The streets of Long Reach were untouched by the chaos outside its walls, but the mood had definitely changed.

  People moved in small groups rather than in streams, keeping their heads down and their voices quiet. There were more guards on corners too, both from the local militia and House Rohm’s own forces, which was noticed by many.

  “Left,” Nick murmured.

  Monte obediently veered onto a side street that would take them back around the block. On the surface, they looked just like two young adventurers on a walk after a rough couple of days, even if Monte still managed to maintain the proper look of well-bred nobility.

  In truth, Nick’s senses stayed locked on the Gilded Mirror.

  He let [Empyrean Intuition] seep out, keeping the Parlor as a glow in his awareness, a warm cluster of voices and feelings in the distance. Each time the door opened, he took notice. Every flicker of anticipation, boredom, lust, and curiosity was something he kept track of.

  “That’s the third client in the last hour,” he said absently, as a fresh thread of nervous excitement entered the mix.

  “I’m shocked,” Monte said dryly. “People trying to take their minds off their problems? Unheard of.”

  Nick snorted as they rounded another corner. In the distance, a butcher yelled about fresh cuts; behind them, a dog barked at nothing.

  Monte remained silent for a moment, hands hidden in his cloak. At last, he spoke what had been on his mind for the past hour, “So.”

  Nick arched a brow without looking at him. “Yes, Monte.”

  “Things have been moving quickly.” Monte kicked a loose pebble, watching it skitter as he tried his best to keep a casual air. “A few days ago, we were camped in the middle of nowhere, trying to find monsters in the wilderness. And now the Tower is moving into a noble House’s castle.”

  “That’s an improvement, if you ask me,” Nick said. “The previous administration wasn’t very good.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I. Mostly.” Nick replied, but let the amusement fade. “Yes, I’m aware things escalated.”

  Monte blew out a breath. “It’s not just that. House Charmace sent me here to escort the Tower's delegation, not to watch my homeland’s political landscape get redrawn without so much as a say-so. My father is concerned.”

  Nick let his attention split, half on the Gilded Mirror’s door—where another man was leaving, one of the girls seeing him off with a practiced laugh—and half on Monte’s tone. There was more tension there than his words alone suggested.

  “Concerned about what?” Nick asked.

  “That the Archmage might like the feel of a lord’s seat,” Monte said bluntly. “That he might decide Long Reach makes a convenient place to plant roots.”

  Nick barked a laugh before he could stop himself. “Tholm? Settle down here?”

  “It’s a reasonable concern,” Monte defended. “I saw what he did to Samuel. And Lord Rohm. And those knights. If he wanted to claim this place, who could stop him?”

  “It’s never been about who could stop him,” Nick said. “Tholm is a much greater being than this small town could ever contain. You don’t need to worry about it.”

  “Temporary tedium in exchange for a strategic position on the border of an expanding dungeon and a region likely to prosper from its resources,” Monte countered. “Many nobles would kill for that.”

  “Tholm isn’t a noble.”

  “You’re right, he’s not a noble at all, and that’s half the problem,” Monte muttered.

  Nick glanced at him then, catching the fleeting grimace. “There it is,” he said. “The issue.”

  Monte rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny it.

  “House Charmace is worried he's using them to entrench himself,” Nick translated. “Take advantage of the Rohms’ mistakes as a front, then quietly turn Long Reach into a personal fiefdom. And then where does that leave all the bickering little fish around it?”

  “Something like that,” Monte said. “He’s really not supposed to act on his own, or our allies will start worrying he’s just as bad as Hone.”

  Nick thought about Tholm’s expression when he spoke of Hone. There was nothing opportunistic in it, only a desire for revenge, calculation, and a long-held, deep irritation.

  “He’s not here to collect tax revenue,” Nick said. “He’s here because the Hones decided to turn the region into their playground, and someone has to clean up their mess before it spreads. Once they’re put in their place and the dungeon’s under control, he’ll pull back.”

  “You’re certain of that?” Monte asked.

  “Yes,” Nick replied. The Archmage’s mind might have been shielded from his senses, but he had a good sense of how he thought at this point.

