Industrial quarter—parts market. It smelled like oil, hot metal, and things best left unmentioned.

  “Jesus, what is all this junk?” Caelan said, picking through a table of gears. “Wait—where the hell did you get that?”

  Takeshi didn’t answer—he was already frog-hopping vendor to vendor, yanking a handcart that squeaked like a confession. He bartered in three languages, tapped teeth, nodded, tossed oddments into the cart, then pointed at Caelan without looking. Pay.

  “This place is amazing,” Takeshi breathed, eyes bright. “Haven’t seen variety like this since we woke up. seventeen years and not one market like—ooh, drive belts—”

  “Why is everything so manual?” Caelan said, peeling off scrap bars as instructed. “I’m not asking for Tokyo neon, but half of you came from way more advanced planets than Earth.”

  A couple of merchants laughed.

  “What?” Caelan said.

  A vendor wiped a wrench on his apron. “Getting electricity to work is easy. Keeping it working in this place isn’t.”

  Takeshi leaned in. “Have you tried low-rpm dynamos off a waterwheel? Belt to a flywheel, rectify to DC, isolate the bus on oiled hardwood, then step through ceramic capacitors bef—”

  Another vendor held up both hands. “Friend, I’ve personally built hand-cranks to micro-fusion for starships. Sustained current just doesn't happen here. Above a whisper of charge, it runs straight for the ground like it is hungry. Trust me, if there was a way, we would have found it by now.”

  Takeshi stared at the parts like a widower at an empty chair. Caelan kept handing over bars until his palm until the bag began to feel lighter than he hoped, then Takeshi dropped to his knees and pounded the cobbles once. “What kind of hell is this place?”

  “The kind where you carry more and crank longer,” the first vendor said, kindly.

  Caelan pushed back up, dusted his coat. “On that note—we’ve been here an hour. You owe me at least a round.”

  Takeshi tried to pivot the cart the other way. “No, wait—just one more hour—look at those bearings—”

  Caelan hooked an elbow through the cart’s handle and started dragging both the engineer and the treasure. “Captain’s orders. Drinks, now. You can play with your toys after.”

  Takeshi listed purchases as he slid backward down the street. “Belts—pulleys—springs—pressure gauges—okay, two rounds, but I get to pick the bar.”

  “Deal,” Caelan said. “South gate then—Plaza in two hours. And I swear to God if you blow up another bar, I will beat you.”

  Takeshi huffed, still sliding backward. “I only did that once. You and your mini?me have done ten times more than I.”

  Caelan shrugged. “Small details, mate.”

  Market, late morning. Garron moved like a walking wall—nine feet of calm. People stepped aside without being asked. Keira rode his shoulders, chin on her hands, scanning the stalls.

  “Down,” she said, and hopped—bouncing stall to stall. “Hot chocolate,” she told a woman with a steaming vat.

  “Do you mean broth?” the woman asked, kindly.

  Keira said, already moving on to the next table. “Watch your mouth. What you meant was magical—hot, sweet, brown—not gravy—brown like happiness.”

  Three vendors blinked. Three heads shook.

  Garron shadowed her, paying for samples she didn’t finish. Guards were everywhere—long shields, Tasers, and a few ARV rifles tucked behind cordons. At the edges, a runner went stall to stall, passing out handbills. Guards began to call:

  “We are looking for a Mr. Captain. If a Mr. Captain is present, please make yourself known to the city guard—”

  Keira stopped in the market’s center and yelled at the sky, “Just you wait till I get my hands on you! One goddamn cup—that’s all I want!”

  Garron sighed. “There seems to be a selection here. Why not try something new?”

  “You don’t get it,” Keira muttered. Then: “Fine. New. Probably tastes like the usual rubbish.”

  She pointed at a tray. “What the hell’s the deal with these coloured cube things?”

  Behind her, the call grew louder. More handbills changed hands.

  Garron watched the guard lines with his back to Keira. “Little miss… perhaps we should find the others.”

  “Mm. No.” Keira squinted at the cubes. “I haven’t picked one yet.”

