The guild administrator clasped her hands together, her smile wide and impeccably practiced as she looked from one adventurer to the next. It was the kind of smile polished by years of dealing with volatile personalities—warm enough to soothe, firm enough to conceal authority.

  “I’m glad you’re all getting along well,” she said brightly, satisfaction ringing clearly in her voice.

  Kael and Eric spoke at the exact same time.

  “Oh, we are getting along well.”

  The words were identical.

  The tone was not.

  For half a heartbeat, the air tightened, as if the space between them had been pulled taut by an invisible thread. It wasn’t loud or dramatic—no raised voices, no sudden movement—but it was unmistakable. The kind of tension only those accustomed to danger learned to recognize.

  Mary’s eyes flicked between the two men, her brow creasing slightly as instinct stirred. She had faced monsters and men alike, and she knew the difference between rivalry and something far more personal. Musk, standing a step behind her, scratched the back of his head and let out a small, uncertain grunt. He couldn’t name what he felt—but his body reacted anyway, shoulders tightening as though preparing for impact.

  Nearby, the merchant shifted his weight nervously. Silk robes whispered as he adjusted his grip on a jeweled cane far too ornate—and far too fragile—for the road ahead. Sweat gathered at his temples despite the cool stone hall. His hired guards exchanged a quick glance, their hands drifting just a little closer to their sword hilts, alert to a danger they could feel but not see.

  The administrator either didn’t notice—or, more likely, chose not to.

  “Good,” she said briskly, already moving on before silence could deepen into something troublesome. “Then listen carefully.”

  She straightened, professionalism snapping into place like armor being buckled tight.

  “The mission is simple in description, not in execution. You are to escort the client from Wicelind through the outer trade routes and into the Kingdom of Helcurt. Once his business there is concluded, you will escort him safely back.”

  Her gaze sharpened as it swept across them, lingering just long enough on each face to remind them of their responsibilities.

  “Intelligence suggests possible bandit activity along the border paths. Additionally, given the client’s status,” she glanced briefly at the merchant, who stiffened under the attention, “assassins cannot be ruled out. Your responsibility is absolute. Prevent any harm from coming to him. Failure is not an option.”

  Musk cracked his knuckles, the sound loud and eager, as though welcoming the challenge. “Sounds straightforward enough.”

  Mary adjusted the straps of her shield, testing its balance with practiced ease. “Straightforward usually means bloody,” she replied evenly, neither pessimistic nor eager—just honest.

  The administrator nodded once. “Exactly. You leave immediately. Supplies have been prepared. May fortune favor you.”

  With that, she stepped back, already turning away. Her role was finished. Whatever followed would be written on the road.

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  The mission had begun.

  The road out of Wicelind stretched long and pale beneath the midday sun, a ribbon of packed earth winding through gently rolling fields before narrowing toward the more rugged trade paths beyond the outer borders. The distant hum of the city faded behind them, replaced by wind through grass and the rhythmic creak of wheels.

  Dust rose beneath boots and hooves, clinging to cloaks, armor, and skin alike.

  Musk and Mary took point.

  They moved with the easy coordination of seasoned adventurers who had learned to read each other without words. Mary walked slightly ahead, shield resting at her side but ready to rise in an instant, her eyes constantly assessing the terrain—the slope of the land, the spacing of trees, the blind spots along the road. Musk lingered just off to her right, hammer balanced across his shoulder as though it were an extension of his body rather than a weapon capable of crushing bone.

  “Nice weather for an escort,” Musk said after a while, squinting up at the sky. “Almost makes you forget people are probably planning to kill us.”

  Mary snorted softly. “If you forget that,” she said, “you’re already dead.”

  Musk grinned. “Good thing I never forget.”

  Behind them, the merchant’s wagon rolled steadily forward, reinforced wood creaking softly with every turn of the wheels. The merchant sat inside, fidgeting as though each bump personally offended him.

  “Are you certain this route is safe?” he asked for the third time, leaning toward the opening at the front of the wagon.

  One of his guards—a lean man with a scar cutting down his jaw—didn’t bother to hide his sigh. “As safe as any road outside the city walls, sir.”

  “That is not comforting,” the merchant muttered, dabbing his brow with a silk handkerchief. “I was assured A-rank adventurers would be… more reassuring.”

  The second guard, older and broader, glanced back over his shoulder. “They are,” he said calmly. “You’re just not used to silence meaning safety.”

  The merchant frowned. “Silence makes me nervous.”

  “Then you’ll be nervous for a while,” the guard replied dryly.

  At the rear of the caravan, Kael and Eric sat inside the wagon itself.

  The space was just wide enough for the two of them to sit opposite each other without touching—an uncomfortable distance that felt deliberate, like a boundary neither was willing to cross. Wooden panels creaked softly with the movement of the road, the sound rhythmic and steady. Sunlight filtered in through the narrow slats, casting shifting bars of light and shadow across the floor and their faces.

  Silence filled the wagon.

  Not the awkward kind.

  The dangerous kind.

  Kael leaned back against the frame, posture loose, almost lazy, one boot braced lightly against the wood. To an untrained observer, he might have looked relaxed—bored, even. But his senses were stretched outward, brushing against the world beyond iron bands and reinforced planks. Shadows beneath the wagon shifted subtly, bending and settling in response to him like living things aware of their master’s presence.

  Eric sat opposite him, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the road slipping past outside the open panel.

  Yet Kael knew better.

  Eric wasn’t watching the road.

  He was listening—to the wagon’s rhythm, the guards’ footfalls, the distant wind, the subtle changes in cadence that betrayed movement where none should be. Eric had always been like that. Always aware. Always prepared.

  The wagon rolled on.

  Minutes passed, measured by the steady creak of wood and the muted thud of hooves ahead.

  Outside, Musk’s voice drifted back. “You think bandits will be dumb enough to hit a caravan this obvious?”

  Mary answered without looking back. “Bandits are rarely dumb. Desperate, greedy, overconfident—yes. Dumb? No.”

  Musk chuckled. “I like overconfident enemies.”

  “So do graveyards,” Mary replied.

  Inside the wagon, Kael’s eyes flickered briefly toward the sound, then returned to Eric. His expression remained calm, but something beneath it sharpened.

  The silence stretched further, taut as a drawn wire, humming with things unsaid.

  Then Eric spoke.

  “So,” he said casually, still not turning his head, his voice smooth and familiar in a way that scraped against old scars, “how have you been doing, little cockroach?”

  Kael’s eyes opened fully.

  The shadows beneath the wagon stilled, as if the world itself paused to listen.

  Eric finally turned to face him. Brown eyes, sharp and unblinking, locked onto Kael’s with surgical precision. A faint, cutting smile tugged at his lips—the same smile that had once preceded battles, betrayals, and blood-soaked nights neither of them had forgotten.

  “Since you refused to die.”