Finn had just pulled a fresh Gilded Trout en Papillote from the oven when he heard the voices.

  Loud. Familiar. Unmistakably from his past.

  He didn’t tense. Didn’t stop moving. His hands continued their practiced motions—setting the fish onto a warmed plate, drizzling the herb-infused butter over the top, adjusting the garnish. But his stomach had already twisted into a slow, uneasy knot.

  The first voice was gravelly, with that same smug undertone it had always carried. The kind of voice that belonged to a man who talked fast and fought dirty.

  “Oi! I thought I smelled something good in this piss-hole of a town!”

  The second voice was lighter, sharper, carrying the playful arrogance of someone who loved testing limits.

  “Would you look at this place? Didn’t think Tumblepot would settle down, let alone run a gods-damned restaurant.”

  Finn exhaled through his nose and kept working. He didn’t need to turn around. He already knew who they were.

  Kellen "Kel" Quickfingers and Orla Halloway.

  Two names he hadn’t heard in years. Two names he hadn’t expected to hear again—at least, not like this.

  Kel had been a lockpick, a grifter, and a gambler with the luck of the gods—or at least, that’s what he always claimed. Tall for a halfling, with quick hands and quicker words, he had been the type to talk his way out of trouble right up until the moment he decided it was easier to stab his way out instead.

  Orla had been different. Quieter. Smarter. A half-elf with a talent for illusion magic and a mind for strategy, she had been one of the few people Finn had actually trusted back in his old life. She could smile in your face while emptying your pockets—or if she had to, she could make you forget you even saw her in the first place.

  And now they were standing in his tavern.

  Grog noticed the shift before anyone else. He had been rolling dough for the next batch of fettuccine, but the moment the voices carried across the room, his movements slowed. He flicked his gaze toward Finn, unreadable as ever, then let out a quiet grunt and went back to his work.

  Marla, however, wasn’t nearly as subtle.

  She had been collecting Silver Coins from a customer near the bar when she caught sight of the newcomers, and her brow immediately furrowed. Finn didn’t need to see her face to know exactly what she was thinking.

  Who the hell are these two?

  “Well, well, well! If it isn’t Finnrick Tumblepot, living the respectable life.” Kel’s voice carried across the room as he strode forward, arms spread wide like he was greeting an old friend instead of someone who had barely survived their last job together.

  Finn wiped his hands on a rag and finally—finally—turned to face them.

  Kel hadn’t changed much. Still grinning like he owned the room, still wearing a coat that had too many hidden pockets, still carrying himself like he had a dozen escape plans at any given moment. Orla, standing just behind him, was the opposite. She was watching the room, taking everything in, cataloging exits, patrons, threats. That was how she had always been.

  Finn leaned against the counter, expression carefully neutral. “Kel. Orla.”

  Orla lifted a hand in a lazy wave. “Finn.”

  Kel, however, wasn’t satisfied with the lack of a reaction. He let out a low whistle, looking around. “Gotta say, I didn’t expect this from you. Thought you’d be rotting in a cell by now. Or buried.”

  Finn exhaled through his nose. “Nice to see you too, Kel.”

  Kel smirked, stepping closer, placing both hands on the counter. “You gonna offer an old friend a drink, or you just gonna stare at me like I owe you money?”

  “You do owe me money.”

  Kel laughed, slapping the counter. “That’s fair.”

  Orla, who had been scanning the room with casual disinterest, let her gaze settle on Grog for the first time. Finn saw the exact moment she reevaluated everything about the situation.

  Her eyes flicked to Finn, then back to Grog. Then, slowly, she smiled. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”

  Finn raised a brow. “Glad to impress.”

  Kel grinned, tapping the counter again. “Alright, alright. But seriously. A drink, a meal—come on, Tumblepot. You gonna let two old friends starve?”

  Finn glanced toward Marla, who was still watching the exchange like she was ready to throw them both out herself. He gave her a short nod.

  She sighed heavily and turned toward the bar. “What are they drinking?”

  Kel smirked. “Something strong.”

  Orla rolled her eyes. “Something not cheap.”

  Marla muttered something under her breath about picky bastards, but she poured the drinks anyway.

