The return journey passed with Miles absorbed in reviewing his notes while Thadan at intervals grumbled about "sneaky guild spies." Brakar found himself concerned about Vermil's presence near Caroline's estate.

  Upon their return to Mimic &?Co., they found several customers waiting outside. Naia was managing the queue with brisk efficiency, her clipboard in hand as she took down details of what each visitor was seeking.

  "Busy day," she informed them as they approached. "News is spreading. The Silversmiths arrived early, very eager to see the dining set options. And there's a gentleman from the Harbor District who claims he has an appointment about show cabinets."

  "That's Holloway," Brakar confirmed. "We should see him next. His order could be substantial if we impress him."

  As they entered the shop, Naia added in a lowered voice, "Also, there's a rumor circulating that Lord Vale himself might be interested in our furnishings. One customer mentioned hearing it at the Commerce Guild."

  "Vale?" Thadan's eyebrows shot up. "If it’s the famous Vale family, we need to be on the lookout. They’re the biggest furniture seller in the city."

  "A competitor interested in your product might be planning to steal your design," Miles said.

  The hours passed in a blur of customer consultations, demonstrations, and negotiations. The Silversmith family commissioned a complete dining set—table, chairs, and a sideboard—after witnessing how the display pieces could adjust to different heights for their children. Merchant Holloway placed a substantial order for display cases designed to showcase his imported jewelry, with specific requirements for security features.

  By the time they closed the shop for a late lunch break, Brakar felt a cautious optimism about their business trajectory. Despite the odd incident with Vermil, things seemed to be proceeding well.

  That optimism lasted just until a messenger arrived, pounding with urgency on their door just as Brakar was about to bite into his sandwich.

  "Urgent message for the workshop," the boy announced, thrusting a sealed letter toward Thadan. "The baroness, Lady Brightwell, says it's an emergency."

  Thadan cracked the wax, a frown deepening as he scanned the page. "Well, that's not good."

  "What is it?" Brakar laid aside his lunch, appetite forgotten.

  "Her mimic?footstool apparently tried to scuttle across the room during her formal tea reception. Created quite a scene, according to this." He passed the letter to Brakar. "She's demanding immediate assistance."

  Brakar scanned the letter, wincing at the noblewoman's colorful description of her guests' reactions. The footstool had behaved impeccably for weeks before deciding without warning to move on its own at the worst possible moment—in the middle of a gathering of several prominent society matrons.

  "We need to go now," he said, reaching for his satchel. "If news of this incident spreads through the nobility..."

  "Our reputation would be ruined," Thadan finished, his tone grim. "Naia, can you handle things here with Miles? We need to damage control."

  Naia nodded.

  Miles frowned, setting aside the notebook he'd been writing in. "This is concerning. The footstool shouldn't have destabilized so suddenly without cause."

  "No time to debate this," Thadan said, heading for the door. "Brakar and I will handle it."

  The journey to the baroness's manor in the Western Quarter was tense, with Thadan rehearsing various apologies as Brakar reviewed in his mind potential causes for a mimic's sudden behavior change. None of his theories seemed adequate—their feeding formula had been stable, and the footstool had been one of their most docile pieces.

  They found their hostess pacing in her receiving room, her immaculate appearance a touch disheveled. The offending footstool sat harmless in the corner, looking just as it should—a simple, elegant piece upholstered in deep crimson fabric that complemented the room's decor.

  "There you are!" She exclaimed upon seeing them. "This... this creature has utterly humiliated me in front of the Ladies' Benevolent Society! The countess nearly fainted when it started moving!"

  Thadan moved forward. "My lady, please accept our sincerest apologies for this distressing incident. I assure you, such behavior is extremely unusual and we take it very seriously."

  As Thadan soothed the agitated noblewoman, Brakar approached the footstool with caution. It showed no hint of agitation or instability now, its surface maintaining perfect stillness.

  "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward the mimic.

  The baroness waved permission. "Examine the wretched thing. I want to know why it chose the precise moment when the countess was resting her feet to start... crawling about!"

