I headed for the kitchen, which had turned into an impromptu meeting room. The druid’s guards were gone, but the siblings sat at the table with the rest. Doyle moved between chairs and counters, setting down plates, murmuring to himself, trying to keep order with more bodies than the space was ever meant to hold.

  The moment my head appeared in the doorway, questions flew.

  “How’d you go?” Brent asked.

  “Who was that?” Amelia added.

  Rob leaned back in his chair. “What did the fellah want?”

  I ignored Calum’s muttered remark and fixed on Doyle instead.

  “Can I speak with you a second?”

  He took one look at my face and stopped what he was doing. “Of course.”

  He followed me into the hall. Before I could say a word, he raised a hand and glanced back toward the kitchen.

  “Rob,” he called, not raising his voice. “Stop eavesdropping.”

  A pause. Then, from the kitchen, “I wasn’t!”

  Doyle sighed and turned back to me. “Come on. You look like you’ve swallowed something sharp. Is it serious?”

  “Yeah.”

  He nodded once. “Then this way.”

  We moved down the hall. Instead of the stairs, Doyle reached beneath them and pressed his fingers against the wall. A narrow panel shifted with a soft click, revealing a low door tucked into the shadow beneath the steps.

  I hesitated, then ducked as we slipped inside.

  The passage beyond was tight, stone close on both sides, the ceiling low enough that I had to keep my head down. The air smelled of old wood and parchment. Not damp. Lived in. We moved forward, the sound of the kitchen fading behind us.

  The corridor opened into another stretch of hallway.

  Hats lined the walls, dozens of them, perched on pegs at odd angles. Work hats, travelling hats, things worn thin by years of use. Broom cupboards stood half open, handles poking out. A few portraits hung crooked along the stone, each showing a face that looked unsettlingly like Doyle at different ages, different moods. Family portraits maybe?

  I slowed, taking it in.

  “This isn’t what I expected,” I said. “There’s a lot of space down here.”

  Doyle gave a tired smile. “People rarely get a glimpse of a brownie’s hobble. Consider yourself lucky.”

  He gestured for me to keep moving.

  Whatever I’d come to say suddenly felt heavier.

  “In here.”

  Doyle pushed the door open and stepped aside.

  The room dipped below the level of the hall; a shallow hollow carved into the earth. It wasn’t large, but it worked. Everything had a place. Tools lined one wall, polished and sorted by size. A small hearth glowed low, clothes draped nearby to dry, steam lifting from damp fabric. The stone held the warmth. The air smelled of ash and soap.

  “Sit,” he said, pulling out a small chair.

  I lowered myself into it, feeling a bit awkward.

  “That man,” I said. “Sebastian. He said he’s with the trade guild in the city.”

  Doyle snorted softly. “I wondered why he smelled like old parchment.”

  I nodded. “He explained the catalysts. And the records. The paper trail.”

  Doyle rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled. “And now you’re thinking about another night trip.”

  I nodded again. “I need to get those records.”

  “No.”

  The word landed flat and final.

  “But I…”

  “We can’t risk you getting caught,” he said. “From what you’ve told me; you barely slipped through last time.”

  I swore under my breath. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

  He studied me for a moment. “I’m glad you came to me first this time,” he said. “It tells me you’re finally learning some sense.”

  That stung. I suddenly became very interested in the shoes I was wearing.

  “Still,” he went on, “you’re forgetting something.”

  “And that is?”

  A small smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re not alone in this house.”

  I frowned. “This is my mess.”

  “Not anymore,” he said. “We work as a team here.”

  He leaned back, voice dropping. “And you’re in luck. There happen to be not one, but two very capable sneaks under this roof right now.”

  That made me look up.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “I can’t…”

  “You can,” Doyle affirmed.

  I don’t like dragging anyone else into this,” I said.

  Doyle waved it off and reached for a mug, then thought better of it and set it back down untouched.