  Finn, meanwhile, turned back toward the stove. He had half a mind to serve them something terrible, but… no. That wasn’t how this worked. If they were here, they wanted something. And if he was going to figure out what, he needed them comfortable.

  He worked quickly, plating up two servings of Goblin’s Gold Curry—one of the most filling dishes on the menu, something to keep them here a little longer. He wasn’t about to rush this conversation.

  As he set the plates in front of them, Kel picked up his fork, grinning. “Damn. Never thought I’d see the day Finn Tumblepot served me a meal instead of pocketing my coin.”

  Finn didn’t smile. “Eat your food, Kel.”

  Kel laughed, shaking his head, but he dug in without complaint.

  Orla, however, was still watching Finn. Still studying.

  And then, after a long pause, she set down her drink and leaned in slightly.

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  “Vraska’s been asking about you.”

  Finn’s stomach went cold.

  Kel, still chewing, muttered, “Real subtle, Orla.”

  Finn exhaled slowly. He had expected this—had known Vraska’s name would come up sooner or later. But that didn’t mean he was ready for it.

  “She put a bounty on my head,” Finn said flatly.

  Orla nodded. “She did.”

  Kel wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Hell of a price, too. One thousand Silver Coins. You must’ve pissed her off good.”

  Finn’s grip on the counter tightened just slightly. He had spent years staying off Vraska’s radar. Years building this life, keeping out of her business. And now, it was all unraveling.

  He took a slow breath, forcing the tension from his shoulders. “You here to collect?”

  Kel snorted. “If I was, do you think I’d be eating your food?”

  Orla smirked. “Kel wouldn’t risk food poisoning.”

  Finn huffed a quiet breath. “I would’ve given you something worse than poisoning.”

  Kel grinned. “Exactly.”

  Finn crossed his arms. “So why are you here?”

  Orla picked up her drink again, swirling the liquid. “We wanted to see if you were still breathing.”

  Kel swallowed another bite of curry. “And to see if you had any idea how much trouble you’re in.”

  Finn already knew. But hearing it from them? It made it feel real.

  And for the first time since this all started, Finn felt the walls closing in.

  Finn let the words settle, watching Orla and Kel with a steady, unreadable expression. He wasn’t surprised, not really. The moment bounty hunters started showing up, he knew his past wasn’t going to stay buried much longer. But hearing them confirm it, seeing the way Orla watched him like he was a problem she hadn’t quite figured out yet—that made it real.

  He exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the counter. “I already know how much trouble I’m in.”

  Kel, still chewing, gestured vaguely with his fork. “Yeah, but knowing and understanding are different things.”

  Finn arched a brow. “That so?”

  Orla swirled her drink, watching the liquid spin. “Vraska didn’t just put out a bounty, Finn. She’s asking questions. And when Vraska starts asking questions, people start getting nervous.”

  Finn’s stomach twisted. He knew what that meant. A bounty was one thing—it attracted desperate hunters, coin-hungry mercenaries, people Finn could deal with. But if Vraska was putting feelers out, pressing her network for information?

  That meant she wasn’t just looking for him. She was making plans.

  Finn kept his face carefully neutral. “What kind of questions?”

  Kel leaned back in his chair, stretching. “You know. The usual. Where you’ve been, who you’ve been talking to, if you’ve got any debts she can collect on.” He shot Finn a sharp grin. “If you’ve got any weaknesses.”

  Finn swallowed down the instinct to reach for a knife. The Velvet Ladle was his weakness, and they all knew it.

  Orla set her drink down, tilting her head slightly. “More than that, she’s looking for people who know you.”

  Finn’s eyes flicked between them. “And yet, here you are, in my tavern, telling me this instead of running straight to her.”

  Kel placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Finn. You wound me.”

  Orla smirked. “He means we haven’t decided if you’re worth selling out yet.”

  Finn exhaled sharply through his nose. “Appreciate the honesty.”

  Kel waved his fork. “Hey, if we were here to turn you in, do you think we’d be eating? Vraska’s coin is tempting, sure, but have you tasted this curry?”

  Finn rolled his eyes. “Glad my food’s worth more than my head.”