  Brakar knelt beside the footstool, whispering a greeting in the magical cadence that mimics responded to. The footstool gave a faint quiver in recognition but displayed no distress or aggression. He ran his hands along its surface, checking for temperature anomalies or texture changes that might indicate instability.

  Nothing seemed amiss. The mimic was in excellent condition. After a thorough examination, Brakar administered a small dose of Miles's formula, which the footstool accepted without fuss.

  "I can't find anything obviously wrong," he admitted, standing up. "It seems perfectly stable now."

  "Well it certainly wasn't stable when it scurried under the tea table and nearly caused Lady Pembrooke to spill her drink!" Their client huffed.

  Thadan stepped in with practiced calm. "Perhaps there was an external trigger—a sharp noise, or a magical disturbance? Mimics can be sensitive to certain environmental factors."

  She frowned. "There was nothing unusual. We were simply discussing the upcoming Midsummer Charity Ball when suddenly this... this thing decided to go for a stroll! I cannot afford another such incident. My social standing depends on maintaining certain standards."

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  "We completely understand," Thadan assured her. "If you'd prefer, we could replace this piece with a different model, one specifically designed for stability during social gatherings."

  The offer seemed to mollify her somewhat. "Well... I have grown rather attached to this one. My cat is particularly fond of it." She sighed. "I expect perfection going forward, gentlemen. Absolute perfection."

  They promised thorough follow?up care and departed, both feeling relieved that the situation hadn't escalated further. However, their relief was short?lived. Outside, a second messenger approached, bearing another urgent letter.

  "From Merchant Coppergelt," the messenger announced. "Says it's urgent business regarding your merchandise."

  "Where did you even come from? Were you following us?" Thadan asked as he unsealed the note, his brow darkening as he read. "Another one. His display cabinet apparently opened and closed its doors repeatedly during an important business meeting with potential investors."

  "That's not possible," Brakar muttered, taking the letter. "Two malfunctions in one day?"

  "Coincidence?" Thadan proposed, though he didn't sound convinced.

  "Maybe. Or maybe something is affecting our mimics." Brakar knit his brow at the letter. "We should check on Coppergelt next. His shop isn't far from here."

  By late afternoon, they had received three more reports of similar incidents—a mimic?bookcase that rearranged its shelves during a university lecture, a decorative table that changed height during a family dinner, and a coat rack that twirled its arms while guests were retrieving their belongings at a small gallery opening.

  In each case, the behavior was disruptive but not dangerous. The mimics hadn't tried to revert to their predatory nature or harm anyone—they had acted very much alive at the worst moments.

  "This can't be coincidence," Thadan said as they headed back toward their shop after the fifth incident. "Someone is sabotaging us."

  Brakar gave a slow nod. "But how? The mimics are all behaving differently, but in ways that cause maximum embarrassment to their owners. It's almost as if they're... performing."

  "Performing?" Thadan's eyes narrowed. "Like they were given instructions?"

  "Maybe." Brakar drummed his fingers against his knee. "But who could instruct them besides me? And why would anyone bother? It's not like this will harm the mimics themselves."

  "No, but it could destroy our business." Thadan's voice had taken on a hard edge. "If rumor gets out that our furniture is unreliable, especially among the nobility..."

  He didn't need to finish the thought. Their business depended on trust alone—trust that the mimics would remain stable, predictable, and above all, discreet. If that trust was broken, they would never recover.

  Upon returning to the shop, they found Miles testing samples of his formula, surrounded by bubbling beakers and precise measuring tools he'd set up on a small worktable.

  "I've been analyzing the formula components for potential instability triggers."

  "And?" Thadan demanded.

  Miles adjusted his glasses, peering at a vial of amber liquid. "Nothing conclusive yet. The base formula remains stable under standard conditions." He looked up, his expression showing genuine concern. "This is extremely puzzling. Like I said, mimics don't simply change behavior patterns without a cause."

  "Could someone have tampered with the formula?" Brakar inquired. "Or with the mimics themselves?"

