Brakar stared at the shop's door, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. His mind kept replaying fragments of yesterday's argument with Thadan, each remembered word stoking his anger anew.

  Thirty percent interest. The number echoed in his head. A loan shark. Of all the irresponsible, short-sighted...

  He'd been standing there long enough that several passersby had given him odd looks. A few even slowed their pace, perhaps wondering if the shop was closed or if something was wrong. Brakar ignored them all, too caught up in his internal debate about whether to go inside or just walk away.

  Through the front window, he could see shapes moving—he assumed Naia was setting up for the day. He should go in. He needed to go in. This was his business too, after all. But the thought of facing Thadan right now made his stomach clench.

  "Quite the fascinating doorway you've found."

  Brakar startled at the voice, turning to find Miles Hartwick standing beside him, a leather satchel stuffed with papers slung over one shoulder. The researcher's pristine appearance was disheveled this morning, with ink stains on his fingers and dark circles under his eyes suggesting another late night in the cellar laboratory.

  "I've been studying it myself for the past few minutes," Miles continued, his tone warm with teasing. "Though I confess, I've yet to determine what makes it so captivating."

  Brakar felt heat rise to his face. "I was just... thinking."

  "Clearly." Miles adjusted his spectacles, studying Brakar with that keen analytical gaze he reserved for his experiments. "And would these thoughts have anything to do with why you're out here rather than in there?"

  For a moment, Brakar considered brushing off the question. But something in Miles's expression—a genuine concern beneath the academic detachment—made him hesitate.

  "Thadan," he said at last, the name coming out like a sigh. "We had a disagreement yesterday."

  "Ah." Miles gave a sage nod. "Would this be about the loan from our pink-furred friend's employer?"

  Brakar's head snapped up. "You knew?"

  "I was in the cellar when he visited," Miles explained. "Sound carries rather well through these old floors. Though I must say, his cologne was the more offensive intrusion. I had to recalibrate several sensitive instruments after that olfactory assault."

  Despite himself, Brakar felt a small smile tug at his lips. But it faded as he considered the implications. "So you heard everything?"

  "Most of it, yes. Including your rather heated exchange afterward." Miles shifted his satchel to his other shoulder, his expression turning more serious. "Though I suspect there's more to this than just the financial arrangements."

  Brakar ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration he had picked up from Thadan without noticing. "It's... complicated."

  "Most worthwhile things are." Miles gestured to a nearby bench. "Perhaps we should sit? My latest research suggests that complex discussions are 37% more productive when conducted at proper leisure."

  "You made that statistic up."

  "Possibly. But the bench remains an excellent suggestion."

  Brakar found himself following Miles to the bench, grateful for the chance to delay entering the shop a bit longer. They sat in silence for a moment, watching the early morning foot traffic pass by.

  "He doesn't think things through," Brakar said at last, the words coming out in a rush. "He never has. Back when we were adventuring, it was one thing—we all knew the risks, chose that life. But this?" He gestured at the shop. "This isn't just about us anymore. We have an employee. We have you. Customers. Responsibilities."

  Miles nodded, reflecting on Brakar's statement. "And you're concerned his impulsive nature threatens all of that."

  "Exactly! I mean, a loan shark? With violent enforcers? They can change the terms whenever they want!" Brakar's voice had risen, and he forced himself to lower it. "We've worked too hard to build this. To make it legitimate. And he risks it all."

  "Mmm." Miles pulled out a small notebook, flipping through pages covered in dense calculations and diagrams. "You know, in my research on mimic behavioral patterns, I've noticed something interesting. When faced with a threat, their first instinct is to transform—to become whatever they think will best protect them. But that instinct can sometimes work against them, especially in complex situations."

  Brakar frowned. "What does that have to do with—"

  "Consider this," Miles continued, holding up a hand. "Thadan faced a significant obstacle—the need for capital to start this business. His instinct was to transform the situation, to find any solution that would work in the moment. Was it the best solution? No. But it achieved the immediate goal of getting the business started."

  "That's not an excuse—"

  "No, it's not," Miles agreed. "But it might be an explanation. And more importantly, it suggests a path forward." He turned to face Brakar head-on. "You're right to be angry about being kept in the dark. About the risks he's exposed you both to. But consider this: what if your current reaction is also an instinct-driven transformation? Avoiding conflict by standing out here instead of addressing the real issues?"

  Brakar opened his mouth to object, then closed it again. The words hit too close to home.

