The mimic-sofa grumbled as Brakar shifted his weight, causing the leather to ripple in protest. Two days of worrying had left him exhausted, but sleep refused to come. The shop’s front room lay quiet, save for the occasional creak of settling wood and the soft scratching of his quill against parchment as he updated their ledger.

  A shadow passed across the window. Brakar’s hand jerked, leaving an ugly ink blot on the page. The door hinges groaned.

  “Impressive establishment.” Othh’s citrus-colored form filled the doorway, his priestly robes immaculate despite the early hour. The lantern dangled from his hand, its glow steady and strong. “Though I admit, I expected more... furniture.”

  “We’re still getting set up.” Brakar tried to keep his voice steady. Had the lantern-mimic behaved itself? Had anyone noticed its true nature?

  “Very set up.” Othh’s amber eyes scanned the sparse room. “I particularly appreciate the minimalist aesthetic.”

  “Thank you for returning the lantern on time.” Brakar reached for it, but Othh held it back.

  “Well,” he said, “I have a proposition.”

  Oh no.

  “The survey area has expanded. Significantly.” Othh set the lantern on Kip’s desk with surprising gentleness. “The original cave network connects to several unmapped chambers. My superiors want a full assessment.”

  “That sounds... extensive.”

  “Indeed. Which is why I need more lanterns. Twenty, to be precise.”

  Brakar’s stomach dropped. “Twenty?”

  “The additional chambers require additional surveyors. Can’t have them stumbling around in the dark with those Inverse Bats about.” Othh shuddered. “Nasty things. Did you know they can turn their ribcages inside out? Fascinating from a theological perspective, but rather inconvenient when you’re trying to measure tunnel dimensions.”

  The front door banged open. Thadan stormed in, his hair wild and his clothes covered in freshly scattered hay.

  “Morning!” He beamed at Othh. “How’s our lantern treating you?”

  “Excellently. In fact—”

  “He wants twenty,” Brakar interrupted.

  “Perfect!” Thadan’s lips curled into a wider smile. “When do you need them?”

  “As soon as possible. The tax assessment deadline approaches, and if we don’t properly document the monster population, the whole cave system could be reclassified as ‘abandoned storage’ rather than ‘active dungeon.’ The paperwork alone would be nightmarish.”

  “We only have fifteen,” Brakar said, before Thadan could promise things they couldn’t deliver.

  “Ah.” Othh’s face fell. “That is unfortunate.”

  “Give us a week,” Thadan said. “We’ll have the other five ready.”

  Brakar’s head snapped around so fast his neck cracked. “We will?”

  “Absolutely.” Thadan’s confidence could have powered a small modern city. “Seven days, twenty lanterns, guaranteed.”

  “Thadan.” Brakar’s voice carried a warning edge. “A word?”

  “Of course!” Thadan turned to Othh. “Excuse us for just a moment. Business discussion.”

  Brakar dragged Thadan into the back room.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Brakar hissed.

  “What?” Thadan’s innocence wouldn’t have fooled a blind goblin.

  “We are not going dungeon diving!”

  “Who said anything about—”

  “No.” Brakar jabbed a finger at Thadan’s chest. “No more adventures. No more quests. No more risking our lives for a few copper pieces!”

  “Brak—”

  “Do you remember the cistern? Because I remember the cistern! I still have nightmares about those centipedes!”

  “If you’d just—”

  “And let’s not forget…”

  “Look.” Thadan grabbed Brakar’s shoulders. “I’m not suggesting we go inside a dungeon.”

  “You’re... not?”

  “Of course not! We’re legitimate businessmen now.”

  Brakar’s eyes narrowed. “Then how exactly do you plan to acquire five more mimics in a week?”

  “I have an idea.”

  “What kind of idea?”

  “A good one!”

  “Thadan.”

  “Trust me?”

  Brakar studied his friend’s face. The eager grin, the slightly manic glint in his eyes, the absolute certainty that everything would work out somehow.