  Miles considered this. "It's possible. Certain ambient magical fields could potentially trigger unintended transformative impulses in the mimics. It would be similar to how certain metals can disrupt compass needles—not damaging the compass itself, but temporarily affecting its functionality."

  It sounded plausible, but something about the explanation left Brakar unsatisfied. "But why now? And why so many at once?"

  Miles set down his instruments. "That's the real question, isn't it? Coincidence seems unlikely. Perhaps we should test for magical residue on the affected furniture. That might reveal if someone deliberately tampered with them."

  Thadan paced the length of the counter, his expression thunderous. "Who would do this? Competitors?"

  Naia stepped in. "Your success hasn't gone unnoticed. I've seen a ratkin skulking around the shop several times. Usually early morning or late evening, when there are fewer people about."

  Thadan's head snapped up. "That has to be Vermil. He's been gathering information. Or maybe sabotaging our business directly."

  Brakar frowned, unconvinced. "That seems extreme. The Commerce Guild is supposed to regulate fair trade practices, not undermine them."

  "Unless someone's paying him," Thadan argued. "Remember how suspicious he acted when we saw him today? Practically ran away when we called his name."

  "Should we report this to the Guild?" Brakar queried. "If there is sabotage happening, they should investigate."

  Thadan shook his head in firm denial. "And let even more people know our mimics are malfunctioning? That would be business suicide. No, we handle this privately first. Figure out what's happening, fix it, and then decide if official channels are necessary."

  Their debate was interrupted by the sudden arrival of another messenger, this one out of breath and holding a wax?sealed envelope bearing the Embercrest crest.

  Naia broke the seal with a swift motion and scanned the contents. Her face darkened.

  "We have a situation," she declared without preamble. "Lord Embercrest has canceled his order. All twelve pieces—they're citing 'concerns about reliability' based on reports they've heard."

  Thadan cursed under his breath. "It's starting already. Rumor is racing through town."

  "What do we do?" Naia asked, her antennae drooping a little with worry.

  Brakar exchanged a look with Thadan, then squared his shoulders. "We fix it. Miles, continue testing the formula to see if you can identify any potential destabilizing agents and develop countermeasures."

  Miles nodded, turning back to his equipment.

  "Thadan, draft apology letters to all affected customers. Offer free maintenance visits, maybe some kind of guarantee against future incidents. We need to contain this before it spreads further."

  "On it," Thadan agreed, heading for the small writing desk in the corner.

  They worked with focused intensity. As evening approached, they only made a bit of progress—while Miles reported that he hadn't identified any anomalies in the formula, at least Thadan had prepared reassuring correspondence for their clients.

  "We'll visit each affected customer tomorrow," Brakar decided.

  "And keep an eye out for that ratkin," Thadan added. "I still think he's involved somehow."

  They were preparing to close the shop when, suddenly, they saw Naia’s once pale complexion flushed with agitation.

  "We have another issue," she announced, her voice tight. "I was doing an inventory count, and we're missing stock."

  "Missing?" Thadan frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "Three mimics from the back storeroom are gone," Naia said.

  "Maybe they were moved during cleaning? Or you miscounted?" Thadan asked.

  "I counted thirty?four times. They're gone."

  The implications hung in the air between them. First malfunctioning mimics, now missing inventory—the situation was escalating from concerning to alarming.

  "Could they have escaped somehow?" Miles asked, adjusting his glasses. "Reverted to wild behavior?"

  "Impossible," Brakar said with conviction. "They were fully transformed and stable."

  "Then someone took them," Thadan said, his voice hardening. "Question is, who? Why? How?"

  Naia clutched her clipboard tighter. "That's not all. When I was counting, I noticed something else. The remaining mimics in storage... they seemed agitated. Not unstable, exactly, but... watching. Like they were paying attention to something specific."

  A chill ran down Brakar's spine. Mimics didn't "watch" things without reason. If they were showing interest, something had caught their attention—something that might be threatening.

  "We need answers," he said, heading for the storeroom. "I'll try speaking to the mimics—maybe they can tell me what they saw."