"Dynamics analysis!" Thadan insisted, as though it were a genuine, established field of study. "Think about it, Brak. Different races have different... sitting requirements. Humans need one type of support, elves another, dwarves something completely different. And don't get me started on tailed species!"

  "I wasn't planning to."

  "The key is pressure distribution zones!" Thadan continued, undeterred. "We need to map the anatomical pressure points for optimal weight distribution across variable metabolic frameworks!"

  Brakar set down the cloth he'd been using to dust the display. "Those aren't real terms."

  "Maybe not yet, but they will be once I publish my research." Thadan pulled a folded paper from his pocket and spread it across the counter. It was covered in crude sketches of various backsides with nonsensical annotations. "Look, I've already started documenting comfort sustainability metrics based on different racial anatomies."

  Brakar leaned over the paper, his expression growing more pained. "Thadan, this is just a drawing of butts with random words next to them. You've labeled this one 'extra squishy zone' and this one 'pointy elf parts.'"

  "Technical terminology," Thadan retorted.

  Naia walked by, paused to glance at the diagram, and excused herself with a strangled sound that resembled suppressed laughter.

  "Besides," Brakar said, folding the paper with the air of a parent confiscating a child's inappropriate drawing, "mimics naturally adjust to their users. That's the entire selling point of our business. This entire analysis is pointless."

  Thadan snatched the paper back, refolding it with care. "Pointless? This research will revolutionize furniture comfort standards! It gives us a marketing edge—'scientifically designed for your specific anatomy.'"

  "But it's not—"

  The shop bell jangled in a sharp way, cutting off Brakar's protest. Both men turned toward the entrance, where a figure now stood silhouetted against the bright street beyond.

  As it swung shut, Thadan's first thought was that Mira had returned. But no—while this was indeed a leopard-folk, it wasn't their former party member. For one thing, Mira would never have been caught dead in the outfit this fellow was wearing. And, of course, Mira’s fur wasn’t dyed a ridiculous shade of pink—nor did she need any gimmicks to stand out, considering how many times it had been established that she was absurdly hot.

  The leopard's spotted fur had been dyed a vibrant pink that clashed in a shocking way with his attempt at intimidating attire—a black leather suit that was at least one size too small, judging by the way it strained across his chest and shoulders. Gold chains hung around his neck, and an oversized ring glinted on his finger as he adjusted his collar, which appeared to be choking him somewhat.

  "Which one of you is Thadan Ginedras?" the newcomer asked, his voice cultured despite his attempt at a menacing growl.

  Thadan stepped forward, maintaining his casual demeanor while positioning himself between the stranger and Brakar. "That would be me. And you are...?"

  The leopard-folk drew himself up to his full height—which wasn't all that impressive—and announced: "Spike. I represent Davarian Blacktree's financial interests in this district."

  He paused, as if waiting for a reaction to the name. When none came, he continued: "Mr. Blacktree has noticed that your payment is now three days overdue, and he sent me to inquire about this unfortunate oversight."

  Thadan felt a cold sensation creep down his spine, but kept his expression neutral. "Ah, right. Must've slipped my mind with all the new responsibilities. I do apologize for the inconvenience."

  Brakar shot him a confused look, which Thadan chose to ignore.

  "Mr. Blacktree appreciates promptness in his business dealings," Spike said, running a claw along the edge of a nearby display table. "He finds it... establishes the proper tone for ongoing relationships."

  "Absolutely," Thadan agreed, reached into his pocket, pulled out a small pouch, loosened the strings, and carefully counted out the coins. "Here, plus the agreed interest."

  The leopard-folk opened it and began counting, his eyes narrowing as he verified the amount.

  "You've done quite well for yourselves," Spike observed, glancing around the shop with new interest. "Mr. Blacktree will be pleased to hear his investment has yielded such promising results."

  "We're managing," Thadan replied with vague confidence.

  "Indeed. Though Mr. Blacktree does feel that tardiness should include an additional inconvenience fee. To discourage future oversights."

  Thadan's polite smile hardened. "That wasn't part of our arrangement."

  "Arrangements evolve, Mr. Ginedras." Spike took a step forward. "Especially when one party demonstrates a certain casualness about their obligations."

  "I think we're done here," Thadan said, his tone turning colder. "Please convey my apologies to Mr. Blacktree for the delay, and my expectation that our original terms will be honored."

  Spike's expression darkened, and he took another step forward. "Mr. Blacktree doesn't appreciate—"

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  He never finished the sentence. With a sound like wet leather stretching, the mimic-sofa beside him extended a tendril that wrapped around his ankle. Spike looked down, his expression shifting from confusion to horror in the span of a heartbeat.

  "WHAT IN THE ACTUAL—" He leapt backward with a startled yelp, tripping over a small display table and sending a collection of mimic-vases tumbling. The vases, rather than breaking, bounced and rolled, some of them extending tiny pseudopods to right themselves.

  Spike scrambled to his feet, backing toward the entrance. "Blacktree will hear about this... this... whatever this is!" His attempt at intimidation was undermined by the small cloud of pink fur he was shedding in his panic and the high-pitched crack in his voice.

  As he fled, it banged shut behind him, leaving behind a lingering scent—a cloying sweetness that Thadan couldn't place.

  "Cotton candy cologne," Brakar said, wrinkling his nose. "Poorly masked by leather and musk."

  "You can tell?" Thadan asked, briefly distracted.

