Dawn crept inside the shop. Brakar stood amid a sea of colored tags, each one representing a different classification in Naia's new organizational system.

  "Red for complex transformations. Blue for size variations, green for new inventory, and yellow for established stock." She held up a handful of tags.

  Brakar nodded, trying to focus on the task rather than the lingering awkwardness between him and Thadan. They hadn't spoken in depth since their fight, though they'd managed to work together with a kind of careful politeness that felt more exhausting than their usual banter.

  "Makes sense," he said, picking up a red tag. "Though some might need multiple categories."

  "Hence the sub-categories," Naia replied, producing another set of tags in various shades. "Burgundy for temperamental ones, navy for load-bearing pieces..."

  "You never miss a detail," Thadan commented from his position near the window, where he was attaching a blue tag to a mimic.

  "Organization is an art form. One that this establishment has been sorely lacking."

  The mimic-sofa, their old pal, shifted its cushions in agreement. Brakar noticed it had already somehow acquired an appropriate tag—burgundy for its sometimes moody behavior.

  "Speaking of art forms," Thadan said, his voice measured as he approached Brakar with a handful of tags, "want to handle the backroom inventory? You're better at reading their moods."

  It was an olive branch, extended in a clumsy manner. Brakar accepted the tags, their fingers brushing for an instant in the exchange. "Sure. Just... try not to antagonize the display pieces while I'm gone?"

  "The ottoman had it coming," Thadan protested.

  Before Brakar could respond, the shop door burst open with enough force to make the bell almost fly off its mounting. Miles Hartwick stumbled in, his hair stuck out in every direction, glasses slipping down his nose, clutching a thick stack of papers to his chest.

  "It's done!" he announced, his voice cracking with excitement. "Finished! Complete! Ready for submission!"

  "The research paper?" Naia asked, though it wasn't necessary given Miles's state of academic ecstasy.

  "'Metachronal Adaptation Patterns in Domesticated Mimics: A Comprehensive Study of Behavioral Evolution in Controlled Environments,'" Miles recited, almost vibrating. "Sixteen thousand words, forty-three diagrams, and enough statistical analysis to make the peer reviewers weep!"

  "Let me see that," Thadan said, reaching for the papers. His eyes widened as he scanned the text. "Miles, I can't understand half these words. Is that good or bad?"

  "Perfect, actually," Miles beamed. "Academic obscurity is essential for professional credibility. Watch—" He cleared his throat and began reading: "'The observed metachronal oscillations in specimen Delta-7's morphological restructuring suggest a heretofore undocumented capacity for aesthetic memory retention, particularly in relation to mass-shifting transformative states.'"

  "And that means...?" Brakar prompted.

  "The dining table remembers which shape was most comfortable for the customers who sat at it last week."

  Naia's antennae twitched with amusement. "And you needed all those words to say that?"

  "Of course! Simple observations must be properly contextualized within the existing theoretical framework to—" Miles cut himself off as Naia produced a bottle from behind the counter. "Is that...?"

  "Elderflower wine," she confirmed. "I thought we might need to celebrate. Or commiserate, depending on how the paper turned out."

  "Brilliant!" Thadan exclaimed, reaching for glasses. "Though maybe we should finish the tagging first? Before we get too... academic?"

  As if in response, the shop door opened again, this time admitting Kip Rustworth's impressive frame. The lizardman ducked to avoid the bell, a roll of papers tucked under one arm.

  "Morning, all. I hope I'm not interrupting?"

  "Not at all!" Thadan spoke in haste, trying to conceal the wine bottle behind a stack of invoices. "We were just discussing organizational systems and, uh, metachronal oscillations."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Sounds like you guys are having fun." Kip spread some drawings across a different section of the counter, revealing detailed sketches of glass-fronted display cases with intricate wooden frames.

  "I've been working on these designs," he explained, his clawed finger tracing the patterns. "Reinforced glass panels, adjustable lighting, and enough space for comfortable transformations. The wood grain would match your existing decor, but with additional support structures to handle any unexpected movements."

  Brakar studied the drawings with growing appreciation. The designs were beautiful, yes, but more important, they showed a deep understanding of their unique needs. Each case included safety features disguised as decorative elements, and the proportions were calculated with precision to accommodate their largest pieces.

  "This is incredible," he said, noting how even the hinges were designed to prevent pinching if a mimic got too enthusiastic. "Though it must be expensive..."

  "You don’t have to pay me upfront. But perhaps a small commission on any special orders that come from the display?"

