Outside the treehouse, the world was still.

  No Nacht. No sign of anyone.

  I’d hoped to corner him, pry a few answers out of him, but in truth, I was glad for the quiet. The conversation inside had been beyond me—half-spoken, half-understood, a language of glances and gestures. Criminal tongues. Mercenary codes.

  I let out a slow breath and sat down, leaning back against a nearby tree, letting my muscles relax against the rough bark.

  Seven months of nothing. Just scraping by, existing from one day to the next. Then, in days, I had a job. I nearly died. I met figures that could unmake me with a thought. And now, I was waiting for my partner to drag us deeper into whatever business this was.

  Twenty minutes passed. Maybe more.

  Then Manach climbed down. No words. Just a glance.

  Something was off. Or maybe he just wanted to talk somewhere quieter.

  I got up, followed him deeper into the woods. We walked until the treehouse was a memory, until the only sound was the crunch of underbrush beneath our boots. Sunset bled across the sky.

  We sat.

  “Talk to me,” I said, voice steady.

  Manach took a breath, then smirked. “I will. Just don’t know where to start.”

  “How about what the hell that was?” I shot back.

  “Business,” he said easily, pulling out a flask and taking a sip. Then he handed it to me. “You know I deal with these types. Be glad no one got hurt.”

  I took a drink. Wine. Cheap. But it settled my nerves.

  He wasn’t wrong. The odds of walking out of that alive were slim. But somehow, somehow, Manach always made it work.

  “Alright,” I exhaled. “No idea what you pulled in there, but we got the money, and we got the approval, I assume?”

  “Yeah,” Manach said. Then, with another grin, “And we got another job. A side-job, if you may.”

  I gave him a look. “Off the record, I suppose?”

  “The best kind,” he said, taking another sip. “But it means our trip is… extended.”

  “How much?”

  Manach watched me over the rim of his flask. “Three months, give or take. If both jobs go smooth, we might wrap this up in a year.”

  I shook my head, laughing under my breath. “Honestly? I’m just glad we’re doing something. Even if it’s a mess.”

  Manach chuckled. He passed the wine back, and I took another sip. I could already feel the dullness creeping in. Not drunk. Just softened.

  While he drank, I started working on a fire. Not for warmth—we didn’t feel cold. Just light. Just to keep the wild things at bay.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Tomorrow, we head off,” Manach said. “We’ve got enough supplies. If we’re missing anything, we’ll pick it up on the road.”

  I nodded, then frowned. “What about the wife?”

  He blinked. “The wife?”

  “Yeah. Rechna. Sioh’s wife. We still need to question her.”

  Manach shook his head. “No can do.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

  “She’s already gone,” he said. “With a regiment. Off to war.”

  I stared at him. “And you just found this out?”

  Manach took another slow sip before answering. “Remember those Coldians I was talking to before you stumbled into me? They knew her. Told me straight.”

  I exhaled, rubbing my temples. “Alright then. Tomorrow, we move.”

  The fire crackled, painting the clearing in flickering gold. The rest of the night, we talked—reminiscing, trading stories of old jobs, old wounds. We laughed about the time we were hired to escort some human messenger carrying vital information, only for him to get killed by a fucking bird.

  A bird.

  Accidental, of course. But still, a bird.

  We drank. We laughed.

  And eventually, sleep took us.

  And that’s when the dreams came.

  Vivid.

  Too vivid.

  I dreamt of a high glamour keep, vast and endless, its banquet tables stretching beyond sight. The air was thick with laughter, the clatter of goblets, the murmur of conspiracies whispered behind jeweled hands.

  Elves. All highborn, at least in the dream. Drinking, feasting, fighting, reveling in their own power.

  And I was above them.

  I sat at the head of it all—on a throne.

  Empty. No lord. No king. Just me.

  Someone stood nearby. A woman. An elf, I thought. But I couldn’t see her face. Every time I tried, something shifted—her hair obscured it, or the light bent wrong. Her features flickered, her armor changed, her very being refused to settle.

  I tried to speak.

  Then I woke up.

  Manach was laughing.

  I groaned, my voice raw. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Good morning to you too,” Manach said, his grin too wide.

  He was seated nearby, whittling arrows for his bow, still chuckling to himself. I pushed myself up and reached for the rations—hard, dry, and miserable, but food was food. At least Manach had already brewed black tea, my favorite. I sipped it slowly, watching him.

  Still grinning. Still holding in laughter.

  “Tell me,” I said flatly.

  “No, you tell me,” Manach countered. “Who’s Liarna?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “You called out in your sleep. Liarna! Liarna, my beloved! Liarna!” He burst out laughing.

  I froze mid-sip.

  The name meant nothing to me. No memory. No connection.

  But it had been in the dream, hadn’t it?

  The woman. The shifting figure.

  My stomach turned.

  Manach was still laughing. I let him. It was too early to deal with this.

  We packed up within the hour.

  “Let’s chart the path,” I said as I slung my gear over my shoulder.

  “Already did. While you were moaning in your sleep,” Manach said smugly.

  I rolled my eyes. “And you didn’t think to ask me for my opinion?”

  “Didn’t want to interrupt your wet dream.”

  I ignored that.

  “Fine. Tell me the plan.”

  Manach straightened, listing it off like a tactician reporting to a general. “We cut through the Hinterlands toward Lampis Town. From there, we take a boat to Stonepeak Village. That’s where our target is—Tjogg the Ship Mover. Once we resupply, we move through Silent Sun Valley, around Mount Embrace, past Gronfind, then into Silent Sun City.”

  It was solid. A long road, but direct.

  I frowned. “Why go through the Hinterlands? Why not just take a boat to Lampis?”

  Manach grinned. “It’s boring. The Hinterlands are more fun.”

  Of course. Of course he’d say that.

  I sighed. No use arguing. He was set on it.

  I adjusted my pack. “Who’s this Tjogg?”

  “No idea,” Manach admitted.

  I shot him a look. “And we’re just supposed to find him?”

  “Pretty much.” He shrugged.

  I ran a hand down my face. “Do we at least know what he looks like?”

  Manach’s smirk widened. “Nope.”

  Fantastic.

  By midday, we’d left the Ashridden Forest, the borders of Breathit Volcano and the Wasteland Mountains looming ahead. The road was alive with movement—traders, travelers, Coldians, humans, dwarves. The usual mix.

  Approaching the border, we got special treatment. Coldians always did.

  A fully armored guard stepped forward as we reached the checkpoint.

  “Heading out?”

  I straightened. “Yeah. Zero Regiment. We have a job.”

  The guard gave a short nod. “Good enough. Remember to keep your helmets on and signal the runic relay at this hour every day.”

  He turned and waved us through.

  Manach and I exchanged a glance.

  This was it.

  We stepped past the border.

  The Hinterlands lay ahead. Wild. Waiting.