safe.

Knox kept his distance, scanning the shadows high in the rafters. He could feel eyes. They weren’t alone.

“Raven,” he warned.

“I know.” Her fingers brushed the box, cool and rough under her hand. She pulled the cloth away in one sharp motion.

Inside was a crown.

Gold, tarnished, ancient. The hollow crown. Its edges were jagged, cruel, almost mocking in the way it gleamed.

Knox swore under his breath. “They’re not even subtle anymore.”

The air shifted. Raven felt it before she heard it—the creak of wood above, the shift of weight. In one breath, she dropped flat, knife flashing upward. A body crashed down from the rafters, a masked figure with a blade aimed for her throat. Her knife met his wrist mid-strike, steel biting flesh. Blood sprayed. He screamed, stumbling, but before he could recover, Knox was already on him.

One hand wrapped around the man’s throat, lifting him clean off the ground. With the other, Knox tore the blade from his grip and snapped it in two like kindling. The man kicked, thrashed, but it was pointless. Knox tightened his grip until the sound of cartilage snapping echoed through the courthouse. The body went limp, tossed aside like trash.

But that was just the opening.

More shadows spilled from the rafters, the aisles, behind broken pillars. Figures in masks, moving with precision. Six. No—eight. Armed, circling.

Raven rose to her feet, knife still slick with blood, crown glinting on the chair behind her. She flashed Knox a look. Not fear. Never fear. Just a silent calculation—we’re outnumbered, but we’ve been outnumbered before.

Knox cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders. “Guess they missed the sermon. Let’s preach.”

The first came at Raven fast, twin blades slashing. She moved quicker, body fluid, ducking under the first swing and driving her knife up into his ribs. She twisted, ripped free, pivoted just in time to catch another attacker with a kick to the knee that sent him crumpling.

Knox waded into the fray like a storm. One man swung a bat; Knox caught it mid-arc, yanked it free, and smashed it across the attacker’s face. Bone splintered. He didn’t stop—spinning, swinging the broken bat into the next man’s gut with enough force to fold him in half.

The courthouse became chaos. The sound of steel, flesh, bone, grunts, the sick thud of bodies hitting wood. Raven moved like fire—sharp, unpredictable, burning through every gap. Knox moved like earth—solid, unstoppable, crushing anyone in his path.

Still, they took hits. A blade nicked Raven’s arm. Blood welled hot, but she barely flinched. Knox caught a blow to the jaw that staggered him, but he answered with a headbutt that shattered his attacker’s mask.

One by one, the masked figures fell. Some dead, some writhing on the floor, gasping. Until finally, silence reclaimed the courthouse.

Raven stood in the center, chest heaving, knife dripping. Her gaze snapped to the crown. Untouched. Waiting.

Knox spit blood to the side, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That feel like too easy to you?”

She gave a sharp nod. “Way too easy.”

They both turned at the same time.

At the far end of the courthouse, where the shadows pooled deepest, slow applause began. A figure emerged—tall, cloaked, face hidden behind a porcelain mask painted with a permanent smile.

“Well done,” the figure said, voice smooth, mocking. “But the crown doesn’t belong to you.”

Raven’s grip tightened on her knife. Knox stepped forward, every muscle in his body tensed like a coiled spring.

The masked figure tilted its head. “You can’t fight what’s already yours.”

Another flash of lightning filled the room, and when the light faded—he was gone.

Raven exhaled, frustration simmering. She turned to Knox, eyes on the crown. “It’s a game. They’re trying to pull us into it.”

Knox shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. They made it personal.”

Silence again, broken only by the rain. Raven reached for the crown. Her fingers hovered just above it, trembling—not from fear, but from the weight of choice.

When she finally lifted it, the metal was cold, heavier than it looked. And as it settled in her hands, she felt it—not power, not triumph, but a hollowness that seeped into her bones.

Knox saw her face change. “What is it?”

She swallowed hard. “It’s not a prize. It’s a warning.”