The capital woke early. Even before the sun cleared the skyline, the streets had begun to shift—wooden shutters clattered open, buckets scraped along stone, and the steady rhythm of carts, hooves, and boots echoed through the alleys like a heartbeat slowly building.

  Tessa moved with the morning crowd, cloak drawn close, the morning chill still clinging to her sleeves. She hadn’t slept well. Not really. Her body had given up, eventually, but her mind had refused to stop spinning. Even now, her thoughts felt muffled, heavy, as if her skull were packed with fog. But her stomach was louder.

  She took the first turn off her street and followed the familiar scent of broth and spice and cheap frying oil until she reached one of the smaller corners where morning workers gathered. A cluster of food stands had already opened—gruff vendors with long aprons and sleep-flattened hair shouting first orders and slapping lids onto bubbling pots. She queued behind two workhands and a man still in his nightshirt.

  Someone nearby coughed—sharp, sudden. She flinched before she could stop herself, then glanced over her shoulder. Just a merchant dusting his stall. Nothing more. But her eyes lingered too long, watching the slow turn of his head as he noticed her looking. She dropped her gaze and shifted her weight.

  When her turn came, she pointed to a bowl of thick grain mash with shredded root vegetables and a strip of dried meat curled along the rim. The vendor handed it to her without a word. She dropped two copper into his hand and stepped aside to eat standing, spoon in one hand, bowl tucked in the crook of her arm. It was cheap and a little watery. But warm. She told herself that was enough.

  The noise of the city surrounded her again—familiar, indifferent, grounding in a way she hadn’t realized she’d missed. She watched a child chase a loose poultry across the street. Watched a courier on a lizard mount run down the road with dust in his wake.

  Still, she kept one hand near her satchel. Her gaze flicked from alley to awning, scanning without trying to look like she was. She felt the burn of eyes again—maybe. Maybe not. Just someone at the next stand. Just a passing glance. She tilted her bowl to get the last few bites, chewing slower now, her back half-tensed. She turned toward the street that led to the Adventuring Guild. Her legs didn’t feel ready. But they moved anyway.

  The Guild stood like it always had—stone walls, tall windows, and that distinct smell of old parchment, steel oil, and damp leather that never quite left. She stepped through the front doors, the familiar creak of the hinges pulling something taut in her chest.

  It was warm inside, already busy. The clatter of boots and the low murmur of voices filled the front hall. Adventurers clustered near the job boards, a few exchanging gear or comparing notes over half-drained mugs, while a scribe at the intake desk scratched busily at a form.

  Nothing looked out of place. But her skin prickled anyway, like a current humming just beneath the surface. Maybe it was how many people were here. Maybe it was the way one of them—a broad-shouldered man near the board—glanced up and held her gaze for a second too long, his eyes flicking down to her body before turning away again.

  She kept moving, adjusting the weight of her cloak, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder. She passed a small stack of fresh postings but didn’t stop to read them. That wasn’t why she was here. Her focus stayed ahead, on the right side of the hall where Rion usually sat—his desk tucked just beneath the Guild’s group plaques. It was empty.

  The chair was pulled out, a half-stack of unclaimed tokens waiting at the edge. A tightness built at the base of her neck. Maybe he was just running late. Or taking a break. Or maybe he’d—

  “There you are.”

  The voice came from her left. She turned sharply, heart lurching against her ribs, only to find Rion standing with one hand tucked in his coat pocket and a half-smile curling his mouth. He arched a brow at her reaction. “You alright?”

  She drew in a breath, steadied herself. “Just tired.”

  “Long trip, then?” he asked, his tone light. He tilted his head toward the side hall. “Come on. I saved you a quiet seat.”

  She didn’t answer right away, but her feet followed him, anyway.

  The hallway he led her down was quieter, tucked away from the bustle of the Guild’s main floor. Stone walls muffled the chatter behind them, the only sound now the soft creak of floorboards beneath her boots and the occasional faint clink of gear being shifted somewhere behind a closed door.

  “Saved me a seat?” she asked after a few steps, her voice low, guarded. “I got back yesterday.”

  He glanced at her sidelong, the corner of his mouth still faintly upturned. “Figure of speech.”