  “There he is,” a guard shouted. “The giant who was with him!”

  Garron loudly sighed. “We should leave right now, Keira.”

  “Not now,” Keira said, weighing the orange cube like this is all that matters right now.

  The guard line tightened. A senior officer stepped forward, helm tucked under his arm.

  “Sir,” he said to Garron, steady voice, careful eyes. “You are both required to accompany us. You’ve been summoned by our city’s leader and chairman of the Aurex Corporation.”

  Garron stood his full height and stared him down, about to speak—

  Keira turned and popped the green cube into Garron’s hand. “Try this. I’ve called dibs on whatever the hell this orange one is.” She looked past the officer at the ring of men. “Hey—what the fuck do these assholes want?”

  The officer blinked. “I have been ordered to—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time,” Keira said. “Start with what you want. And if that idiot wrecked the place, don’t look at me.”

  A young guard reached for her arm. Keira spun, peeled his wrist with two fingers, folded him to the cobbles, and planted a boot lightly at the base of his neck—gentle, but terrifying.

  “You sure you want to play this game?” she asked, eyes bright.

  She took a bite of the orange cube and froze, surprised. “Fuck. These are edible.” A laugh bubbled up. “He’s going to be so mad when he finds out.”

  The senior officer lifted both hands. “I am sorry. Please—release my man. You’re invited for tea with the city’s leader. He asks only a few questions. If you don’t stop now, I may not be able to prevent an arrest… or worse.”

  Keira’s gaze sharpened. “Oh, I like it worse. But are you bringing more than your dozen here? Don’t start me on the positioning. Those four with rifles? I’ve covered zones solo better than this zoo. And if the big man joins in…”

  Garron lifted her off the pinned guard like picking up a cat and set her on his shoulders again. “Honestly,” he rumbled, “I thought Takeshi was overselling it when he called you Caelan's mini-me. We have two options: wreck the place… or have a conversation. We should see if there’s anything to be worried about before you go loose.”

  “First: mini-me my ass—that idiot can’t dance. Second: fine. If he doesn’t have hot chocolate, I’ll burn the place later.”

  Garron gave the senior officer a nod that made the man swallow. “Lead the way.”

  “Thank you,” the officer said, voice a notch hushed. “Please—this way.”

  “Tea first,” she said. “Then answers.”

  They walked toward the western gate. The city watched.

  Western gate, manor quarter.

  Set back from the street stood a building that didn’t belong to the rest of Virelith—its own wall, a perfect garden with a stone water feature, and a mansion sitting quietly behind it.

  Garron angled his shoulder so Keira could hear him. “When we go in, keep your cool. We don’t know what we’re walking into. Let me do the talking.”

  Keira grinned. “Damn. Sorry about this, then.”

  “Sorry about—?”

  Keira dropped from his shoulders, boots kissing the path. At the gate, a senior city guard was conferring with a house guard about their arrival.

  Keira cupped her hands and yelled toward the doors. “Hey, fucker! If you’re going to drag us here, have the manners to meet us when we arrive!”

  A ripple went through the guards. Rifles and batons came up in a hiss of leather. “Hands where we can see them! On the ground—now!”

  Garron sighed like a mountain. “How do I always end up babysitting spoiled brats?” He shifted his weight; the paving under one foot cracked. His voice stayed gentle. “Everyone, calm down. That includes you, Keira.”

  She tipped her head, all sharpness. “Or what, big guy? Think I can’t take you again?”

  Garron didn’t blink. “I’ll tell Solara.”

  Keira’s smile flipped to sunshine. “Aww, you wouldn’t do that over a few bad words between old friends. Besides—” she jerked a thumb at the guards— “they started it.”

  The mansion’s double doors opened. A man in a slate coat stepped out, hands spread, voice smooth.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “it is indeed time we all calm down. Men—lower your weapons, please. Our guests deserve better.” He bowed just enough. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dorian Pael, Mr. Aurex Vallis's personal liaison. Please accept my sincere apologies for the way you were welcomed to our fair city. If you would follow me, Mr. Vallis is eager to meet you both.”

