The villa felt smaller with Diamy in it. Her presence—all severe braids and analytical coldness—filled the space like an occupying force. Hebe stood nervously by the window. Lena shifted her weight beside me, coiled and ready.

  Diamy's command hung in the air: "Let's begin with your initial ingress into the Mouth. Omit no detail."

  A mischievous plan snapped into place. I felt a fox-smile tug at my lips as I stepped forward, cutting through Diamy's command like sea fog.

  My hands found Lena's shoulders. I gently—but firmly—guided her down onto the edge of the wooden table. Oh... well, I'd push her right out of her comfort zone.

  "Understood, Miss Diamy!" I announced with exaggerated cheer. "This is our captain! Lena Pyraei!" I presented her like a grand prize.

  She blinked, looked down at herself sitting on the table, then back up at Diamy with a confused but game expression. Now what are you gonna do, Diamy? You expected a showdown of wits. Let's see how your perfect plans handle our "captain."

  Diamy's analytical gaze didn't waver, but the slightest tightening around her eyes betrayed her. This wasn't in her tactical scrolls.

  I leaned casually against the table next to Lena. "So..." My tone was light and breezy. "How many drachmas will you give Hebe Guild and Captain Lena... for the information about the Labyrinthos?"

  The room went dead silent. Hebe looked like she was about to faint. Lena, finally catching on, puffed out her chest and tried to look authoritative, which mostly involved frowning intensely.

  I leaned forward, my eyes locking on Diamy's. "We are going to provide a service to the Athena Guild. Each service requires a monetary transaction. We are not allies..."

  A glance at Lena. Your turn.

  She picked up the vibe with surprising deftness, sliding off the table to plant her hands on her hips. "Yeah!" she barked, pointing an accusatory finger. "You wanna know what's in that nightmare-mouth? Pay up! Information ain't free! And neither is punching stuff for you!"

  We were two wolves circling a very dignified, very flustered goose. Hebe looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her.

  "L-Lena! Nihl! Perhaps we should—"

  Diamy held up a single hand, silencing Dia without even looking at her. The playful banter died on my lips.

  The air didn't just grow tense. It froze solid.

  That single, raised hand, cutting off our goddess—our Dia—as if she were a chattering servant. That was the spark.

  Lena uncoiled from the table. The cheerful brawler was gone, replaced by the fierce Pyraei warrior Finnik raised. Her fists clenched, a faint heat shimmering around her knuckles.

  We didn't speak. We didn't need to. Two orphans who learned that family was the only thing you didn't betray, now staring down a common enemy.

  My gaze locked onto Diamy's, no longer mischievous, but flat and assessing—the same look I'd given the Echo Phantoms before I shattered them. To my side, Lena's posture was a silent promise of violence.

  Dia flinched back, her face flushing with shock and hurt. But then she saw us—saw Lena poised to strike, saw my dead-calm fury—and something shifted. The nervous young woman receded. The core of steel that let her descend as a goddess surfaced.

  "That is enough," Hebe said, her voice quiet but firm. It cut through the silence with an authority that surprised even me.

  She stepped forward, gently pushing past Lena's protective arm to stand beside us, facing Diamy. "They are my retainers. You are a guest in my home. You will not silence me. And you will not speak to my family in such a manner."

  A slight turn of her head towards us, her expression softening with profound gratitude before hardening again. "Nihl is correct. This is not an integration of assets. It is a negotiation between guilds. You will treat it as such, or you will leave."

  Wow! That's our Dia!

  The dynamic shattered. Diamy was no longer the auditor. She was the supplicant who had just insulted the host. And the hosts had fangs.

  A cough. My smile returned, but my eyes didn't match it. The fox-smile was now partnered with a predator's gaze.

  "Our duty," I cut in smoothly, "is to our goddess and to this villa. We've already held your 'divine incursion' at bay for three days with no pay and almost no sleep. That particular service is now concluded."

  I spread my hands wide. "The next one—the 'Information & Guided Assault Package'—starts at five hundred drachmas. Plus expenses."

  Lena's eyes went wide at the number. A fierce nod of approval.

  Diamy's composure finally showed a hairline fracture. A faint flush crept up her neck. "Preposterous," she breathed, the word thin and defensive in the thick silence.

  My fox-smile didn't waver. "Is it?" I took a single, soft-spoken step forward. "Let's itemize the bill, then. For your tactical scrolls."