  "Hard to miss." Brakar walked to the entrance and locked it, flipping the sign to “Closed” before turning to face Thadan. His expression was one Thadan hadn't encountered often—genuine anger, tempered with disappointment.

  "So," Brakar said, crossing his arms. "Who exactly is Davarian Blacktree, and why does it sound like our business is financed by someone who employs color-coordinated thugs?"

  Thadan gave his most winning smile. "It's not as bad as it sounds. Just a small business loan to get us started. Very standard."

  Brakar leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "And who is this Blacktree? Some kind of crime lord?"

  The backroom office felt smaller than usual, the walls pressing in as he tried to find the right words to explain his arrangement with Blacktree.

  "Look," Thadan began, "remember when I told you I'd signed the lease before asking you to join me?"

  "How could I forget?" Brakar's voice was dry. "It was a particularly Thadan thing to do."

  "Well, what I didn't mention was that I didn't actually have enough money for the lease." Thadan leaned forward, elbows on his knees too. "I had maybe a quarter of what we needed, and that's being generous."

  "So you went to a loan shark." It wasn't a question.

  "Not... exactly. Not at first." Thadan stood and began pacing the small space. "I tried the legitimate routes. Went to every bank in Ironweave. Even tried the Merchant's Guild credit union. But you know what they all said?"

  "No?"

  "They laughed." Thadan's voice took on an edge. "Actually laughed. Said no bank would back two failed adventurers trying to start a business with no experience, no collateral, and—this is my favorite part—'unrealistic profit projections.'"

  Brakar raised an eyebrow. "What exactly were these projections?"

  "That's not important," Thadan waved dismissively. "The point is, they wouldn't even consider us. Then I heard about this guy, Blacktree. Word was he specialized in 'alternative financing' for promising ventures that traditional lenders wouldn't touch."

  "And you didn't think there might be a reason traditional lenders wouldn't touch them?"

  Thadan ignored the sarcasm. "I set up a meeting through one of his associates. Nice place, actually. Private room at The Velvet Touch. Very upscale."

  "The brothel?"

  "Details. Anyway, Blacktree likes to conduct business there because it's neutral ground. Plus, the drinks are excellent. He actually liked our business plan," Thadan continued. "Said it showed 'innovative market disruption potential.' Whatever that means."

  "It means he saw an opportunity to exploit desperate people," Brakar muttered.

  "Maybe. But he also offered terms when no one else would. Thirty percent interest."

  Brakar's eyes widened. "Thirty? That's—"

  "Daylight robbery, yes. But it was that or give up on the shop entirely. "And I had a plan. I figured once we got established, proved the concept was viable, we could get a proper business loan and pay off Blacktree."

  "So, are we in the clear now?"

  "I’m not sure. I have a bad feeling about that stupid inconvenience fee that guy mentioned."

  Brakar was quiet for a long moment, processing this information. Finally, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

  Thadan's grin faded. "Would you have agreed to be my partner if you'd known we were starting with black market financing?"

  "Probably not," Brakar admitted.

  "Exactly. And then where would we be? You'd still be healing random adventurers for copper pieces, and I'd probably be dead in a ditch somewhere after another failed quest." Thadan spread his arms. "Instead, we have a business, steady income. Sometimes the end justifies the means."

  Brakar stood up abruptly, his usually calm demeanor fracturing. "End justifies the means?" His voice was low but carried an edge Thadan had rarely heard. "This isn't about some harebrained scheme that only risks your own neck. This is our livelihood—and our lives."

  "Look, I had it under control," Thadan protested, but even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow.

  "Did you? Because that pink-furred reject just threatened us in our own shop. Over an 'inconvenience fee' that wasn't part of your original deal." Brakar's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. "What happens when Blacktree decides to change the terms again? When he decides our shop is doing so well that we should start paying him a monthly fee?"

  "We'll cross that bridge—"

  "No." Brakar cut him off. "We're already on that bridge, and it's burning beneath our feet. I trusted you, Thadan. Despite everything—despite the questionable decisions, the half-baked plans, the constant improvisation—I trusted that you wouldn't put us in actual danger."

  Thadan felt a knot forming in his stomach. "It's not that bad—"

  "It is!" Brakar grabbed Thadan by his shirt. "This isn't some dungeon where we can fight our way out if things go wrong. These people—people like Blacktree—they don't play by adventurers' rules. They break kneecaps. They burn down shops. They make examples of people."

  A silence fell between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Outside, they could hear the distant sounds of the market—normal life continuing, oblivious to their crisis.

  "I need some air," Brakar finally said, his voice quieter but no less intense, and releasing Thadan. "And I need to think about whether I can keep doing this. Whether I can keep trusting you."

  Thadan stood, alarmed. "Wait, you're not saying—"

  "I don't know what I'm saying yet." Brakar grabbed his coat. "That's why I need to think." He paused at the door, not quite looking back. "For what it's worth, I know you meant well. You always do. But I don't feel safe anymore, Thadan. And I can't work like that."

  The door closed behind him with a soft click that felt more final than a slam would have.

  Thadan slumped into his chair, running his hands through his hair. "Well, that could have gone better," he muttered to himself. The mimic-paperweight inched back toward the center of the desk, extending a small pseudopod to pat Thadan's hand in what might have been sympathy.

  He sat there for several minutes, mind racing through possibilities, each more desperate than the last. Brakar was right—they were in over their heads. And now he might lose his business partner over it. His friend.

  "Nice one, Brightsteel."