  Garron stepped forward to shake his hand. “Garron Vale. A pleasure, Mr. Pael. May I ask what this meeting concerns?”

  “A pleasure, Mr. Vale.” Pael inclined his head.

  Keira wagged a finger. “It’ll be fine. For a guy with a ten-foot pole rammed up his ass, he doesn’t seem too bad. Lead the way, bum-kisser.”

  “Of course,” Pael said, unflappable. As they started up the path, he added, mildly, “And, little lady—such language is not becoming of someone of your apparent age. The stars forbid you to speak so in front of Mr. Dask.”

  “Pfft—Dask,” Keira snorted. “Who comes up with this rubbish? Yeah, yeah—more snacks, less talking.”

  “Right this way,” Pael said, and the garden gates swung inward on oiled hinges. Guards stepped back. Water whispered over stone. The house waited.

  Inside the manor. Polished stone. A runner that swallowed footsteps. Oil paintings—heroic battles, men with serious chins.

  Garron let his fingers brush the wainscot. “It’s… impressive to see a place like this in the War. How did you come by it?”

  (Keira snorted at a portrait as she walked. “That guy’s eyebrow could win a duel.”)

  Pael didn’t slow. “We did not happen upon it, Mr. Vale. This was built—wall, garden, house—by the work and coordination of Mr. Vallis and his long-term ally, the renowned Commander Ravon Dask. Here, he has tried to create the smallest sliver of normalcy while we endure our time within the war.”

  “For the time since we all awoke here,” Garron said, “if true… that’s an outstanding feat.”

  Pael’s eyebrow lifted a millimeter. He offered no reply, only opened a door and gestured them through. “The tea room. Please—be seated. Your host will be with you shortly.”

  Keira didn’t wait. She dropped into a chair and propped her boots on the table like she owned the place. “Hey, mustache—chop-chop with the snacks, yeah?”

  Pael turned, eyes cool. “Might I remark that your conduct since arriving has been shocking for someone of your apparent age and height. I won’t ask again: feet off the table.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Keira grinned. “Finally—someone around here with a pair. Come on then—let’s see them.”

  Garron sighed, lifted Keira by the waist as if she were a cat, and set her properly in the chair. “No need to be rude. I’m not your big bro. Whatever’s got you hot today—pin it. We’ll talk later. For now… please.”

  Keira stared at him, then slumped an inch. “Sorry. …You’re not my fucking dad, old man. Get with the flow. You don’t pick your Keira—you get the Keira you’re given. Wow. Keira forever, bitches.”

  Garron actually laughed. “Honestly, I’d be afraid of how well you and my mother would have gotten along if you’d ever met. Do this old man a favour: calm down a touch until we leave, and I’ll buy you something nice.”

  Keira’s mouth twitched. “Deal, big man.”

  They shook on it. Pael, expression restored to neutral, poured the first cup. “Tea will be served,” he said, “and then—business.”

  The far door opened. A man jogged in wearing a towel around his neck, a workout tee, and shorts.

  “Ah—are they here? Excellent, Mr. Pael. Please have the tea served; I’ve only a few moments before my attention is needed elsewhere.”

  He crossed to the table, toweling the back of his neck. Keira’s hand froze on the tabletop; her jaw actually dropped.

  “Thank you for joining me,” the man said. “I hope I haven’t pulled you from anything vital. Allow me—Aurex Vallis. A pleasure to have you in our city.”

  He took a seat, as easily as if nothing could ever be urgent.

  Aurex Vallis

  Future Title: Second Immortal Emperor

  Follower Count (post-War): 389,274

  Titles: Chairman of Economy; Commander of the Iron Castle; “Rexy-baby” (Caelan; hated).

  “Thank you for having us, Mr. Val—” Garron began.

  Keira burst out laughing. “No. No way. They’re real.”

  Aurex blinked. “Are you quite all right, little lady?”

  Garron, almost under his breath: “Just like Mum—all right.”