  Orla leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “We’re not bounty hunters, Finn. Never were. We don’t take contracts, we don’t chase coin like that. But that doesn’t mean we’re not watching the board.”

  Finn narrowed his eyes. “Meaning?”

  Kel popped another bite of curry into his mouth, chewing for a moment before swallowing. “Meaning we know a bad game when we see one. And this? This smells rotten.”

  Finn frowned, studying them both carefully. Kel wasn’t lying—not outright, at least. He was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. If he thought Vraska’s bounty wasn’t as simple as it seemed, then Finn needed to take that seriously.

  Finn drummed his fingers against the counter. “How much time do I have?”

  Orla’s expression didn’t change. And that told Finn everything.

  “Not long,” she said. “If she’s asking questions, it means she’s already narrowing her focus.”

  Kel nodded. “The bounty hunters? They’re just the start. If they can’t flush you out, she’ll send someone else. Someone who won’t bother asking nicely.”

  Finn clenched his jaw. He already knew that, but hearing it confirmed didn’t make it any easier.

  Kel wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then set his fork down with a sigh. “But hey. Maybe you get lucky. Maybe she lets you off with a warning.”

  Finn gave him a flat look. “Since when has Vraska ever let anything go?”

  Kel grinned. “Never. But it’s nice to hope.”

  Finn exhaled through his nose. “If you two are so interested in keeping me alive, why are you really here?”

  Orla shrugged. “Curiosity.”

  Kel smirked. “And a good meal.”

  Finn didn’t believe them. Not entirely. People like them didn’t just show up for curiosity. They were keeping their options open, waiting to see which side of this played out best for them.

  Finn could work with that.

  He wiped his hands on his apron, straightening. “You two finish up your food. If you need a place to lie low for the night, there’s a room upstairs.”

  Kel raised a brow. “Really? No strings?”

  Finn exhaled. “No strings.”

  Orla studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Appreciate it.”

  Finn didn’t trust them. But trust didn’t matter right now. Leverage did. And if keeping them close meant knowing what they knew before Vraska did, it was a risk worth taking.

  Just as he was about to turn back toward the kitchen, the tavern door swung open.

  Finn didn’t tense—not outwardly. But he felt the shift immediately. The change in air. The way conversation dipped just slightly.

  Another newcomer.

  But this time, it wasn’t from his past.

  It was a guard.

  Finn recognized him—not by name, but by uniform. One of the city watch. Not a high-ranking officer, but someone who had enough authority to make things inconvenient if he wanted to.

  The man stepped forward, shaking off the damp from his cloak, his eyes scanning the room before settling on Finn.

  Finn pulled in a slow breath, wiping his hands on his apron. Of course.

  “Something I can help you with, officer?” Finn asked, keeping his voice even.

  The guard, a broad-shouldered man with thinning hair and a nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice, sniffed and crossed his arms. “Got a report. Someone said stolen goods were being moved through this place.”

  The words landed heavy.

  Finn felt his stomach tighten. Stolen goods? Here? That wasn’t just a routine shakedown. That was a setup.

  The tavern had gone quiet now. Too quiet.

  Behind him, he felt Grog shift slightly. Not moving aggressively—just watching. Waiting.

  Finn tilted his head, keeping his expression neutral. “Not sure who told you that, but I run a tavern. Only thing moving through here is food and ale.”

  The guard exhaled sharply through his nose. “That so?”

  Finn met his gaze. “That’s so.”

  For a long moment, the guard didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He was waiting for something. Maybe a reaction. Maybe a mistake.

  Then, slowly, he reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a folded slip of parchment.

  Finn’s blood ran cold.

  The guard held it out to him.

  “Got orders to search the place. This was given to me directly however, should I feel the need to report it to the higher ups, I will. After confiscating your illegal items that is.”

  Finn took the parchment carefully, his heart beating a little too fast.

  As his eyes scanned the official-looking script, two things became immediately clear:

  This wasn’t a bluff.

  Someone had made sure this landed on his doorstep.

  Finn clenched his jaw. Was it Vraska, or an angry rival tavern? What beautiful timing.

  And he had very little time to figure out what the hell he was going to do about it.