“I think that’s everything.” Thadan hoisted his weathered leather pack.

  Brakar watched from behind the front counter, fingers drumming against the polished wood. His friend looked ready for a proper journey – boots recently oiled, sword belt adjusted for quick draws, and enough supplies to suggest this wasn’t a casual trip.

  “Three days?” Brakar asked, trying to keep the worry from his voice.

  “Give or take.” Thadan adjusted the straps across his chest. “Brightkeep’s not exactly next door, but the trade roads are decent this time of year.”

  “And you’re sure about this? After what happened with Rytha?”

  Thadan’s face split into an insufferable grin. “Trust me, she’ll come around once I deliver those notes. You didn’t see how she reacted when I mentioned my father’s name.”

  “She tried to kill you.”

  “Details, details.” Thadan waved dismissively. “Besides, have my instincts ever been wrong?”

  Brakar raised an eyebrow.

  “This time I’m certain. I know it’s a risk, but we need those mimics. And my father’s research notes are what she wants.”

  “Notes you haven’t seen in years.”

  “They’re still in his study.” Thadan adjusted his pack again, a nervous tell Brakar recognized from their adventuring days. “And if they’re not, I’ll figure something out. I always do. Always…”

  Brakar sighed, knowing there was no talking his friend out of this plan.

  “What about Othh?” Brakar asked. “He’s supposed to pick up the lanterns tomorrow.”

  “Ah, right!” Thadan’s face brightened. “If he gives you any trouble about the big one—you know, the deep-dweller we turned into a lantern—just ask if he’s got any giants in his crew. Ogres, trolls, that sort of thing. Make it sound like we chose that size for them.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then...” Thadan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Suggest it would be perfect for lighting up large caverns? You know how building inspectors love their proper illumination.”

  Despite his anxiety, Brakar couldn’t help but smile. Trust Thadan to have multiple angles worked out, even if they were all equally questionable.

  “Oh, and don’t worry too much about security while I’m gone,” Thadan added, patting the mimic-sofa as he passed it. “Our cushioned friend here appears to be quite protective of the place. I’m sure it considers it territory by now.”

  Brakar glanced at the sofa. It looked innocuous, which was how a mimic wanted to appear right before it tried to eat you. “That’s... not as reassuring as you think it is.”

  “Better than any guard dog!” Thadan headed for the door, then paused with his hand on the handle. “You’ll be fine, Brak. What could possibly go wrong?”

  “Please don’t say that.”

  “Right, sorry. Adventurer’s curse.” Thadan opened the door, letting in a burst of morning air that carried the smell of fresh bread from the nearby bakery. “Just keep the place running until I get back. You’ve handled worse.”

  “Be careful, alright?”

  Thadan’s grin blasted back to his face. “When am I not?”

  Before Brakar could list the numerous occasions which sprang to mind, Thadan stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him.

  Brakar stood there for a long moment, staring at the door as if expecting Thadan to burst back in with yet another last-minute instruction or half-formed idea. When it didn’t happen, he allowed his shoulders to slump.

  Three days. He could handle the shop alone for three days. After all, they only had one scheduled customer, Othh and his inspection crew. And while he looked intimidating, he’d seemed reasonable enough during their previous interactions. Even enthusiastic about their mimic-based business model, which was more than Brakar had dared hope for.

  Still, as he began his morning routine of checking inventory and ensuring none of their “merchandise” had decided to redecorate overnight, Brakar couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom.

  It’s only three days, he told himself. What’s the worst that could happen?

  In just a few short weeks, they’d transformed this abandoned building into something respectable. Maybe not the grand adventure they’d once dreamed of, but a different kind of achievement. One built on careful planning and honest work rather than desperate gambles and last-minute escapes.

  Well, mostly honest work. He glanced at their inventory of “eternally burning lanterns” and smiled wryly.

  Brakar forced himself to relax. This wasn’t a dungeon crawl or a monster hunt. He was a legitimate businessman now, running a legitimate enterprise.