  Keira pointed, delighted and appalled. “It’s the guy with the eyebrows. Jesus Christ—I didn’t think they’d be real. Honestly, have someone trim those. Do us all a favour. And I’ve been here five minutes with no snacks? Chop-chop or we walk.”

  Aurex stared at her, stunned for a beat, then clapped his hands once. “Well… that’s a response, I suppose. Mr. Pael—snacks?”

  Four staff in proper clothes swept in with trays. Keira’s outrage evaporated instantly. “Ooh—do you have those dumb cube things?”

  Garron lifted the tiny cup with two fingers, took a careful sip, and nodded to Aurex. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine as long as there’s food.”

  “Preach it, sister,” Keira said around a mouthful. “Shit—bro’s going to be mad when he learns how good this tastes.”

  Aurex found his voice again. “Yes. My apologies. I do have a question I’d appreciate your help with.” He snapped his fingers. A footman brought in a tray bearing several emerald-tinted scrap bars—the same kind Caelan had paid at the gate. Aurex set the tray down, eyes on Garron. “Would you care to explain where you came across such material?”

  Garron sipped his tea. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “We killed a new monster thing,” Keira said, still chewing. “Got the shiny rock instead of the usual.”

  “You’re not meant to tell him that,” Garron murmured.

  Aurex turned to Keira. “And how many did it take to kill this monster?”

  “Mm… I think four of them. But Takeshi was there, so let’s say three. I wasn’t there—nearly got taken out, but I was busy getting punched by the big man here.”

  “Please don’t tell it like that,” Garron sighed.

  “Hashtag facts, hashtag punches-like-a-bitch,” Keira said serenely.

  Aurex cleared his throat. “Anyway. So you’re saying you receive this when you kill one of those emerald monsters?”

  Keira blinked at him as if he were slow. “Are you listening or what? Yes. Maybe clean your ears and trim those eyebrows, and you’ll hear me.”

  Aurex let that pass with a thin smile and looked back to Garron. “What would it take to secure that information… and, while we’re at it, discuss what it might cost for your captain to hand you over to me. I assume he’s your commander? Name the price. A man of your stature doesn’t come along every day—drop the babysitting and come make a real earning.”

  Garron went still.

  Keira swallowed the last bite on the nearest plate, set her cup neatly in its saucer, and sat up straight. When she spoke, her voice was calm and cold.

  “Mr. Vallis, let me be perfectly clear. Yes, you’ve got a good number of followers behind you, and yes, you’ve built yourself a pretty place here—but let’s not overlook what’s behind the curtain.” She took a slow sip.

  Aurex’s brows lifted. “Oh? Why don’t you tell me what my problems are, little girl?”

  “For starters, your manpower—at least on the combat front—is thin. Your men are zombies on their feet. What are they working half the day or more? Your coordination is shocking. And you’ve dragged us in here to quiz us about something you clearly haven’t seen before because you want to know how to beat it. So—how much of your manpower have you committed to chasing emeralds elsewhere?”

  Aurex’s fingers tightened around his cup.

  “I know you won’t admit it,” Keira went on, “but it has to be what—half your forces? Otherwise, this place would have fallen apart a long time ago.” She set the cup down and smiled without warmth. “Now, back to business. We don’t sell our family. Ask again, and the only thing you’ll be buying is the right to keep your head. Clear?”

  Silence slicked the room. Pael’s throat clicked. Two guards shifted their weight.

  Keira reached for the strap by her chair, dragged her rucksack forward, and dumped it. The floor shivered; metal clinked like rain on iron. “Where d’you think all that came from?” she added brightly. “And for the record, that’s only my cut. Two-eighty kilos of the good stuff.”

  One staffer bent to test the weight, failed, and tried to pretend he hadn’t.

  Garron laid a hand over Keira’s and gave the faintest smile. “Keira—enough. Thank you.”

  Aurex exhaled and nodded once. “Then I apologise. I officially withdraw my offer; I did not mean to offend.”

  Pael stepped close, whispering something in his ear. Aurex stood.

