Ichthys, a bustling port city, was a sea of noises and smells. The cries of hawkers blended with the salt-laden breeze, while the aroma of fresh catch and exotic spices danced in the air.

  Yet, to Xashai, it was a far cry from the luxury and convenience of her office back in the city. The comfort of plush chairs, the warmth of a private chamber, and the pleasing aroma of chai tea.

  This world was different. In her element, she'd known all the moves, a dance she'd choreographed herself. She would walk in, radiating confidence, her suit impeccable, a subtle hint of her signature perfume trailing behind her. Armed with her arsenal of information, she'd anticipate her opponent's every move.

  She would guide them, step by step, to their inevitable defeat. A surrender signed, sealed, and delivered, all with a smile and a firm handshake. And if push came to shove, well, her psionic abilities were there to tip the scales.

  However, in this city, she felt like an actor thrust into a play without a script. She couldn't rely on her usual tactics—no aura of corporate invincibility, no arsenal of insider knowledge, no well-practiced manipulation.

  Her usual poise had taken a backseat to something unfamiliar—an emotion she hadn't felt in a long time. Uncertainty.

  She remembered Zark'thul's advice before they departed. 'Keep that confidence from earlier.' But her encounter with the Tower, the revelations it brought, had shaken her. Was it confidence she was lacking, or was it her sanity?

  Regardless, she was committed. The RedLine units with her, albeit for different reasons, felt the same.

  After a successful deal with Haklang, Xashai and her entourage were free to explore the city. Zark'thul had suggested this as a learning opportunity, a chance to get to know her new environment.

  She stood there, overlooking the docks, the waves gently lapping at the shore. In the distance, ships of various sizes and shapes rocked gently, their masts swaying in the breeze. She could hear the shouts of sailors, the creaking of wood, and the splash of water against the hulls.

  A vast network of pulleys and ropes were being used to load and unload cargo. Men and women carried crates and bags back and forth, while merchants haggled over prices and the occasional dockhand tried to pick up a few extra coins with a song or a dance.

  The sheer amount of people and noise was overwhelming. Xashai had always preferred the tranquility of her office to the chaos of the streets. She had her own little world in there, where she could control everything.

  Even after several ventures into the city, Xashai's nerves were still on edge, despite the presence of the REDLINE agents. Zark'thul had warned her to be cautious but not overly concerned. After all, her true workplace, the place she belonged, was the Tower.

  She had been a negotiator, not a strategist or a scout. Reconnaissance and planning were never her fortes. However, the job demanded that she learn and grow. She needed to understand the city, its strengths, its weaknesses, and its potential for her newfound mission.

  At least the humans of this world weren't xenophobic. Despite the frequent odd stares and curious glances at her Gixiet features, most were welcoming and friendly.

  Most.

  A burly sailor passed by her, his eyes raking over her figure. Xashai stood her ground. It wasn't the first time a drunk or a sailor had dared to look at her with lustful eyes, or even try to start a conversation. More often than not, those advances were quickly dismissed with a frosty stare.

  If the looks persisted, her psionic abilities could do the rest. A minor headache here, a bout of nausea there—nothing too serious, just enough to remind them of their place. Her psionic ability could also scan the mental surface, but she decided against it. Today, she wasn't here as a negotiator or a spy. She was simply here to explore and understand.

  "Care to join us, darling?" the sailor asked, his breath reeking of alcohol.

  She wrinkled her nose at the stench. "I respectfully decline," she responded, her tone flat and devoid of emotion.

  "Aw, come on now, don't be like that," he slurred, stepping closer. "It's a beautiful day. We could share a drink, enjoy the sea breeze..."

  She felt a tap on her shoulder. Geneve was by her side, her eyes narrowed at the drunken man. She leaned in, whispering, "Need me to handle him?"

  The offer was tempting. A little intervention from the REDLINEs would surely scare him off, but Xashai shook her head.

  "No," she murmured back. "I'll deal with this."

  Then, raising her voice, she said to the sailor, "Look, I'm flattered, but I'm not interested. Now, if you'll excuse me..." She turned to leave, but the man grabbed her wrist.

  "Wait, I'm not done talking to you," he growled.

  Oh, you just crossed a line.

  Her eyes narrowed, her irises shifting from purple to a deep, stormy blue. He cried out, clutching his head, and staggered away from her. As he fell to his knees, he vomited, the contents of his stomach spewing onto the dock. Passersby stopped and stared, some laughing, others grimacing in disgust.

  She turned away and walked on, her entourage keeping pace. Xashai's composure was back, but her wrist still tingled from his grip.

  "This world is so uncivilized," she muttered to herself, her tone icy.

  "The locals can be troublesome for sure," Warren, one of her escorts, agreed.