  Mostly legitimate.

  Somewhat legitimate?

  He shook his head, banishing the thought. Better to focus on practical matters.

  One problem at a time, he reminded himself. Like Thadan always says.

  Of course, Thadan’s version usually ended with “and if that doesn’t work, hit it until it stops moving,” but the basic principle was sound.

  Brakar settled behind the counter, pulling out their ledger. Might as well use the quiet morning to catch up on bookkeeping. The numbers weren’t great, but if they could maintain a steady flow of customers, keep their mimics fed and content, and avoid any major disasters for a few months...

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  He realized he was tempting fate again and quickly closed the ledger.

  Brakar groaned and let his head thunk against the counter. He really needed to stop asking that question.

  The mimic-sofa made a sound. Brakar chose to interpret it as moral support.

  “Thanks,” he muttered. “At least someone’s confident about this.”

  The sofa’s only response was to adjust its cushions invitingly, but instead, he straightened up and tried to project an air of professional competence. He had promises to keep—to Thadan, to their customers, and to himself. Whatever challenges the next three days might bring, he would face them.

  Preferably from behind this very solid counter, with plenty of room to run if things went wrong.

  The morning sun inched its way over the shop’s floor. The door opened. It wasn’t the wind. Brakar straightened his spine, put on his best professional expression, and prepared to face whatever the day might bring.

  ****

  Thadan had parked his rented carriage a mile away from his unsuspecting target, nestled behind a stand of oak trees where the old service road curved away from the main estate. No point announcing his arrival to the night guards who patrolled the grounds. He’d chosen the spot carefully, close enough for a quick escape but far enough that no patrol would stumble across it.

  Perfect. Just like that job at the Silverwatch Tower. Except with less angry gargoyles this time.

  He reached into the wagon bed and grabbed a black leather pouch. Lockpicks, rope, smoke bombs, and a few other essentials clinked together inside. Everything a proper cat burglar needed for tonight’s mission.

  Thadan crept through the surrounding woods toward the manor, his arms stretched out behind him as he ran in what he imagined was the perfect stealth posture. The pose made no tactical sense, but he’d seen it in one of Pockets’ Yakusan Extraordinary Tales scriptures and thought it looked cool. A branch snapped beneath his boot, and he froze mid-stride, arms still ridiculously extended behind him, before continuing his awkward approach to the objective.

  The full moon cast pale shadows across the manicured lawns of the grand estate, its silvery light turning the sprawling grounds into a monochromatic painting of blacks and grays. The imposing manor’s silhouette loomed against the star-studded sky, windows dark and silent.

  Well, almost silent.

  A series of exaggerated grunts and huffs broke the peace as Thadan Ginedras, self-proclaimed master of stealth, executed what he believed to be a perfect tactical roll between two ornamental bushes. His leather armor creaked in protest as he pressed himself flat against the manor’s stone wall, holding a dramatic pose that would have made any actual infiltration expert cringe.

  Now, as he pressed against the wall, Thadan couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. This was a job only he could pull off—a mission that required his unique combination of skills and inside knowledge. The kind of impossible task that would make for a legendary tale if he survived to tell it.

  The servant’s entrance came into view—a simple wooden door, weathered but well-maintained. Thadan dropped into a crouch, then attempted to run toward it, his arms still trailing behind his back. The posture felt natural now. The effect was, however, somewhat ruined by his boots scuffing against the gravel path.

  The door wasn’t locked. But that didn’t stop Thadan from spending several minutes pretending to pick the lock with elaborate hand gestures before turning the handle.

  The kitchen beyond was dark and quiet, smelling of herbs and yesterday’s bread. Thadan pressed himself against the wall again, this time making a series of completely unnecessary hand signals to himself. He pointed two fingers at his eyes, then toward the hallway, then gave himself an emphatic thumbs up.

  Perfect ninja skills, he thought proudly, conveniently ignoring the fact that he’d just knocked over a copper pot and barely caught it before it hit the floor.

