“Oi, Wallace. Stop drinking and get your fat ass over here.”

  Bricteva scowled, wiping sweat from her brow as she glared at Igor, Wallace, and two tavern-goers who were deep in their cups. Her foot rested atop a large wooden chest lacquered in an almost gaudy shine.

  “Oi! Wallace!” she barked again.

  “Why do I always have to do the heavy—?”

  “If you don’t get over here right now, you’d better prepare every coin of rent you owe me,” she cut in sharply, “and add the money for all the booze you drink behind my back.”

  Wallace went stiff. In an instant he sprang to his feet, wearing a sheepish grin.

  “So, what can I do for my favorite inn owner?” he asked.

  Bricteva rolled her eyes and pointed at the chest. “It ain’t going to carry itself.”

  That was all he needed. Wallace hunched, rubbed his palms together, and hefted the chest.

  “Why’s it so cold?” he murmured. “What exactly is in here?”

  “None of yer business, laddie,” she huffed. “There’s a carriage waiting outside—don’t keep ’em waiting.”

  Wallace shifted the chest onto his shoulder, steadying it with both hands. He made it a few steps before stopping dead.

  “What now?” Bricteva asked, noticing his frown.

  “I… think it moved.”

  Bricteva gently smacked her forehead. “You’re wasted, laddie. It’s your imagination. Come on.”

  He nodded—though not convincingly—and kept going. On his fifth step, he halted again.

  “What now?” she snapped louder.

  “I swear it moved again.”

  “It’s your imagination,” she repeated. “You can barely walk straight. Of course it’ll feel like it’s moving.”

  Wallace didn’t argue, but his uneasy expression remained.

  “I swear I’m going to smack ya if the cabby charges extra,” Bricteva muttered, rolling up her sleeve.

  Wallace forced a weak smile and pushed on. On his tenth step, he suddenly staggered. The chest slipped from his shoulder and hit the ground. The latch popped open instantly, and thick purple liquid spilled out in a rush. A suffocating yet sweet aroma, like overripe plums, flooded the tavern.

  Dozens of bloodshot eyes blinked up at him.

  Wallace shrieked and fell backward, scrambling away on all fours.

  He pointed at the writhing contents with a trembling hand. “V–Vohmir Rockfishes…” he stammered. Dozens of stone-like fish glared back, their bodies textured like carved granite. He shot a horrified look at Bricteva. “Aren’t they endangered? Illegal to sell?”

  “Shut yer pie hole!” Bricteva roared, slamming the lid down as the rockfishes thrashed violently inside. “Why are ya sitting there like an idiot? Come help me!”

  Wallace scrambled up, and together they fought the chest closed, securing the latch with effort.

  Bricteva exhaled in relief—until Wallace spoke again.

  “I told you it was moving—”

  His voice died under her glare.

  “You saw nothing, right, laddie?”

  Wallace coughed. “Of course, of course…” Nervous laughter followed.

  “Good. Now clean up this mess,” she said, gesturing at the purple puddle.

  Wallace kept silent as he lifted the chest again and hurried outside.

  Wallace leaned against an old tree, watching the plain-looking carriage disappear over the road’s crest. He sighed.

  “Can’t believe they’re exporting contraband like that,” he muttered. “How much would that fetch on the black market?”

  He took out a cigar and lit it, staring down the road. “The Wandering King really loved eating these things,” he recalled. “Some rich bastard’s going to have the time of their life.”

  He tilted his head back, releasing turbid smoke toward the clear sky.

  If I’d fled with Poole and the others that day, I’d be dead… but am I even going to survive much longer working in a place like this?

  He chuckled softly and glanced toward the tavern.

  I keep trying to find something dangerous about that place… but I can’t. And that’s the terrifying part.

  Another deep drag.

  “Captain, you’ll ruin your health if you keep smoking that stuff.”

  Wallace froze. The voice was unmistakable—close—but no one was there.

  He whipped his head left, right. Nothing.

  “Boss, you’re back?” he muttered.

  “Where’s Igor and Bricteva?”

  “They’re both in the tavern, Boss,” he said immediately, answering a question only he could hear.

  “Good. Wait for me. I have something to discuss with you.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Alright, Boss.”

  Wallace scanned the area again but saw no one. What kind of Blessing does that guy have?

  He extinguished the cigar and straightened his clothes.