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  Monte was silent for a while. The Gilded Mirror’s emotional pattern kept shifting: a client leaving, flushed with drinks and something softer; another arriving, carrying a tangled mix of anxiety and relief.

  “Well?” Nick asked after another moment of tense silence.

  Monte scowled at the cobblestones. “Fine. Yes. Father wanted me to verify whether House Rohm is functionally lost, and push for it to be preserved.”

  Nick blinked. “You talk like they’re not on opposite sides. House Charmace and House Rohm are enemies.”

  “In a manner of speaking, that is true, yes,” Monte said. “We are rivals, and they are far too small right now to threaten us.”

  “But?”

  But,” Monte said patiently, “we are all nobles. The destruction of a House, even a minor one, is not a trivial matter. It destabilizes the fabric of society. If an outsider can topple one without due process, others will worry if they’re next.”

  “So this is really about precedents,” Nick said, puzzled. “You want to make sure Lord Rohm doesn’t fall without the proper procedures being followed.”

  Monte shot him a look. “You might think it’s stupid, but it’s important. If Rohm is to be deposed, there are proper ways to do that. The Marquis would convene certain councils. Other Houses would be consulted. Otherwise, it looks like a Tower can topple a legacy whenever it wants, and that’s very bad for everyone. There’s a reason why we started reaching out, and that’s because Archmage Hone was overstepping. We just want to make sure that doesn’t happen with your mentor as well.”

  Nick opened his mouth to retort and froze.

  A new thread barely touched his awareness, but it wasn’t like the others. There was no flutter of nerves, no anticipation of flattery or petty gossip. It was a controlled, narrow band of suspicion wrapped around something cold and sharp.

  “Hold that thought,” Nick said.

  He spun around on his heel, his eyes darting toward the Gilded Mirror without making it obvious.

  Male, likely in his mid-forties. His emotional state was subdued, with flickers of irritation and curiosity beneath layers of discipline. The brief touch of his presence on others' minds as he passed caused people to move aside and give him space without realizing it.

  Another psychic artifact. More subtle, but still distinctly dwarvish.

  “He’s here,” Nick said quietly.

  Monte’s expression sharpened, and he dropped the discussion, for now. “The description matches, then?”

  “Close enough. Come on.”

  They moved closer as the man approached the Parlor’s door. In the ordinary world, he looked almost disappointingly plain: brown hair streaked with gray, a neatly trimmed beard, and a travel-stained coat with a dark fur lining at the collar and cuffs. His boots had dust on them but were well-made, and his leather gloves were worn but well-cared-for.

  He paused beneath the Gilded Mirror’s sign, quickly scanning the street, but his eyes moved past Nick and Monte without stopping. Finding nothing out of place, he went inside.

  Nick didn’t attempt to follow him inside, instead closing his eyes and visualizing the building's outline.

  The man greeted the hostess on duty with a murmur, handed over a coin, and was immediately steered toward a hallway at the back.

  Nick and Monte strolled past the front of the Parlor, then turned onto a narrow lane running along its side. At the end, it curved again, guiding them behind the building where the kitchen’s small yard opened up to another street.

  “Keep going,” Nick said. “Left at the next corner.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want to go inside?” Monte asked under his breath.

  Nick shook his head. “Outside is fine.”

  He avoided alarming their target, especially as he reconsidered his initial assessment. The man didn’t see himself as Samuel’s direct subordinate, contrary to his initial belief. His mind was too disciplined, and his confidence was too high.

  Nick stopped by the wall, supposedly to lean on it and fix his boot. Monte copied him on the other side of the alley, keeping a casual watch.

  Inside, the newcomer was taken to a smaller private room in the back, a cozy space with cushioned benches and soft lighting, meant for clients seeking more privacy without the cost of a full suite.

  The mind-affecting field surrounding him faded as the door closed. Moments later, the Matron appeared from another entrance, composed and poised.

  A privacy barrier sealed off the room, isolating it from the surrounding noise like a bubble. Sound was dampened, and even the empathic resonance blurred.