  He crept through the corridors, though “crept” might have been a generous term for his exaggerated tiptoe walk. Every few steps he would freeze in an absurd pose, holding perfectly still as if that somehow made him invisible. The fact that he was alone in the house made these theatrical displays of stealth even more ridiculous.

  The door to his target stood at the end of the hall, its heavy oak panels gleaming in the darkness. Thadan approached it with all the subtlety of a drunken peacock, making “stealthy” hand signals to imaginary teammates. He even threw in a few combat rolls for good measure, though the thick carpet muffled any dramatic sound effects. The prize was just beyond that door—the whole point of this ridiculous midnight infiltration.

  The study was as he expected it—walls lined with bookshelves, a massive desk dominating the center of the room, and various magical artifacts displayed in glass cases. The moonlight streaming through the tall windows gave everything an ethereal quality, as if the room existed in some liminal space between reality and dream.

  Thadan began his search, rummaging through drawers with exaggerated care. Each movement was accompanied by unnecessary flourishes and poses that would have made a theater troupe proud. He managed to knock over several items in his enthusiasm, but caught them in increasingly ridiculous positions—balancing on one foot, contorting himself like a pretzel, and catching one valuable-looking orb with his teeth.

  “I am one with the shadows,” he whispered to himself, then stumbled over nothing.

  The search continued, punctuated by Thadan’s running commentary to himself about his “incredible stealth skills” and “perfect infiltration technique.” He was so absorbed in his performance that he didn’t notice the gradual brightening of the room until it was too late.

  Every lamp suddenly blazed to life, flooding the study with warm golden light. Thadan froze mid-pose, one leg raised in what he thought was a ninja stance, arms spread wide for balance.

  In the doorway stood Vermillion, the family butler, looking as proper as ever in his pressed uniform. His expression was one of indifference, as if finding the heir to the Brightsteel fortune breaking into his own home was simply another item on his daily checklist.

  “Master Brightsteel,” Vermillion intoned in a voice as dry as ancient parchment, “will you be staying the night?”

  Thadan lowered his leg, trying to maintain some dignity despite being caught in such a ridiculous position. “Ah, Vermillion! I was... um...”

  The butler’s eyebrow twitched slightly—the closest he ever came to showing actual emotion. “Shall I have the kitchen prepare a late supper?”

  “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I’m here to... retrieve something.”

  “Of course, sir.” Vermillion’s tone suggested he found nothing unusual about this explanation. “Will you be requiring anything else?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Very well.” Without another word, the butler turned and left, closing the door behind him.

  Thadan waited until the footsteps faded before letting out a long breath. He’d forgotten how Vermillion could appear out of nowhere like that. The man had an almost supernatural ability to materialize when you were doing something embarrassing.

  As he committed himself back to his important task, movement caught his eye—a chest in the corner of the room that he hadn’t noticed before. It was an ornate thing, made of dark wood and bound with silver. Under normal circumstances, he would have rushed right over to open it. But recent experiences with certain deceptive creatures had made him more cautious.

  He approached slowly, eyeing the chest with suspicion. Was that a hint of teeth in the grain of the wood? Did those silver bindings look a bit too much like tendons? He’d seen enough mimics lately to know that anything could be hiding deadly surprises.

  “You’re being paranoid,” he muttered to himself. “Not everything is a mimic. This is father’s study—he wouldn’t keep dangerous creatures in here.”

  Still, he hesitated before reaching for the lid. Memories of snapping jaws and grasping pseudopods made him tense instinctively. But this was different. This was home.

  Taking a deep breath, he grasped the lid and lifted it in one quick motion.

  Purple light erupted from within, bathing his face in an otherworldly glow. The ethereal radiance threw distorted silhouettes across his features, transforming his expression of surprise into something almost mystical. Inside the chest lay something powerful.

  Thadan Ginedras chuckled under his breath. Jackpot.