  "What did you do to him?" Clare asked.

  Xashai glanced back at the retching man. "I merely amplified his inebriation. He'll recover within an hour or so. And hopefully, he'll have learned his lesson."

  "Remind me never to piss you off," Byron, the tank, chimed in, a grin on his face.

  Xashai allowed herself a small smile. "Consider yourself reminded."

  The man sneered. "And who the hell are you?"

  "Someone you don't want to mess with," she replied, her voice icy. "Take the hint and leave."

  She walked briskly, her long coat trailing behind her. Her agents followed like a silent, watchful shadow. The group traversed through narrow streets, dodging carts and street vendors, sidestepping puddles and piles of refuse.

  Today's venture was primarily about finding bankers who could be of use to her employer. The coins the Agents looted during their missions were growing in quantity, but with nowhere to spend them outside of this world, their utility was limited. They would be more useful here as a currency rather than an asset to be hoarded.

  She held the Nexus Watch, which displayed a map of the city and its prominent landmarks. Its display could also pinpoint where specific types of establishments were located. As they moved, the Nexus Watch vibrated gently, providing real-time updates on their location and guiding them in the right direction.

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  "Almost there," she informed the REDLINEs as the map on her watch changed.

  Soon, they arrived at a building with the words 'Alabaster Credit and Depository' etched above its large double doors. Xashai had done her research beforehand, and this institution seemed to be the most prominent and reputable option.

  She pushed open the doors and strode inside, her high-heeled boots clicking on the polished marble floor. The REDLINEs remained outside, assuming a discreet yet vigilant formation.

  As she made her way to the reception desk, she was greeted by a well-dressed young human female seated behind it. The receptionist's eyes widened slightly at the sight of her.

  "Good day," Xashai began, her voice crisp and professional. "I'd like to speak to someone about opening a business account. In private, please."

  The receptionist nodded, her smile polite yet tight. "Certainly. If you'll kindly wait here, I'll see if Mr. Fontaine, one of our bankers, is available."

  As the receptionist disappeared into the depths of the bank, Xashai took a moment to glance around. The interior was everything one would expect from a prestigious financial institution: opulent, stately, and imposing.

  The receptionist returned with an elderly human male in a crisp black suit. "Mr. Fontaine will see you now. Please, follow me."

  Xashai obliged, her footsteps echoing as she trailed behind the pair.

  They entered a spacious office, dominated by a grand wooden desk. Behind it sat the man Xashai assumed was Fontaine. He appeared to be an elderly human male with a bald head, a set of piercing brown eyes, and a rather unflattering scar that ran from his temple to his jaw. He was well-built for his age, his large frame straining against his well-fitted suit.

  She paused at the entrance. As a Gixiet, her senses were more acute than that of a human's. Everything about this man—his demeanor, his physique, and his posture—spoke not of a banker but of a seasoned warrior.

  "Welcome, Ms....?" Fontaine said, rising to his feet and extending a hand in greeting.

  "Xashai," she replied, stepping forward to shake his hand. "Thank you for seeing me."

  His grip was firm, almost crushing. She returned the pressure in kind, a subtle challenge dancing in her eyes. After a brief moment of silent struggle, he released his grip with a small smile.

  He gestured towards the chair. "Please, have a seat."

  She obliged, crossing one leg over the other.

  "What can I do for you today?"

  "I am here to inquire about establishing a business relationship with your institution on behalf of my employer," she began, leaning forward in her seat.

  He folded his hands on the desk, his expression serious. "A business relationship with whom?"

  "Lord Lawrence Mycroft. He's a businessman from the Northmen Traders Guild. I've been assigned to represent his interests here in this city."

  The mention of Mycroft's name caused a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "I'm not familiar with the gentleman's business dealings, but if he's a member of the Northmen's Guild, we can expect a certain degree of credibility."

  He was lying, she realized. He had definitely heard about Mr. Mycroft before. She kept her expression neutral.

  "He plans to trade extensively with Ichthys. To facilitate these transactions, he requires the services of a reliable banking institution," she continued, keeping her explanation deliberately vague.

  Fontaine nodded, taking a moment to scrutinize her. "Can you provide more details?"

  "Lord Mycroft intends to be a supplier of goods, among other things. To do so, he requires a secure location to store his considerable wealth."

  "What kind of wealth are we talking about?"

  "Primarily silver, gold, and platinum," she replied. "The rest would be in the form of gemstones and rare artifacts. We'd like to deposit around a thousand gold coins and a few hundred other precious metals. Is that acceptable to your institution?"

  He leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on her. "A substantial amount, then. What's the source of this wealth?"

  "Lord Mycroft's operations are extensive and diverse. That is all I am at liberty to say," she responded.