  “My apologies—I’m called away to an urgent matter.” He offered Garron his hand. “Mr. Vale, a pleasure. Please ask your captain to arrange a meeting at your convenience. Enjoy our fair city.”

  He took a step, paused, glanced back at Keira. “Keira,” he said

  “Eyebrows,” she replied, just as cool.

  Aurex left by the side door; his staff pretended not to breathe for this very moment. Tea steamed. Inside, the room remembered what had just sat in it.

  Pael reappeared with his usual unruffled smile. “Mr. Vale, Keira—if you could please follow me. Unfortunately, we’re pressed for time today, given this afternoon’s events.”

  They crossed back through the hush of corridors. Keira hummed to herself, hands clasped behind her head, saying nothing; Garron felt the tension in the air and, for once, didn’t know what to say.

  At the gates, Garron cleared his throat. “Sorry about that.”

  “There is no need to apologise, Mr. Vale,” Pael said smoothly. “You are welcome at any time, per Mr. Vallis’s invitation. And for you, Keira, I was asked to pass along a message.”

  Keira’s smile went wicked. “So he’s going to sort those eyebrows, then?”

  Pael’s smile thinned, teeth polite. “No. Mr. Vallis asked me to inform you he doesn’t need appearance tips from someone who dares to walk around with those split ends.”

  Keira lit up. “Damn, he’s a saucy one, isn’t he? Aww, bro’s going to melt him into the ground.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” Garron murmured, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

  Pael inclined his head. “Well then—have a pleasant time in our fair city while your time here lasts.” His gaze flicked, pointedly, to Keira.

  Keira waved without a care, already turning away. “Bye! Thanks for the snacks. Next time, don’t make me wait five minutes, or I’ll blow a hole in you. Bye!”

  “Sorry again,” Garron said, following after her.

  “Mr. Vale,” Pael called after him, “if you’re free in an hour, do join us in the plaza for the execution of the Red Demon. I’m sure even your captain will be interested in what Mr. Vallis has to offer.”

  Garron caught up. “You hear that?”

  Keira shrugged. “Whatever it is, I know one thing—that idiot big brother of mine will be in the middle of it, like ‘wow, look at me,’ completely forgetting he hasn’t even bought a weapon yet.”

  “What about you?” Garron asked.

  “Let’s kill two birds with one stone.”

  They drifted with the crowd toward the market that funneled into the western approach to the plaza, past awnings and steam and the clink of cups. A small, unassuming weapon shop tucked itself beneath a faded sign.

  Keira was rattling happily: “Like, a short sniper is great for moving quick, but I want the punch of a longer tube; if we pair it with a clean falling-block—was that Sol?”

  A flicker of red hair turned a corner and vanished.

  Keira’s smile slipped. “Why would she come here? Oh, don’t tell me—Garron, did you see that? Was it her?”

  She jogged to the corner, looked—gone.

  Garron was staring into the middle distance. “Old man, are you listening up there?” Keira yelled back.

  He blinked, shook himself. “Oh—Keira. I’m sorry. I’ll not lie—I stopped listening twenty minutes ago. The more I hear you talk, the more I fear you’re just a reincarnation of her. Damn, what a woman and mother she was.”

  Keira squinted at him. “O… K. Anyway—this is the shop, apparently.”

  “What gave it away,” Garron said dryly, “the arrow or the sword on the roof?”

  “Ha. Ha.. Very funny. Move it. There’s already a crowd gathering at the plaza.”

  “What’s got into you today?” Garron asked, holding the door. “Solara says you’re chaos one hundred percent of the time.”

  Keira’s eyes went razor-sharp as she stepped inside. “I’ve got a bit of redemption to do today. No one’s showing Keira Langston up. And I pity anyone who tries.”

  Waller Forge — Blades & Worksteel.

  Steel from corner to corner. Racks, pegs, oil, and honest weight.

  A man stepped out of the back room—tall, broad through the shoulders, beard like a prize banner. Keira gave a low whistle.