  "You two complement each other," Miles continued, his voice gentler now. "His impulsiveness drives progress while your caution provides stability. But that only works if you're actually working together." He stood, brushing off his trousers. "The question is, are you more interested in being right, or in finding a solution?"

  Brakar sat for a moment longer, letting the words sink in. He stood as well. "When did you get so insightful about relationships?"

  Miles offered a wry smile. "Oh, I'm terrible at them personally. But I'm an excellent observer of patterns." He gestured toward the shop door. "Shall we?"

  Brakar took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and nodded. Together, they walked toward the entrance.

  Inside, Naia was just finishing up with what appeared to be their first customer of the day. She accepted a handful of gold coins, and made a notation in the ledger.

  "Good morning, gentlemen," she called out as they entered. "You're just in time. I was about to start the morning inventory."

  "Already made a sale?" Miles asked, setting his satchel on the counter.

  "Mm-hmm. Five gold. Not bad for this early."

  "Excellent! I've been meaning to discuss more refinements to the formula, actually." Miles began pulling papers from his satchel. "The latest batch shows promising results, though there are still some issues with taste that need addressing."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  "They're furniture," Brakar pointed out. "Do they really care about taste?"

  "Everything cares about taste," Miles replied with the certainty of someone who had spent far too much time thinking about this specific issue. "Just because they can eat something doesn't mean they enjoy it. And my research suggests that contentment directly correlates with transformation stability."

  "Speaking of research," Naia interjected, "how are those papers coming along? The ones for the Artificers' Quarterly?"

  "Oh, splendidly! Though I've had to be somewhat... creative with my methodology descriptions. The peer review process would be interesting, to say the least."

  The casual conversation was interrupted by the sound of the back door opening. Brakar felt himself tense as Thadan walked in, carrying a stack of delivery forms.

  "Morning, all," Thadan said, beaming, as if yesterday had never happened. He moved around the shop with his usual energy, sorting papers and straightening displays. But Brakar noticed the way his movements were too precise, too deliberate—signs of his own tension beneath the casual facade.

  Brakar busied himself with organizing the counter, aware of Thadan's presence but unsure how to bridge the gulf between them. The silence grew thicker, broken only by the rustle of papers and the occasional creak of floorboards.

  "Oh, before I forget," Thadan spoke up, his voice forced casual, "we need to review the delivery schedule for next week. Unless you're too busy avoiding eye contact."

  "I can look at it now," Brakar replied, tension evident, "if you can manage to explain it without hiding any important details."

  "Fascinating," Miles murmured to Naia, loud enough to be heard. "I believe we're witnessing what the scholars call 'passive-aggressive territorial marking.'"

  Naia's antennae twitched with suppressed amusement. "Indeed. Though the technique seems somewhat unrefined."

  "I can hear you both," Brakar muttered, not taking his eyes off the papers Thadan had thrust at him.

  "Oh good," Miles replied with a bright tone. "I was worried the thick cloud of tension might be affecting sound transmission."

  Thadan snorted, turning it into a cough when Brakar glared at him. "These delivery times won't work," he said, pointing at the schedule. "Unless you've figured out how to be in two places at once."

  "They'd work fine if someone hadn't promised impossible deadlines without consulting me first." Brakar jabbed his finger at a different entry. "Just like someone took a shark loan without consulting me."

  "Oh, here we go again," Thadan threw up his hands. "Because you're so perfect at planning everything out, right? Never make a single mistake?"

  "At least my mistakes don't involve criminals!"

  "No, yours just involve being too scared to take any risks at all!"

  "Better than taking stupid risks that could get us killed!"

  "Um, gentlemen?" Naia tried to interject, but neither man was listening anymore.

  "You want to talk about stupid?" Thadan stepped closer, his voice rising. "How about spending three hours reorganizing the ledger because the entries weren't 'aesthetically balanced'?"

  Brakar shoved Thadan's shoulder. "And at least I keep proper records instead of stuffing receipts in my boots!"

  Thadan shoved back, harder. "Boots work."

  "That's not the point!"

  "Then what is the point?"

  "The point is—" Brakar's fist connected with Thadan's jaw before he'd even realized he was swinging.

  Thadan staggered back, more surprised than hurt, then launched himself forward. They collided with a display table, sending several mimic-vases rolling across the floor. The vases transformed into spheres to avoid damage, which added to the chaos as the two men grappled.

  "Should we...?" Naia asked, her voice wavering.

  "Give it a moment," Miles replied. "This is fascinating data on stress-induced behavior patterns."