  He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "Ms. Xashai, I'll be frank with you. This is a significant sum, and we need to ensure it doesn't come from any... questionable sources. You understand, I'm sure. As a legitimate financial institution, we have our reputation to maintain."

  "I completely understand, and I can assure you there is nothing illicit about the funds. Lord Mycroft is a man of honor, a peerless businessman. His fortune is a result of his many successful ventures and the rewards of his long life." She offered a small smile, "Quite a long life, indeed."

  A subtle probe into his thoughts revealed skepticism. He didn't quite believe her explanation but couldn't refute it without any proof. Not yet, anyway.

  Her specialty as an intuitive empath, however, was to scan the emotional layers of the mind and dig further. A more thorough scan of his emotional layers revealed a hint of greed that mingled with his distrust and suspicion.

  "So, how can my employer and I enter an agreement with your bank?" she probed, maintaining her composure.

  He straightened up in his chair, adopting a business-like demeanor. "Our terms are simple: we charge a yearly fee of two percent for storage, and there will be additional fees for any other services you may require. Once the agreement is in place, you are free to access your wealth as you see fit."

  Two percent? An interesting rate for a bank. Though she knew little about the banking system in this world, it seemed rather exorbitant.

  "Why the high rate?" she inquired, a slight crease forming on her brow.

  Fontaine spread his hands. "Our clientele is exclusive, and we provide top-tier security for their assets. That security doesn't come cheap, Ms. Xashai."

  Another mental scan of his emotions revealed a touch of defiance and another layer of greed beneath his professional fa?ade. Xashai decided to put him to the test.

  "Mr. Fontaine, let me make myself clear. We're looking to establish a long-term relationship. We won't be entrusting our wealth to an institution that makes a habit of swindling its clients." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, icy whisper. "Rest assured, we are very good at sniffing out lies and treachery. We will deal with such indiscretions... decisively."

  Her eyes bore into his, an unspoken threat lingering in the air. She knew her words held a double meaning, and she was testing if he would understand and take the bait.

  His brown eyes narrowed, and the tinge of fear she sensed in his mental layers told her he'd caught her implication. She detected the internal struggle, the fear and greed waging a silent war.

  Finally, she saw his greed win out. Fontaine broke the silence with a small chuckle. "Ms. Xashai, I believe there's been a misunderstanding. Alabaster Credit and Depository prides itself on its honesty and integrity. We simply can't afford otherwise. Our reputation is our lifeblood, and we protect it fiercely. Our security and services are without equal, hence the high rates."

  "If that's the case, then what are these other additional fees you mentioned?" she asked.

  "It depends. For instance, we offer additional security services for a price, including armed escorts for valuable shipments and a range of specialized insurance plans. Naturally, these services come at a premium."

  "What about any currency exchange fees or Letters of Credit?"

  "No, we don't charge for those. The yearly fee encompasses all basic banking services."

  He pulled out a document and began reviewing the fine print with her, emphasizing the bank's commitment to security and the strict confidentiality they extended to their clients.

  "You see," he said, tapping a section of the contract, "we are the most secure institution in the entire city. We have measures in place to thwart any would-be thieves, be they mundane or arcane in nature. Plus, we have strong ties with the city guard and other influential guilds."

  Xashai skimmed through the document, nodding here and there. Everything seemed to be in order, as far as she could tell. The fact that the banker's emotions matched his words eased her concerns.

  "Also," Fontaine added, "should you wish to keep some of your liquid assets in high-interest accounts, we can arrange that for you. Our interest rates are competitive, and your capital will be safeguarded by all the measures I've already outlined."

  Xashai mulled over his words, running quick calculations in her head. She decided to push her luck. "Given the size of the sum we plan to deposit and our potential as valuable, long-term customers, could we negotiate a slightly lower fee? Perhaps one and a half percent?"

  Mr. Fontaine's expression tightened briefly, and Xashai sensed the subtle shift in his emotions—a flicker of annoyance, a surge of greed, and finally, a calculating calm.

  "That is a considerable sum, and the services you require are not trivial. However, seeing as this is the start of a new relationship, I am willing to extend a one-time courtesy for the first four years of the agreement, lowering our annual fee to one point five percent. But only under one condition."

  She raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"

  "Any additional services, such as those armed escorts or specialized insurance plans I mentioned, will come at their standard rates," Fontaine said, leaning forward.

  "Agreed," Xashai responded, extending her hand. "You have a deal."

  They shook on it, and Xashai saw a tiny quirk of satisfaction curl the corner of the banker's mouth.

  "Now that we've settled that, let's move on to the formalities," he said, producing a stack of documents and a feathered quill. "I'll need the details of your employer's organization, the specifics of your initial deposit, and other relevant information for our records."