  She didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure if it was a poor joke or something more. She didn’t like not knowing the difference. At the end of the hall, he pushed open a door and gestured her inside. It wasn’t an office—too bare for that. No Guild emblems. No records. Just a narrow table, two chairs, and a closed window that filtered in grey morning light.

  She stepped inside and sat down across from him. The moment the door shut behind them, the quiet became more pointed.

  Rion took his seat with easy familiarity, leaning back and stretching slightly before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a small pouch. He dropped it on the table between them. “You made it.”

  She eyed the pouch but didn’t reach for it. “Was that ever in question?”

  “No,” he said, lifting his hands in a peaceable gesture. “Just polite to say.”

  He smiled again, warm and practiced. Like they were old friends catching up.

  “How was the trip?” he added, voice mild. “Smooth ride? Weather hold out?”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  She stared at him. After everything—after Veilcross, the ambush, the cubes burning hot against her side, the blood in the dark—he wanted to talk about the weather? Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t rise to it. Not directly.

  “I made a short rest in Veilcross,” she said instead, keeping her tone as even as she could manage. “Wasn’t planning to stay long.”

  Rion hummed, faintly interested. “Nice views there, I’ve heard.”

  She didn’t look away from him. “A dungeon appeared in town while I was there.”

  That got a flicker from him. Not surprise—Rion was too trained for that—but his posture sharpened just enough to confirm he’d heard something. She noted it.

  “And then,” she continued, “it was closed. Just as quickly.”

  No real inflection. Just a fact, laid between them like a card half-played.

  Rion’s fingers drummed softly on the tabletop. “Is that so?” he said lightly. “That doesn’t happen often. Veilcross must’ve had some very capable adventurers passing through.”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  The silence stretched for a beat. He didn’t break it, and neither did she. He was waiting to see how much she’d offer. She was waiting to see what he’d do with the little she gave. She sat back in her chair, resting one arm along the side as if she were more at ease than she felt. Her fingers, hidden in the fold of her cloak, were curled tight around the fabric.

  “I got your delivery to Jorran,” she added. “No trouble.”

  Another pause. Just long enough.

  His smile returned, slower this time. “That’s good to hear. He’s particular about his parcels.”

  She didn’t mention socks. Didn’t mention the cubes. She wasn’t even sure which of them she was more afraid to name aloud.

  Rion, still smiling faintly, tilted his head. “And how was Jorran?”

  The question was casual, but his tone was a little too light—just enough to make it noticeable.

  She shrugged, carefully measured. “Polite. Didn’t ask many questions.”

  “Sounds like him.” His fingers tapped a soft rhythm on the table. “He’s not much for conversation unless he’s the one steering it.”

  She let that sit for a second, then added, “He seemed surprised I knew his last name.”

  That got something. Rion’s fingers stilled. Just briefly. But enough.

  He recovered quickly, leaning back in his chair, arms folding loosely. “Did he now?”

  She nodded. “Asked if you’d given it to me.”

  A beat of silence passed.

  “I didn’t,” he said at last.

  She met his gaze. “I know.”

  The smile he gave her now didn’t reach his eyes. “And yet you asked for him by name, anyway.”

  “Lucky guess.”

  He huffed a quiet laugh, then looked down, brushing a bit of nonexistent dust from the table. “You’re getting good at this, you know.”

  “At what?”

  “Circling things.”

  She said nothing. She didn’t want to confirm anything, not yet. Her thoughts drifted back to Jorran—how quickly his demeanor had shifted, how tightly his mouth had drawn when she’d mentioned his last name. And then the way he’d seemed to relax again. As soon as she said the name had come from Rellen and not Rion.

  He didn’t want it to be Rion.

  She leaned back slowly, letting silence do the work for her. “He seemed surprised I made it all the way south.”

  He smiled, but it looked thinner than before. “Did you tell him how rough things got?”

  “I told him a dungeon appeared,” she said. “And that I left.”

  “Mm.” He gave a small, distant nod. “He’s not much for the dramatic, is he?”

  She tilted her head. “You know him well?”

  “Well enough,” he said. Too casually. “We’ve worked together before. Quiet man, likes clean work, doesn’t ask for details.”