  “Don’t,” he said. “Brent lives for work like this. Telling him he has to sneak into a highly secure guild will make his day. Probably his whole week.”

  He shook his head, a faint smile creeping in. “And I’ll go with him. Someone has to keep that firecracker from blowing up in our faces.”

  I nodded, a grin slipping out before I could stop it. The thought of dragging Doyle into my mess soured it almost immediately.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  He looked at me then, really looked.

  “I accept the apology. The fact that you mean it is what matters.” His tone hardened slightly. “Don’t get comfortable though. You’re still in trouble. And once Jerald arrives, he’ll hear about your trip to the city. That can’t be avoided.”

  My smile faded.

  “For now,” he continued, “we keep our eyes open and our mouths shut.” He leaned back against the table.

  “So… What else did the scholar tell you?”

  I walked him through it. The catalysts. What each one held. The souls bound inside them. I laid out the list of blessings and watched his expression shift as the scope became clear.

  “Kent,” Doyle said at last, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “All this time. A soul forger.”

  “Seems that way.”

  “What kind of weapons do we even need for this?” I asked.

  “Ones inscribed with the right runes,” he said. “And more importantly, ones the wielders actually choose. Soul work doesn’t tolerate shortcuts.”

  I told him about the delivery scheduled for the next day.

  Doyle leaned back against the table and nodded slowly. “Everything’s turning up at once,” he said.

  We went over it carefully, step by step. Ideas were tested and discarded as problems came up. They would choose their weapons first and have them sent out to be modified, then begin training while the work was underway. There was no point delaying practice when the forging would take time anyway.

  “So,” Doyle said at last, folding his arms. “Which catalyst is going to whom?”

  I hesitated. Amelia was obvious. Rob was harder. He could make good use of either of two, and I hadn’t decided which would suit him best.

  “And the last two?” Doyle asked. “You’ve got two new people sleeping under this roof. You really planning to hand something like that to people you barely know?”

  “I want to give one to Celeste,” I said, the words coming out quicker than I meant them to.

  Doyle gave me a look. “You two have history, then.”

  He had a habit of spotting things I thought I’d kept buried.

  “Kind of,” I said. I told him about Morganvale. About how long she’d been there, her silence. About how often she’d been gone. He listened without interrupting, letting me talk until there was nothing left to say.

  “Be careful,” he said when I finished.

  I frowned. “About what?”

  “She’s a druid,” he said. “They don’t form emotional ties outside their own people. It isn’t done, and when it is, it’s rarely welcomed.”

  “I don’t see her like that,” I said.

  He didn’t look convinced.

  I let out a long breath and leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and told him the rest. About knowing I would never have the kind of life other people did. About how anyone who got too close would end up paying for it, one way or another.

  He studied me, and there was pity in his eyes. “Don’t borrow trouble too far ahead,” he said. “We’ll figure this out.”

  “I hope so.”

  “We will,” Doyle said. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  As we parted, he paused at the door. “One more thing. There’s a vermin problem in a nearby town. Nasty little infestation.”

  I raised a brow.

  “Good practice,” he added. “And a reminder that not every problem comes wrapped in ledgers and signatures.”

  Nothing about it sounded easy.

  Which meant it was probably the right next step.

  “What happened to the so-called easy tasks?” I asked.

  Doyle didn’t slow. “Fate has reared its ugly head,” he said. “And I can’t afford to coddle any of you now.”

  “Any of us?” I said. “You counting five?”

  He stopped at the door and looked at me. “Anyone who sleeps under this roof gets the same treatment. Same expectations.”

  I raised a brow. “Even Nobles?”

  “Without doubt.”

  “Even Brent?”

  He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then sighed. “Even Brent.”

  That was answer enough.

  We left the small room and headed back toward the kitchen. The noise reached us before the light did. Laughter. Plates scraping. Someone arguing loudly about the last piece of bread.