  What does he want to talk about?

  “Any of you seen Wallace?” Bricteva asked, staring down Igor and his companions.

  They shook their heads lazily, more focused on their drinks than her.

  Bricteva snorted and tossed a wet mop aside. “Where did that fatty run off to?”

  She swung open the door and jerked to a halt.

  “Going somewhere?” Adam asked with a faint smile.

  Bricteva shifted uneasily. “Didn’t you say you weren’t coming back for a while? What happened?”

  “I wasn’t planning to,” he said. “Let’s talk somewhere else. I have questions.”

  He strode past her and slipped through the door behind the counter, vanishing toward the halo chamber.

  Igor was at her side instantly. They exchanged a look, then followed.

  Inside the halo chamber, Adam sat silently. Bricteva studied him, puzzled.

  He said he needed answers… so why isn’t he talking?

  She glanced at Igor, who only smiled.

  Him returning now could draw attention from those Varidan spies, she thought. Especially after he was summoned just days ago.

  Bricteva tapped the table lightly. “So, Adam. What can we do for you?”

  “How does someone determine if another person is lying?” Adam asked.

  “There are countless tools,” Igor replied. “But I assume you want the ones with the highest accuracy.”

  Adam nodded.

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” Igor continued, “this is about Varidan Academy… correct?”

  Adam nodded again.

  Igor’s expression brightened. “That narrows it down. If it’s Varidan Academy, then you’re dealing with the TruthSeeker. Unfortunately, I don’t know much about it.”

  He shook his head, then looked at Bricteva. “But she does.”

  Adam turned to her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

  Igor rose abruptly. “I’ll leave you two to it. I’ve got other matters.”

  He slipped out of the room.

  Bricteva watched him go before returning her attention to Adam.

  “So?” He asked.

  Bricteva cleared her throat and sat forward slightly. “I’m not sure why you’re asking, but I won’t pry. Still… in your best interest, avoid the TruthSeeker at all costs.”

  “Oh? Why is that?” Adam asked.

  “Because unlike most devices, it boasts a ninety-nine point nine-nine percent accuracy rate.”

  Adam’s brows shot up. “Ninety-nine point nine-nine? You’re sure?”

  Bricteva nodded once.

  “Tell me more.”

  She studied him carefully. Did Varidan already put him through the test?

  “They aren’t a single item,” she began. “They’re a combination: four Mira Mirrors and an Essence Crystal. Those are the basics.”

  She paused a heartbeat too long. Adam noticed.

  “Why’d you stop?” he asked. “Keep going.”

  “Right.” She pushed on. “When activated, the Essence Crystal emits a yellow glow. It releases an odorless gas into the chamber; it takes time, but eventually the gas saturates the body of the person being interrogated. When the body reaches the threshold, the Mira Mirrors activate and the crystal shifts to blue. At that point, no matter what the interrogatee does… the TruthSeeker works.”

  “So, the only way to prevent it,” Adam said slowly, “is to remove the gas before the mirrors activate?”

  “Theoretically,” Bricteva agreed. “But if the crystal fails to activate, it only makes the interrogators suspicious.”

  Adam nodded, thoughtful.

  “That’s all I know,” she finished. Then, more quietly: “Anything else you want to ask?”

  “Yes.” Adam leaned forward. “Have you heard of anyone extracting the gas? And… does it remain even after interrogation?”

  “I can’t confirm the first,” she said after a beat. “As for the second—yes. Even after death, the gas lingers in the body.”

  Adam’s eyes darkened, but he said nothing.

  Bricteva stood. “If that’s all, I’ll leave you to your thoughts. I’ll be in the tavern if you need anything.”

  She slipped out of the halo chamber, closing the door behind her. Something must have happened at Varidan. If only we had a ranking spy in their midst…

  Bricteva stepped into the tavern. Igor and the two middle-aged regulars stopped their conversation.

  Igor swirled his cup of rum and smirked. “So? Got anything useful?”

  “I’m eighty percent sure he went through a truth-seeking test,” she said, taking a seat at the counter.

  Igor frowned while the other two men continued drinking unfazed.

  “If they released him, doesn’t that mean they confirmed he’s not an enemy?” Igor muttered. “Why haven’t they pulled their spies back?”

  “Forget that for now,” Bricteva said quietly. “We’ve got a bigger problem.”