  "Done," Thadan responded without hesitation, extending his hand. Brakar shot him a look, but found no reason to argue—it was a somewhat reasonable business decision, for once.

  As they discussed installation details, Brakar found himself drawn into a story Thadan was telling about their recent deliveries. "So there we are, setting up this absolutely gorgeous mimic-footstool in Lady Brightwell's sitting room, when her cat decides it's found its new best friend..."

  "Oh no," Naia murmured, though she was fighting a smile.

  "Oh yes," Thadan continued, gesturing with flair. "This tiny ball of fur just launches itself at the footstool, which naturally starts inching away, trying to be polite about it. But the cat thinks it's a game and keeps charging after it around the room while Lady Brightwell is having an absolute fit about her 'precious baby' playing with monster furniture..."

  "How did you handle it?" Kip asked.

  "Brakar had to do his whole whispered magic thing to convince the footstool to hold still and let the cat investigate. Turned out fine—they're apparently best friends now. Lady Brightwell even commissioned a matching cat bed."

  The morning progressed into afternoon as they worked together implementing Naia's system and beginning the installation of Kip's displays. The shop transformed, becoming more organized and professional with each adjustment. Even the mimics seemed to pick up on the change, holding their shapes with extra precision and responding to commands with increased focus.

  Brakar was adjusting the position of a very troublesome bookshelf when the bell chimed again. He turned to find Rytha in the doorway, two large cages covered with dark cloth beside her.

  "Well," she said after a moment, one eyebrow raised. "You're actually starting to look legitimate."

  "High praise indeed," Thadan called from his position atop a ladder, where he was installing one of the display cases.

  Rytha's skin darkened a bit—her version of a blush. "These need to be dealt with now," she said, gesturing to the cages. "Unless you're too busy with your... renovations?"

  "I can handle it," Brakar offered, moving toward the cages. Before he could reach them, however, Thadan's hand caught his arm. "Actually," his partner said, "could we talk first? In private?"

  Something in Thadan's tone made Brakar pause. Thadan led the way to the back room, closing the door behind them.

  "Look," Thadan began, then stopped, running a hand through his hair. "About the loan. About Blacktree."

  Brakar crossed his arms, waiting. After their fight, he'd promised himself he'd let Thadan speak first when this conversation took place.

  "You were right," Thadan continued, the words coming faster now. "It was reckless. Stupid, even. I was so focused on making this work, on not letting another chance slip away, that I didn't think about the consequences. About what it could mean for you."

  He started pacing, his boots raising small clouds of dust from the floorboards. "If anything happened to you because of my choices... I couldn't... I wouldn't..."

  "Thadan," Brakar interrupted in a quiet tone, but his partner held up a hand.

  "Let me finish. Please." Thadan took a deep breath. "We're partners. Real partners. That means no more secrets, no more rushing into decisions alone. I promise—no, I swear—from now on, everything is transparent. Every decision, every risk, we face it together."

  The words hung in the dusty air between them. Through the door, they could hear the others chatting, the occasional scrape of furniture being moved, the normal sounds of their growing business. But here, in this moment, everything felt suspended.

  "I know why you did it," Brakar said at last. "I understand the pressure you were under, the need to make this work." He uncrossed his arms, letting some of his tension fade. "And let's be honest—without your ability to just... leap into things, we probably wouldn't be here at all."

  A ghost of a smile crossed Thadan's face. "True. Though without your caution, we'd probably be in jail. Or worse."

  "Probably." Brakar took a step forward, meeting his friend's eyes. "But that's why we work together. You push us forward, I keep us grounded. We just need to find the balance."

  "Balance," Thadan repeated, as if testing the word. "You know that's not really my strong suit."

  "Then it's a good thing you have me to help, isn't it?"

  Something shifted between them then, an understanding deeper than words could express. The tension that had lingered since their fight didn't vanish in full, but it transformed into something else—a shared awareness of their strengths and weaknesses, their differences and dependencies.

  A loud crash from the shop, followed by Naia's exasperated "I told you that shelf wasn't stable!" broke the moment.

  "We should probably..." Thadan gestured toward the door.

  "Yeah," Brakar agreed. "Before they destroy all our progress."

  As they turned to leave, Thadan caught his arm again. "We're good?"

  Brakar considered the question, then nodded. "We're getting there."

  Together, they stepped back into the shop's organized chaos, ready to face whatever challenges came next. As partners. As friends. As equals.