  Inside, the siblings sat apart from the chaos, watching it unfold with quiet disbelief. Rob was already halfway into a story, waving a fork for emphasis. Amelia was focused entirely on her plate, eating like she hadn’t seen a proper meal in days.

  “Got it sorted then?” Rob asked when he spotted me.

  I nodded.

  Brent caught Doyle’s eye. Whatever passed between them didn’t need words. Brent pushed back from the table and followed Doyle out, already rolling his shoulders like he was bracing for bad news.

  I took a seat beside Rob and fixed my attention on the table. I didn’t look at Celeste. She was trying too hard to seem at ease, smiling at the wrong moments, hands folded when everyone else reached and grabbed and joked. She didn’t belong in this noise.

  Neither did Calum.

  Every time I spoke to Rob, Calum scoffed. A sharp sound, deliberate. With the adults gone, his silence turned into something bitter. Comments under his breath. A smirk when Rob laughed at my expense.

  “So,” Rob said at last, leaning back in his chair. “Doyle’s got us training again tomorrow. Fantastic.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Apparently, we’re meant to clear out some vermin. No idea where yet. He said a town over…”

  Calum snorted. “You planning to run from those too?”

  I looked at him, flat and level, and didn’t rise to it.

  Rob glanced between us, the space tightening. He cleared his throat. “Right. Anyway. Who was that bloke earlier?”

  I shrugged. “No one special. Just a fella.”

  Amelia tilted her head, studying me over the rim of her cup. “You’ve been awfully secretive lately. What are you up to?”

  “You know… it’s the surprise,” I said, a crooked smile slipping out.

  Calum scoffed. “More like a disappearing act.”

  Rob pushed his chair back a fraction. “Seriously, mate. What’s your problem?”

  Calum stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. For a moment it looked like he was about to say something he couldn’t take back. Then Celeste caught his sleeve.

  He looked down at her. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She just looked tired. Unsteady. Whatever fire had been in him guttered out. He exhaled, hard, shot me one last look full of promise, and walked out.

  I opened my mouth to ask Celeste if she was alright.

  She followed him instead.

  The door closed. The room went quiet in a way it hadn’t been all evening.

  Rob leaned back and broke the silence. “That guy’s got a stick lodged somewhere unpleasant.”

  Amelia nodded, though her eyes stayed on the door. “But what was he saying earlier? He called you a coward. More than once.”

  I picked at the edge of my plate. “He thinks I ran.”

  Rob scoffed. “As if.”

  I grinned at him, but Amelia didn’t laugh.

  “Then why does he think that?” she asked.

  I looked between them. Rob lounged back with his chair tipped, still half lost in a joke. Amelia wasn’t relaxed at all. She watched me closely, the way she always did when she knew I was holding something back.

  I hesitated. I’d told myself silence had kept them safe. Maybe it had. But if another fight broke out, if things turned ugly again, ignorance might hurt them more than the truth.

  I wouldn’t tell them everything. That would only complicate things. But I could show them enough.

  I drew a slow breath and rubbed my thumb along the tang of the blade.

  “Alright,” I said. “I’ll show you. Close your eyes.”

  The sword stirred under my touch, a low warning hum running up my arm. I pushed past it. Just this once.

  They exchanged a glance and shrugged. Their eyes closed.

  I dropped the disguise and let the invisibility rune take hold. The world narrowed as I focused, then released.

  “You can open them now.”

  The reaction was immediate.

  Rob’s chair scraped hard against the floor as he shot upright. Amelia’s breath caught, sharp and quick. Where I’d been standing, there was nothing. No shimmer. No blur. Just empty space.

  “Sean?” Amelia said, her voice tight.

  I reached out and lifted a plate from the table. It rose slowly, tilting as if guided by an unseen hand.

  Rob’s eyes locked onto it. A second passed. Then he barked out a laugh, half disbelief, half shock.

  “No fucking way, mate!”