  Igor blinked. “What could possibly be more important?”

  “Wallace,” she said flatly. “What if he saw—?”

  “Relax.” Igor almost laughed. He jerked his chin toward the two drinkers. “Dotson and Decker made sure he saw the illusion of Rockfishes. He didn’t see the real cargo.”

  The two illusionists raised their glasses in silent confirmation.

  Bricteva scowled. “And what if he pretended? Shouldn’t we replace him with a—”

  “Shh.” Igor snapped suddenly, eyes flicking toward the open window. “Varidan’s dogs might be listening.”

  He lowered his voice. “Be honest, do you really think that fat fool could out-act master illusionists?” He gestured toward the two men. “Wallace can barely lie about stealing pastries.”

  She exhaled slowly, drumming her fingers on the counter.

  “I get you’re worried,” Igor said, softening his tone. “But we can’t slip now. Neither Master nor Varidan can know what we’re planning. One mistake, and we’re dead.”

  “I hear you,” Bricteva murmured. “Forget I said anything.”

  “Good.” Igor’s smirk returned. “Relax. Consider this an extended vacation.” He snorted. “Wallace only has three or four months left anyway. Let the man enjoy what little time he’s got.”

  Dotson and Decker chuckled.

  Bricteva didn’t. “I can’t wait until this is all behind us,” she muttered.

  “That’s the spirit,” Igor teased. “Come on—let me pour you a drink.”

  She glared. “Who’s paying for that bottle, you filthy bastard?”

  The illusionists burst into laughter. Igor wisely turned away.

  Two hours later…

  The door to the halo chamber swung open, and Adam stepped out.

  “You had us worried,” Igor slurred, lifting his head from a cluster of empty rum bottles. “I was just about to check if something happened to you down there.” He forced a wavering thumbs-up.

  “Don’t listen to his drunken ramblings, Adam,” Bricteva chimed, smiling a little too brightly.

  They’ve definitely had too much to drink…

  Adam suppressed a chuckle. His gaze drifted to the two middle-aged men seated with them; neither acknowledged him, mindlessly nursing their cups.

  “Like I said earlier,” Bricteva hiccupped, swaying as she laughed, “we’re here if you need anything.”

  “We have… prepared your room,” Igor announced, cheek pressed to the table. “Lunch will soon be—”

  “Thanks, but I don’t plan on staying,” Adam cut in. He headed for the exit, steps light. “I’ll see myself out.”

  “You’re always welcome here…” Igor called after him, waving weakly.

  Adam smiled and shook his head. Without another word, he left the tavern, the door slamming shut behind him.

  The moment it clicked into place, Igor and Bricteva straightened in unison—every trace of drunken stupor vanishing like smoke.

  “Don’t you find his timing strange?” Bricteva muttered, arms crossed tightly. “I refuse to believe he coincidentally decided to leave now.”

  She glanced toward Igor. He responded by casually downing another glass of rum and letting out a loud burp.

  His lack of reaction only irritated her further.

  Dotson and Decker suddenly rose to their feet, then dropped into kneeling positions.

  “Follow him,” she instructed. “Not too close. Learn where he’s staying, and whether he knows anything about us. If he doesn’t, withdraw. If he does… you know what to do.”

  They nodded and vanished like extinguished flames.

  Igor chuckled. “I can’t imagine being the paranoid half.” He took another swig straight from the bottle. “If Master hasn’t discovered our activities, how could he?”

  Bricteva shot him a murderous glare but held her tongue.

  “Since you’ve sent Dotson and Decker on a meaningless errand,” Igor continued cheerfully, raising the bottle, “come drink with me. It’s not every day four out of the eight of us—”

  “Now who’s talking too much?” Bricteva snapped. “You and your fucking loose tongue.”

  Igor slapped a hand over his mouth in exaggerated panic, giggling uncontrollably.

  Bricteva stood. “Meet me in the halo chamber. Don’t make me wait.” Without another word, she strode into the hidden room.

  Igor watched her disappear, still drinking.

  “We’ve endured for so long,” he whispered, voice trembling between mirth and menace. “But our suffering will soon end.” He raised the bottle and drank deeply.

  Ten years since that day… but we’ll be whole again.

  Cackling with wild abandon, he staggered toward the halo chamber and slipped through the unremarkable door.