The sun’s just started to tilt, late afternoon light cutting through the city’s haze as we reach the Sapphire Guildhall.

  Master walks up the steps like he owns every one of them. Not quick, not slow, just that deliberate stride that says he’s not in a hurry because the world will wait for him. I stick to his left, pressing close, letting my tail wind around his wrist as we cross into the shade of the archway. The uniforms we’re wearing still itch at my shoulders, stiff, new, cut for somebody shorter and rounder, the badge on the breast catching the sun. We look like a pair of overeager new recruits, uniforms crisp and pressed, but I can feel Master’s scent bleeding through the borrowed fabric and my own stubborn pride refusing to let me shrink or vanish.

  Two guards at the entrance. Not the best, not the worst. They spot the uniforms immediately. The older one straightens, eyebrows going up, while the young one’s hand drops to the hilt of his blade, more nervous than he needs to be. There’s a little hush on the threshold, air suddenly tight, the kind of tension that rolls off city walls when strangers come wearing the wrong colours.

  Master doesn’t hesitate. Not even a pause to look them over, not a twitch to betray nerves. He just reaches inside his jacket, fingers smooth, and flashes the pair of Sapphire badges, stamped council bright, the ones they gave us after the first night, the ones that say we’re useful but not family, trusted but not owned. His face is all calm amusement, not even a smirk, as if this whole thing is nothing but a tedious errand he’s had to run a thousand times before.

  He doesn’t give them a speech. He doesn’t lower his eyes. Just, “Problem?” That’s it. The word lands flat, bored, so efficient it almost stings. It’s not a challenge, not a plea, just a fact. I see the guards look at each other, weighing the badges and the uniforms. They see the calculation and know what’s in it. They shrug, almost in sync, like two dogs who’ve learned to read the weight of a stick.

  “Welcome back, sir. Miss,” says the old one, and steps aside. The younger lets his eyes linger a second too long on me, cat curiosity, maybe more, but I give him a look that promises trouble and he drops his gaze, flushing, pretending he was interested in a spot of dust by his boot.

  Inside is warmer, stuffier, full of life. The great hall’s alive with noise, laughter, boots, a card game in one corner, the scrape of chairs and the distant hiss of oil lamps. The ceiling’s hung with faded banners, some so old the guild’s colours have bled into grey. A couple of familiar faces glance our way, a flash of recognition in the eye, a polite nod or two. Most just go back to their business. Nobody here wants trouble unless it comes with coin or stories.

  I walk just behind Master, one step off his shoulder, letting the borrowed uniform hang loose over my hips, tail flicking behind me with every stride. I keep my ears high, my eyes moving, every sound, every scent, every thread of conversation brushing across my senses.

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  We reach the second floor corridor, just outside the council chambers. He pauses for a second, glancing down at me, just the smallest twitch of his eyebrow. That’s all the permission I need to draw close, nuzzle his arm, tail wrapping tighter, my body flush to his side. The corridor’s quiet.

  I purr, low and satisfied, voice a whisper for his ear only. “You see the way they looked at us? Like they know we don’t fit, but they can’t quite say why.” I grin, showing my teeth, letting my pride shine through the mask. “Let them gossip. Let them guess. They’ll never know the half of it.”.

  We stride through the council doors without waiting, without knocking, without so much as a glance for the guards at our backs. The room is a sea of blue and silver, half a dozen councilors hunched around their heavy table, deep in tense, whispered negotiations with a pair of unfamiliar faces, the room freezes, all eyes turning on us, the chill of sudden threat sparking through the air.

  Steel flashes, three of the councilors’ guards, quick on the draw, blades half out of their sheaths, faces taut with suspicion. The tension hangs so thick I can feel it, every muscle in my body singing with the urge to leap, to bite, to drive my claws into the first idiot who tries to get between us and our due.

  But Master doesn’t even blink. He doesn’t spare a glance for the swords or the threats or the startled hush. He walks straight up to the table, unbothered, every inch the man who knows what he’s owed. Without a word, he slams the sheaf of documents down in the dead centre of the council’s polished wood.

  I’m right behind him, breathless with adrenaline and leftover laughter, wild from the aftertaste of blood and victory. My tail lashes, ears flattened, grin sharp. I drop my own bundle of evidence, maps, ledgers, envelopes, on top of his, the papers skittering across the table, a careless, taunting gesture. My laugh splits the room, high and unhinged, echoing off the walls as I bare my teeth at anyone who dares to meet my gaze. I want them to know how close the day came to ruin, how wild I can be, how thin the leash is that keeps me from turning the whole city upside down.

  The one who sent us recognises us instantly. His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing with annoyance and something sharper, but he doesn’t challenge Master. He knows better than to waste time on scolding, not with half the council and two strangers watching. With a resigned sigh, he reaches into his pouch, counts out the coins, our cut, no more, no less, and slides them across the table with a curt, businesslike nod.

  No ceremony. No speeches. No thank you. He wants us gone, the sooner the better. I catch the glint in his eye, resentment, pride, maybe a flicker of grudging respect. It only makes me laugh harder, tossing my hair, tail whipping with wild delight.

  Master gathers the coins in a single motion. He turns on his heel, never once glancing back at the startled council or the swords lowering.

  I’m already at his side, nearly skipping, eyes wild, still grinning as we sweep back through the heavy doors. No one dares block our path. No one tries to stop us. We came in like a storm, and we leave just as sudden.

  Outside the meeting room, the tension dissolves, replaced by a bright, biting rush of satisfaction. I lean into Master, purring, tail snaking around his arm. “See how they scatter, Master? Give them a taste of chaos and watch them trip over their own boots.” My laughter is softer now, private, for him alone.