  I raised a finger. "One hundred drachmas. For the initial topographical survey of the Mouth, conducted under direct monster assault." A second finger. "One hundred drachmas. For identifying and classifying the primary enemy types." A third finger. "One hundred drachmas. For the live combat data against a corrupted coastal guardian—a Triton Warden." A fourth finger. "One hundred drachmas. For confirming the Labyrinthos's active temporal distortion field."

  I raised my thumb, completing the count. "And one hundred drachmas... for the emergency beachhead stabilization service, preventing the incursion from spreading before your 'coordinated military response' even arrived."

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  I let my hand drop. "Five hundred drachmas. A discount, really, considering we also included a complimentary near-death experience."

  Lena was practically vibrating with glee.

  Diamy was utterly still. Her analytical mind was forced to process the cold, hard logic of my breakdown. She couldn't refute the value. She could only rage at the method.

  Her eyes narrowed. "And what," she said, her voice like chilled steel, "guarantees the accuracy of this... bargain bin intelligence?"

  The challenge was clear. She was calling us liars.

  "Actually," I corrected, raising two more fingers, my voice dangerously level, "seven hundred drachmas total. Two hundred for expenses—materials consumed, equipment damaged, and emergency catalyst depletion during your three-day absence."

  I let the number hang, a tangible weight in the room. "Ask your impeccable Captain Pheren how his 'operational timeline' held up against the Seafoam Vexlings' Brine Volley. Ask him if their pack tactics were 'preposterous'."

  A single step forward, my predatory gaze locking onto hers. "Our information isn't in a scroll, Diamy. It's written on our bruises. It's paid for in our blood. So you will pay for it in drachmas. Or you can learn its lessons yourself, the hard way."

  The ultimatum was delivered. Diamy's face was a pale, tight mask—a logician trapped in an emotional war she'd started. Her eyes moved from my furious gaze, to Lena's smoldering fists, to Dia's unyielding stance.

  She had no move left. Our win… probably maybe… I hoped so.

  My smile faltered. The act was over. She wasn't looking at my face anymore. Her calculating gaze swept the room, but this time she was seeing what was really there.

  Her eyes lingered on the frayed leather of my armor, the deep gouges in Lena's vambraces. She saw the near-empty herb pouch, the patched water skin, the meager flatbread on the table. She saw a villa that was a home, not a fortress. Two retainers who were resourceful, not rich.

  The "fake" anger was the real thing—the raw defensiveness of someone protecting their last scraps. My "clever" negotiation wasn't just a power play; it was a desperate invoice for survival.

  Diamy's own rigid posture relaxed by a fraction. The flush of outrage faded, replaced by a slow, dawning comprehension. She wasn't looking at defiant mercenaries. She was looking at two kids and a young goddess who'd been fighting a war with sticks and prayers.

  A slow, controlled breath. Her eyes closed. I could almost see the calculation—the cost of pride versus the cost of ignorance. The strategic mind overriding the emotional one.

  When her eyes opened, the outrage was gone. Only cold pragmatism remained.

  "Five hundred drachmas," she said, her voice no longer cold steel, but flat and factual. "For the informational package. As itemized."

  She reached into a pouch at her belt and produced a heavy, clinking purse, placing it on the table with a solid thud. "An additional two hundred," she continued, her gaze now directly on me, seeing through the fox-smile to the exhaustion beneath, "is an advance from the Athena Guild for materials and equipment repair, to be rendered upon successful completion of the joint incursion."

  It wasn't charity. It was a business proposition with an unspoken understanding woven through it.

  Come on, shake her hand... HUG HER! Something! My eyes were practically screaming at Lena, wide and frantic, trying to telepathically transmit the concept of 'socially acceptable transaction conclusion.'

  But Lena was just staring at the heavy purse with the intensity of a hawk that had spotted a very, very shiny rabbit. Diamy stood patiently, her hand not extended, but her expectation clear.

  Finally, Lena looked from the purse, to me, to Diamy. A huge, brilliant grin split her face.

  "DEAL!" she boomed, loud enough to make Dia jump. Instead of a handshake, Lena lunged forward and clapped Diamy on both shoulders with enough force to make the smaller woman's armor rattle.

  "You're not so bad, Sharp-eyes!" Lena declared, beaming. "Now we can buy new punching-things! And bread that isn't flat! And maybe a goat!"