  “Weapons are nice,” she said, “but that is a beauty, big man.”

  Garron and the Smith stopped three paces apart, measuring each other without words. They shook hands; the grip tightened on both sides, neither yielding.

  “Damn,” Keira muttered. “Get a room, you two—”

  Her voice faded. She’d gone very still, gaze pulled toward the counter as if something under it were humming only for her.

  The smith cleared his throat. “Welcome to Waller Forge. I’m Eryk Waller. Looking for a long-range piece?”

  Garron nodded toward Keira. “Honestly, I hope you’ve got all day. She hasn’t stopped talking about what she wants. Scary amount of detail for someone who looks her age.”

  He turned—and froze. Keira was braced on the counter, breathing a little too fast.

  “Keira? You all right?” Garron bent to get an arm around her shoulders.

  “I’ll fetch water,” Eryk said, already moving.

  “Wait,” Keira snapped, eyes locked on the wood. “What’s under the counter? Something’s there. It’s—screaming at me.” She looked up at him, shaken. “How did you—?”

  Garron guided her toward a stool. “Come on. Sit.”

  “Please,” Keira said to Eryk, not moving her hands from the counter.

  He hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t usually show it.” He reached under, brought up a long bundle wrapped in black cloth. “Eight years in this shop. My pride and joy.”

  He folded the cloth back. Katana—utterly flawless. A metal dragon ran the length of the scabbard.

  Keira didn’t blink. She slammed her bag onto the counter hard enough to put a dent in it. Bars clinked like rain on iron.

  “Take it all. Please. I need that sword.”

  “Keira,” Garron said, gentle but firm. “Breathe. You can’t spend everything on one blade. You still want a sniper, remember? The captain will smile at anything you bring him.”

  Eryk smiled faintly. “Flattering. But I’m not sure I’m ready to part with it.” He started to slide the blade back.

  Keira caught his wrist. “Name your price. No matter what, I’ll find a way. I’ve never had this happen before. I talk to my rifles—but this… this feels like it’s talking to me. I have to give it to him.” A crooked little laugh. “He’s a total nerd; it’s perfect.”

  Eryk exhaled through his nose. “How much have you got?”

  “About two-eighty kilos.”

  “No wonder. How’s a small girl like you carrying that?” He waved it off. “Fine. Two hundred and it’s yours.”

  Eryk tapped the bars with a knuckle. “For what it’s worth, that much would cover my shop’s rent for at least two years—and you’d still have enough left over to commission fifty more swords. But needs must, I guess.”

  Keira lit up. “Really?” She vaulted the counter and hugged him. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, peeling her off and handing the sheathed sword across. She spun it once like a baton, grin feral.

  Garron watched the racks. “You said you made this. All these, too?”

  “Sell floor and crafted here,” Eryk said. “Day One spawned a spread of ‘fall’ weapons in every zone—no two spreads are the same. Those fight you if you try to re-profile—snap like glass if you’re clumsy. My forged work listens to your hand—balance, flex, harmonics. I can tune it and mend it.”

  Garron glanced at Keira’s palms. “Makes sense.”

  Keira hissed, hand to her left arm. The wrap beneath her jacket had bled through; the emerald fight hadn’t finished arguing with her.

  Garron set his pack down. “Easy. Calm it till that’s healed.”

  Keira blew out a breath and managed a smile. “Yo, old dude—thanks again. He’s going to smile like an idiot when he sees it. One more thing—can you engrave something for me?”

  Eryk pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is why I didn’t want to sell it. Fine. What do you want?”

  Keira leaned in and whispered. He stared at her for a heartbeat, then nodded. “Right. Give me a minute.”

  He disappeared into the back with the sword.

  Garron arched an eyebrow. “Keeping secrets, are we?”

  “Shut up,” Keira said, but she was glowing. “Haven’t bought him anything in a while, so—you know. Sniper—damn idiot’s not even here, and he’s got me distracted.”

  She reached up, hauled a massive rifle off a high peg—long as she was—and set the butt to stone to steady it.