  The fight itself was more awkward than dangerous. Neither man intended to hurt the other, but neither was willing to back down. They rolled across the floor, knocking into furniture that shifted out of their way, while hurling ever more creative insults at each other.

  "Stubborn ass!" Brakar grunted, trying to get Thadan in a headlock.

  "Obsessive neat freak!" Thadan replied, squirming free.

  "Reckless idiot!"

  "Paranoid bookworm!"

  At last, Miles and Naia decided enough was enough. They separated the two men, though not without difficulty. Brakar found himself being held back by Naia's strong grip, while Miles had Thadan in what looked like an academic's version of a wrestling hold.

  "If you're quite finished redecorating the shop with your bodies," Naia said, her tone making it clear how ridiculous she found the whole situation, "perhaps we could return to actual business?"

  Brakar and Thadan glared at each other, both breathing in ragged bursts. A mimic-chair that had been knocked over righted itself with exaggerated dignity, as if embarrassed on their behalf.

  "He started it," Thadan muttered, wiping blood from a split lip.

  "Did not," Brakar shot back, then felt childish for saying it.

  Miles and Naia exchanged looks, and both burst out laughing. The sound was so unexpected that Brakar and Thadan turned to stare at them.

  "I'm sorry," Naia gasped between giggles, "but if you could see yourselves right now..."

  "Absolutely fascinating," Miles agreed, still chuckling. "I don't suppose you'd let me document this as a case study in partner dynamics?"

  Brakar looked down at himself—clothes disheveled, hair a mess, set to sport what would soon be an impressive black eye. Then he looked at Thadan, who was in a similar state. They'd managed to destroy half the front display in their scuffle, and for what?

  The absurdity of it all hit him at once, and he felt his lips twitch despite himself. Thadan caught his eye, and Brakar saw the same realization appear on his friend's face.

  "We look ridiculous, don't we?" Thadan asked, a hint of his usual grin appearing.

  "Completely," Brakar agreed, then winced as his eye began to throb. "Though you look worse."

  "Keep telling yourself that," Thadan replied, but there was no real heat in it now.

  Before either of them could say more, the shop bell jingled. They turned to see a well-dressed couple standing in the doorway, taking in the scene—scattered displays, disheveled staff, and pieces of furniture that were inching back to their proper positions.

  "I..." the woman began uncertainly, "we heard you sold furniture?"

  Brakar and Thadan looked at each other, then at their current state, then back at the customers. For a moment, no one moved.

  Then one of the mimic-vases that had rolled under a table during the fight transformed into a perfect replica of an expensive Elvish wine rack, complete with delicate filigree work. It scooted forward, as if presenting itself for approval.

  The couple's eyes went even wider.

  "What excellent timing," Naia said, stepping forward while straightening her clothes. "You've arrived just in time for our... interactive demonstration of our furniture's adaptive capabilities. Isn't that right, gentlemen?"

  "Oh yes," Miles added, adjusting his spectacles. "Completely planned. Very scientific."

  Brakar caught Thadan's eye again, and they both had to look away quickly to avoid laughing. The tension between them wasn't gone—they still had plenty to work out—but the chaos had softened its hold on them.

  "Perhaps," Brakar said, trying to sound professional despite his disheveled clothing, "we should start with something simple. Like chairs that don't bite?"

  "Unless you're into that sort of thing," Thadan added with a wink, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Brakar.

  The couple exchanged uncertain looks, clearly wondering if they'd walked into a madhouse. But the wine rack chose that moment to demonstrate another transformation, becoming an elegant side table with precisely the same wood grain as the couple's boots.

  "Oh my," the woman breathed, her impression obvious.

  "Shall we discuss custom options?" Naia asked smoothly, guiding them toward the somewhat disheveled display area. "I believe we can accommodate any aesthetic preferences you might have."

  As Naia led the customers away, Miles gathered his scattered papers, muttering something about needing to update his behavioral matrices. Brakar and Thadan were left standing with the aftermath of their scuffle.

  "So," Thadan said, rubbing his jaw. "Good right hook."

  "Thanks." Brakar touched his swelling eye. "Nice counter."

  They lingered for a moment, then Thadan sighed. "Look, about the loan—"

  "Later," Brakar cut him off, but his tone was less harsh. "Right now we should probably clean up before Naia kills us."

  Thadan glanced at the wine rack, which was now showing off its transformation abilities with vigor. "Yeah," he said, a sheepish grin crossing his face. "Probably best not to give them more to gossip about."

  Brakar nodded, dropping to one knee to gather the scattered papers. They had a lot to figure out, but at least they'd managed to crash into the bottom in style.