  “Fine.” Brakar sighed. “But if this involves sewers again—”

  “No sewers!” Thadan raised his right hand. “I solemnly swear that my plan involves zero sewers, minimal danger, and absolutely no gelatinous cubes.”

  “That’s not the least bit reassuring.”

  They returned to the front room, where Othh was examining the mimic-sofa with professional interest.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Fascinating craftsmanship,” he said. “The leather almost seems... alive.”

  “Seven days!” Thadan shouted. “Twenty lanterns! Do we have a deal?”

  Othh straightened, his attention successfully diverted. “The rental fee remains the same?”

  “Of course!”

  “And they’re all as reliable as this one?” He gestured to the lantern on the desk.

  “Guaranteed,” Thadan said before Brakar could open his mouth.

  “Excellent.” Othh produced a small notebook and began writing. “I’ll return in one week with the full payment.”

  “We look forward to it,” Brakar managed.

  Othh headed for the door. He paused in the threshold, turning back with an oddly serious expression.

  “One last thing,” he said. “The sofa...”

  Brakar’s heart stopped.

  “Yes?” Thadan’s voice remained perfectly steady.

  “How much would you charge for one like it? My wife’s been after me to replace our sitting room furniture.”

  “Currently unavailable!” Brakar blurted. “Limited stock! Very rare! Imported! From... far away!”

  “Ah, well.” Othh nodded sagely. “Perhaps another time.”

  The door closed behind him. Brakar collapsed onto the sofa, which helpfully adjusted its cushions to better support his trembling form.

  “That was close,” he muttered.

  “Wasn’t it?” Thadan was already pulling on his coat. “Right! No time to waste. I’ve got some errands to run.”

  “What errands?”

  “Important ones!” Thadan headed for the door. “Very important! Extremely legitimate business errands that definitely don’t involve anything dangerous or illegal!”

  “Thadan—”

  “Back soon!” The door slammed.

  “He’s going to get us all killed,” Brakar whispered to himself.

  ****

  Five more mimics. The thought pounded through Thadan’s head in time with his feet against the cobblestones. Five more mimics in seven days.

  He burst out of the shop at full sprint, nearly bowling over a surprised merchant whose cart was piled high with fresh vegetables. The man shouted something about watching where he was going, but Thadan had reached halfway down the street, his mind racing faster than his legs.

  Traditional dungeon diving was out of the question—Brakar had already refused, and honestly, Thadan wasn’t eager to face any more centipedes. The underground market Kip mentioned was tempting, but the risks were too high. One wrong move there and they’d lose everything they’d built.

  No, he needed someone who understood both the theoretical and practical aspects of magical creatures. Someone with academic knowledge and field experience. Someone who might know where to find mimics.

  Someone like Rytha Mar.

  The morning crowd parted before him as he wove through the streets, occasionally leaping onto the iron bridges that gave the city its name. The metalwork hummed beneath his boots, enchantments keeping the spans stable despite their impossible architecture.

  His first stop was The Six Spoons. The ancient tavern’s six different kitchens were already busy preparing for lunch, filling the air with a chaotic blend of aromas. Thadan scanned the dining room, ignoring the suspicious glares from the staff who clearly remembered his outstanding tab.

  No Rytha.

  He charged back out, taking the stairs three at a time up to the next level of bridges. The Patchwork Post would be his next stop—Ms. Thornberry may know where she is. The old guild hall looked just as he remembered: weathered but dignified, like a retired warrior who refused to completely give up the fight.

  “Back so soon?” Ms. Thornberry didn’t look up from her paperwork. “I thought you were ‘retired.’”

  “Looking for someone.” Thadan leaned on her desk, trying to catch his breath. “Rytha Mar. Merfolk shadowpriest. Have you seen her?”

  “Can’t discuss other adventurers’ whereabouts.” She stamped a form with perhaps more force than necessary. “Guild policy.”