  She released a slightly stunned Diamy and snatched the purse, hefting its satisfying weight. "C'mon, Nihl! We're going to town! We're getting... stuff!"

  Diamy straightened her robes, a flicker of what might almost have been amusement in her grey eyes before her usual composure reasserted itself. The deal was closed.

  "Stop it, you feisty small Pyraei!" I lunged forward, hooking my arm around Lena's waist and hauling her back from the door with a grunt. "We have to work first!"

  I finally got her settled, pointing a stern finger at the purse she was still clutching like a holy relic. "That stays here until the job is done. Understood?"

  A pout, but a nod. She tucked the purse into her belt with a sulky mutter about "no-fun birds."

  I turned to our goddess, my expression shifting to earnest practicality. "Dia! Can you bring the logbook? Give her the information we've charted."

  A look back at Diamy, my tone now that of one professional to another. "There is a monster we encountered that isn't in your bestiary. A larger phantom, a commander variant that wielded psychic pressure like a physical blow. We'll have to search for that one's proper classification."

  The mood had pivoted once again—from confrontation to commerce, and now to collaboration. Diamy gave a curt, approving nod, her stylus already in hand. "Proceed."

  The debriefing began. Diamy's stylus flew across a wax tablet as we spoke, capturing the essentials. We debriefed them on everything—how the standard Phantoms were simple, but the Commander variant turned them from a mindless mob into coordinated foot soldiers.

  "It made them annoying!" Lena declared, snapping to attention. "They started tripping me and yelling in my brain. Made my head hurt even before Nihl got zapped and started drooling."

  "...and the Lemures Immaturi drain your strength on contact," I finished, my voice hoarse. "A single touch saps the power from your muscles."

  Lena bounced on the balls of her feet. "Yeah, so don't let 'em touch you! And the big chamber? It's a time-sucker. You gotta be a hunter, not a soldier! Find the source of the sadness and give it one heck of a reason to be sad!"

  Diamy watched her, and for the first time, the Vice-Captain's analytical facade softened by a fraction. "A hunter's strategy against a psychological foe," she conceded. "An apt analogy. We will incorporate this... intuitive tracking... into our assault parameters." A final note. A look up. "Your insights are... unorthodox, but valuable. Thank you."

  The debriefing was over. A wave of bone-deep weariness washed over me.

  "Yeah," I said softly, my voice carrying the weight of our failure. "That's why I said... we weren't a good match for that Labyrinthos. But your numbers and your strength..." My gaze returned to Diamy, a soft, calm smile that held no more games. "...should be more than enough."

  The deal was done.

  "And that's all," I announced, stretching my arms overhead until my shoulders popped. "We'll wait for the payout. Lena and I are going to get our equipment looked at." A wide, unmistakable grin at Dia. "The rest of the questions can go to Lady Hebe."

  The hard job of reading logbooks is all yours, Dia!

  Lena, catching on immediately, groaned in theatrical relief. "Finally! No more talking! C'mon, Nihl! My knuckles need polishing and my armor smells like dead fish!"

  And with that, we made our exit.

  -?-

  "Stop pulling me, I get it!" I laughed, shaking off Lena's insistent tug as we stepped into the sun-warmed street of Oia. The salt-tinged air was a welcome relief.

  Lena released me, bouncing ahead. "So? What's the plan, bird-brain? We're rich! Well, richer! What do we get first?"

  A shake of my head. "Business before shopping, Lee. We need to find that fisherman." The memory of that lone figure, calmly mending his nets during the siege, clicked back into place. "A man who isn't afraid of a Labyrinthos isn't just brave. He's either a fool... or he knows something."

  A glance at Lena, my expression turning serious. "You take the taverns and the docks. Use that charm of yours."

  She grinned, cracking her knuckles. "You mean my fists?"

  "I mean your winning personality," I deadpanned. "Just buy a few drinks, and find the oldest, grumpiest fisherman who knows everyone's business. I'll hit the market. Meet back at the villa by sundown."

  She grinned, already moving. "Got it! Operation: Make Old Guys Talk!"

  As she bounded off toward the docks, I turned toward the market square. The sun was high, the air was warm, and we had money in our pockets.

  But that fisherman—calm, unafraid, waiting—was a splinter I couldn't ignore.

  The hunt was on.