  She observed him. That was a lie or outdated. The Jorran she’d met hadn’t been indifferent. He’d been sharp, assessing. Not a man who trusted blindly.

  “And yet,” she said, “he seemed nervous when I mentioned his last name. Asked if you were the one who gave it to me.”

  Rion’s expression didn’t break. But his answer came a beat late.

  “Probably just didn’t expect you to be so thorough.”

  “No,” she said softly, “I don’t think that’s it.”

  For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then, slowly, his smile returned—measured now, not friendly. Like a blade tucked under silk.

  “You’ve changed, you know.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “When you first came in here,” he went on, “you were just looking for honest coin. Fast legs, quiet mouth. Now you’re starting to ask the kinds of questions that get people into trouble.”

  “Maybe trouble’s already here,” she said, standing.

  He didn’t stop her. Just folded his hands loosely in front of him. “If you need more work, let me know.”

  She reached for the pouch on the table. The weight of it felt heavier now. Not just silver—something else. Something that pressed like a warning against her ribs.

  “I’ll let you know.”

  She stepped out of the Adventuring Guild with the pouch still clutched in one hand, the morning light harsher than she remembered. The air felt thinner. The street is too loud. Too full.

  Her feet moved fast—faster than they needed to—turning corners without thinking, following familiar routes by instinct. But her mind was racing behind them, too loud, too tangled. She shouldn’t have said that.

  The moment replayed in her head—her voice a shade too sharp, the way Rion had smiled with his eyes half-lidded, like he was already filing her under a different category.

  She tightened her grip on the pouch and glanced back, just once. A man in a coal-gray cloak was walking half a block behind her. He didn’t look like anyone suspicious. That was the problem. None of them ever did.

  She slowed at the edge of a stall, pretending to glance over the baskets of root vegetables, then turned left instead of right—off her usual route, down a narrower road she only took when the main way was too crowded.

  She didn’t hear his steps change. Didn’t hear them at all. But she kept walking. The new street sloped slightly downward, weaving past the edge of the lower merchant district. It was quieter here. Quieter—but not empty.

  A butcher leaned against his stall, arms folded across his chest, watching the street like he always did. But today, the glance he gave her as she passed lingered a second too long.

  Two teenagers sat on the low stoop of a shuttered laundry, lazily tossing pebbles at a tin bucket. They weren’t talking. Just watching the stones land.

  A courier cut past on a dark-scaled lizard mount, hooves clacking too loudly in the stillness. He didn't shout like they usually did. Just vanished up the bend without a word. It was all so… ordinary.

  Her pace quickened. Boots scuffed the curb as she cut across the street and ducked through a tight gap between an herbalist’s stand and a cart selling bundled reeds. Her fingers brushed the shape of the cubes tucked in her satchel.

  No one had followed her. She hadn’t seen him again. But wasn’t that worse? If he’d turned off when she did… if he was trained… she wouldn’t see him coming at all.

  She took another left. A shortcut now. An alley she used when she was younger, still working the stables and cutting corners to save time. The stone was damp here, the air thick with the smell of old grain and wet canvas. Her breath came faster. One more corner. Then home.

  She turned onto her street and nearly sighed at the sight of it—just rows of squat buildings and half-swept doorsteps. A woman was beating a rug over a railing. Someone had left a basket of old vegetables out for the strays. It all looked the same. But the feeling didn’t follow.

  The moment she let her guard down, it crept back in—that tight, crawling pressure at the base of her neck. She shouldn’t have said anything. Should’ve just taken the pay and walked out. But she hadn’t. And now the words were sitting in her mouth like copper. Her door came into view.

  She didn’t run. But she didn’t slow either. Her steps quickened just enough to cross the distance with purpose. The key turned. The door opened. She stepped inside, shut it behind her, and turned the lock. Then the bolt. Then the top one. Only then did she breathe. She leaned back against the door and squeezed her eyes shut. Just for a moment.

  Then she moved. Room to room. Curtains drawn. Windows checked. Locks double-checked. Every motion small and quiet, like noise might summon something she couldn’t name. She only sat down when she was sure—sure enough—that no one had followed her. But her thoughts didn’t sit still. They paced.