  “Isn’t that a bit too big?” Garron asked.

  Keira’s teeth flashed. “With snipers? The bigger the better—especially if you threaten to ram it down someone’s throat. Works ninety-nine percent of the time.”

  Garron stared. “What the hell did Caelan teach you lot?”

  “Everything,” Keira said cheerfully, then glanced at the door. “And nothing at all.”

  Eryk came back with the blade wrapped in black cloth, jaw set as it hurt him to give it up. He laid it on the counter and sighed.

  “I hope you know how painful that was. Why does everyone want things engraved today? Speaking of—either of you ever see someone with… sparkling eyes?”

  Garron’s head tipped. “Red hair?”

  Keira’s mouth fell open. “Motherf— what did she buy?”

  Eryk scratched his beard. “A semi-shortsword. Asked for a line about a revolution. Didn’t catch the rest.”

  Keira’s near-burst laugh came out as a whisper; she rubbed her chin. “So he’s on about it again. If he told her, it’s only a matter of time.” She turned back. “All right, old man—biggest sniper you’ve got. Don’t worry about weight or size.”

  Eryk glanced at her left arm, lifted it gently; she winced despite herself. “Thought so. You favored the right when you were playing baton queen with the sword.” He nodded up at the rack. “You don’t need the biggest. You need the fastest.”

  He reached to the top row and pulled down a compact, mean little rifle.

  “A straight-up, personally crafted carbine sniper, Five-round magazine. Twenty-inch reinforced barrel, so it stays flat. I’ve shifted the balance to just in front of the mag well so it’ll spin nicely on a sling without biting. No drama. Just works if you can handle it.”

  Keira clipped a sling to it, rolled the rifle over her shoulders, caught it aiming down the sight, popped the bolt with two fingers, and dry-fired.

  The trigger broke like glass.

  “What’s the cycle like?” she asked, eyes bright.

  “As fast as your hands,” Eryk said. “Dual-lug cam—straight pull out, spring assist home. You can clear and place five in under a second if you are fast enough.”

  “Recoil?”

  “Manageable. Barrel weight should be more than enough for you. You’ll feel it, but you shouldn’t lose your sight line.”

  “Feeds?”

  “Five-round box, you can top off through the open bolt if you’re clever.”

  Keira spun it again, faster, caught, racked, dry-fired—one-two-three-four-five—then grinned. “Deal. Now—how many rounds are you going to sell the cutest girl to walk through those doors?”

  Eryk tried not to smile. “How about we call the whole package—rifle, sling, glass, two mags, two charger strips, fifty rounds, fit and balance—sixty kilos?”

  Keira tilted her head. “Five mags and a hundred rounds.”

  Eryk’s mouth twitched. “Deal.”

  Keira winked. “Damn. If you were only eighty years younger, old man."

  “Keira, gross,” Garron said, setting his bag on the counter. “Take it from here.” He nudged the bars forward. “She hasn’t eliminated anyone today. This is the present I promised.”

  Keira blinked, a little caught. “You know what—that’s pretty awesome of you. You sure? I’ve got three brothers who wouldn’t let their adorable sister go without.”

  “It’s the least I owe you,” Garron said simply. “And yes—I’m guessing you twist those three round your finger a lot.”

  “Only when I need to.” She slung the carbine, scooped up the wrapped katana. “Right—let’s see what that idiot has planned for our arrival party.” She flashed Eryk a grin. “Yo, old man—thanks again. I’ll make sure all my friends stop by.”

  Garron offered his hand. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to give you a recommendation as well.”

  Eryk took the grip; they squeezed harder and harder, neither looking away. “Much appreciated.”

  “Shake it, old man!” Keira called from the door, pushing it open with her boot. “It’s about to kick off—”

  A blast rolled in from the plaza, big enough to fold silence into the shop. Dust drifted from the rafters.

  Keira didn’t turn. She stared down the street, face gone very calm, and the unmistakable sound of a man’s laugh carried on the air.

  “Took you long enough,” she breathed. “Let’s get this party started.”