Dishonored 1 Apr 2026

He slipped through a service hatch, crawled through ducts slick with grime, and dropped into the private chambers of the Pendleton twins—the men who held Emily captive as leverage. They were drunk, arrogant, their faces painted like porcelain masks. One was detailing, with a laugh, how he planned to “train” the young empress.

Corvo knew the truth the Loyalists had not yet learned: in Dunwall, mercy was a luxury. But so was vengeance. And he had not yet decided which one would cost him more.

He carried her through the window, Blinking across the rooftops as the rain washed the city’s sins into the sea. Behind them, the Golden Cat glittered like a poisoned jewel. Ahead, the Hound Pits Pub waited—a den of conspirators with their own hidden blades.

“Corvo,” she whispered, her face buried in his coat. She was trembling. She smelled of cheap perfume and fear. “I knew you’d come.” dishonored 1

Corvo looked at his hands—the hands that had once held Jessamine as she died. The mark of the Outsider pulsed like a second heartbeat.

But the Outsider had other plans.

Three months ago, he had been the Lord Protector, the Empress’s shadow and sword. He had watched Jessamine die on the floor of her own tower, her blood seeping between his fingers as her daughter, Emily, screamed. Then the usurper Burrows had thrown Corvo into Coldridge Prison, branded him a murderer, and left him to rot. He slipped through a service hatch, crawled through

A chokehold. A quiet drag. Two unconscious bodies slumped behind a velvet curtain. He picked the lock on Emily’s door with a hairpin, and when the hinges creaked open, a small figure launched herself at his legs.

The Golden Cat was a silk-draped hell of perfumed vapors and captive women. Its patrons were nobles who paid in coin and cruelty. Corvo had learned their names from the Loyalists—Admiral Havelock, the spymaster Pendleton, the inventor Piero. They promised to restore Emily to the throne if Corvo did their bloody work. He didn’t trust them. But he trusted the Lord Regent even less.

She pulled back, eyes wide. “Can we kill them? The bad men?” Corvo knew the truth the Loyalists had not

Emily squeezed his neck. “You’re shaking,” she said.

He knelt, lifting her onto his hip the way he had when she was small enough to sit on his shoulders during state processions. “We’re going home,” he said.