  “Come on, Thornberry. For old times’ sake?”

  “Old times?” Only then did she look up, eyes sharp. “Like that sewer incident?”

  “Can people stop bringing up these incidents?”

  “Three times.” She turned back to her work. “And no, I haven’t seen her today.”

  Thadan groaned and pushed away from the desk. As he turned to leave, Ms. Thornberry added, “Though if I were looking for a shadowpriest who’s obsessed with proper technique, I might try going to the university district. They sometimes guest lecture.”

  He grinned. “Thanks, Thornberry!”

  “Don’t mention it.” Her voice followed him out. “Seriously. Don’t. I have a reputation to maintain.”

  The university district sprawled across one of Ironweave’s higher levels, its elegant spires and domes connected by delicate bridges that looked too fragile to hold weight but never wavered. Thadan checked every lecture hall he could access, earning increasingly suspicious looks from the staff.

  No Rytha.

  Back on street level, he ducked into random alleyways, checking the shadowy corners where a shadowpriest might lurk. His search took him through progressively less reputable neighborhoods until he found himself staring at an all-too-familiar building.

  The Velvet Touch looked deceptively mundane from the outside—a sturdy stone building with reinforced support beams and extra-wide hallways. Only rose-tinted windows and a discrete brass plaque beside the door hinted at the reality of the establishment. That, and the occasional sounds of hooves on hardwood floors.

  Thadan hesitated. Would Rytha really be here? It seemed unlikely, but he’d already checked everywhere else he could think of. The entrance was guarded by two bored-looking bouncers who, from the looks of it, had been chosen for their ability to handle rowdy patrons twice their size.

  He turned away. This was ridiculous. There was no way a disciplined shadowpriest would—

  Unless...

  The academic types were often the ones with the most interesting private lives. And she had mentioned studying his father’s techniques. Maybe she was here researching some obscure shadow manipulation theory?

  This is stupid, he told himself even as he turned back toward the entrance. The bouncers’ expressions didn’t change as he approached, but their posture stiffened like crystal guardians sensing an intruder. Ready for trouble.

  “Morning,” he said cheerfully.

  “Business hours start at noon,” the larger bouncer replied.

  “Just trying to find someone.”

  “Aren’t we all?” The smaller bouncer smirked. “Come back later.”

  “I need to find Rytha Mar. Merfolk shadowpriest? About this tall?” He held up his hand. “Skin changes color when she’s angry?”

  The bouncers exchanged a look.

  “Never heard of her,” the larger one said.

  “You sure? She might have used a different name. Or been asking about shadow manipulation techniques?”

  “Listen, friend.” The smaller bouncer’s smirk vanished. “This establishment caters to a very specific clientele with very specific interests. For someone who can manipulate shadows, try the university.”

  “Already did.”

  “Then I suggest you keep looking elsewhere.”

  Thadan recognized the tone. He’d heard it often enough from various authority figures right before things got unpleasant.

  “Right.” He stepped back. “Thanks anyway.”

  He retreated with as much dignity as possible, ignoring the bouncers’ quiet chuckles. The morning sun felt suddenly too bright, and his throat was parched from all the running around.

  Water, he decided. Then back to searching.

  The nearest cafe was a converted workshop in the engineering district. Bean Works, according to the sign, which featured an unnecessarily complex diagram of what appeared to be a coffee-brewing process. Copper pipes and pressure gauges lined the walls, and the coffee machines were marvels of custom engineering.

  Thadan pushed through the door, the bell’s cheerful ring almost lost under the hiss of steam and the grinding of gears. The counter was height-adjustable to accommodate different species, and the tables were salvaged gears from decommissioned machinery.

  And there, sitting alone at a corner table with a stack of books and what appeared to be architectural drawings, he found the merfolk woman.

  Thadan didn’t hesitate. He dropped into the chair across from her, grinning as her opalescent skin shifted from a focused blue to a startled teal.

  “We need to talk about mimics.”