  “Show-off,” Nick murmured, and set his hands lightly against the brick.

  He didn’t force brute mana into the barrier. That would be like hitting the window with a rock. Instead, he let [Territory] gently spread out in a thin, almost fragile layer, flowing along the wall, beneath the floor, through the air.

  The privacy spell was effective, but it was designed to block ordinary eavesdroppers, not someone like Nick. He coaxed his [Territory] to stretch around the ward’s edges, and let it seep into its structure like dye into cloth.

  There was some resistance, but the Shard at his back hummed, lending its spatial stability to the effort. Inch by inch, the ward’s boundary shifted to include him, too.

  Nick’s grin widened. “There we go,” he whispered.

  The muffled hum of conversation inside became suddenly clear.

  “…arrived later than planned,” the man was saying. His voice was low, cultured, with a faint drawl Nick couldn’t immediately place. “The roads east are less safe than your last report suggested.”

  “My apologies, my lord,” the Matron replied. Her tone was respectful, but not obsequious. “We did not anticipate the recent developments.”

  “No,” the man said. “Nor, from what I gather, did anyone else.”

  There was the sound of liquid pouring, probably wine. A glass gently clinked.

  “I want the account from your perspective,” he continued. “Start from the beginning.”

  The Matron complied. “As you wish.”

  She delivered it with impressive brevity, describing the influx of refugees, the rising tensions, and the sudden, violent change under the full moon. The panic, the attack, the defense on the walls. She mentioned "a young mage” holding the flank, and rumors that he had contributed enough to be recognized by the lord.

  “Lord Rohm called for him?” the man asked when she finished.

  “He fortified the castle and hardly sent aid to the walls,” she said. A faint thread of disapproval ran through her words. “I suppose rewarding the young man was his way of avoiding criticism.”

  “No apprentice would be enough to lead a werewolf pack,” the man mused. “Rohm’s cowardice should have led to a rout.”

  “He may have other patrons,” the Matron said carefully.

  The man was silent for a moment. Nick could feel him thinking, each turn of thought like a slight shifting of his emotional weight.

  “You are certain about the mage,” he said at last.

  “I had no prior knowledge of him,” she replied. “Nor did anyone else, to my understanding. But it is confirmed that he was pivotal and that he has a team that follows his command.”

  Nick grimaced.

  “So, an independent initiative,” the man said. “And the old snake?”

  “He has not made contact yet,” the Matron said.

  A thin thread of cold annoyance spiked through the man’s emotions. “I see,” he hissed. “I do not like blind spots, Madam, and right now, this town is one.”

  “My lord, if there is anything else—”

  “For now, no,” he said. “You have done what was asked. What happened last night changes the calculation. The dungeon’s influence is spreading faster than the Tower Master predicted in his report, and Rohm’s cowardice is no longer useful. Samuel may be beyond recovery, whether turned or dead.”

  Nick’s eyes narrowed. There was no sign of grief there, only irritation at a tool gone missing. To him, this man was not associated with Prestige, but the callous way he spoke about losing such a valuable asset made him seem like his superior.

  “Information regarding Rohm’s questionable dealings needs to be gathered and shared,” the man said. “His interactions with outside powers, his mismanagement, and his failure to support his own town should all be made known. Ensure it reaches the right people among merchants and minor gentry. It won’t take much for the story to spread south.”

  “You wish the Marquis to hear,” the Matron said.

  “Yes, that man is unfailingly noble and will take action against a corrupt subordinate,” the man agreed mockingly.

  “And the mages? Their presence will become stronger without Samuel,” the Matron asked.

  “That depends on what they do next,” the man said. “Soon, our forces will arrive, and they will have all the excuse they need to set up camp, given the recent dangers.”

  He means to draw us out, giving Hone the excuse he needs to leave the Tower.

  “Continue observing and send me any information via the usual channels. For now, refrain from interfering with their activities. We can gain more insights from their actions than their words,” the man finished.

  “As you wish, my lord,” the Matron said.

  45+ chapters: