Ethan woke to the faint, impossible smell of coffee.

  He almost dismissed it as a cruel hallucination—his brain conjuring dreams of home just to torment him. But the scent only got stronger as he rolled out of bed and crossed the small, cool room, his boots thumping softly on the wooden floor.

  Downstairs, the Silver Thorn’s common room was mostly empty—just a few travelers nursing last night’s regrets and the clatter of breakfast dishes being cleared. Mara sat near the hearth, feet up on a battered stool, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. In her hands, she cradled a mug of something steaming and dark. The smell made Ethan’s pulse stutter.

  He blinked, stared, then made himself speak. “Mara… is that… coffee?”

  She didn’t look up right away. Just grinned behind her mug and took a slow, noisy sip. “Sure is,” she said. “First batch in weeks. Want some?”

  Ethan nearly tripped over a bench in his hurry to reach her, unclipping his spatial storage pouch from his belt. He popped it open and pulled out his battered metal mug, thrusting it forward. “You have no idea how much I need this. Fill it up, please. All the way.”

  Mara took the mug from him, turning it over in her hands. Her fingers traced the strange script etched down one side. “Well, this is fancy. What’s this writing?”

  Ethan hesitated, keeping his voice casual. “That’s my name—in my native script. Old habit. Nobody here seems to recognize it.”

  She shrugged, curiosity not quite satisfied, but she poured the coffee anyway, still eyeing the marks. “If your name’s on it, I guess nobody can argue it’s yours.” She handed the mug back.

  He cradled the mug in both hands, inhaling the steam. The taste wasn’t quite home, but it was close enough to feel like a win. He took a long sip, letting it wash the last of sleep from his system. “Where did you even get this? I need to find whoever’s selling it and buy every last bag they have.”

  Mara set her own mug down with a gentle thunk. “One of the market runners brought it in. Said it’s not popular—comes from the wildcat trappers, the ones that keep civet-cats around for pest control. They eat the beans, poop them out, and the locals collect them. Most folks can’t get past the idea.”

  Ethan grinned, a dozen city café memories flickering through his head. “That’s wildcat coffee? I can’t believe it. People pay a fortune for that where I’m from. Earthy, right? Little sweet if you use honey?”

  Mara laughed. “You sound like you know your beans. You want a cup, you can have one—long as you don’t scare off my new help.”

  He blinked, distracted by the second surprise. “Wait, new help?”

  She tipped her mug toward the kitchen, where the scent of honey and warm spice drifted through the swinging door. “Tamri showed up first thing—early, and already put out two batches of honeycakes for your crew. Said you’d earned them. Can’t say no to a baker who works before dawn and can coax dough to rise, no matter how cold the kitchen.”

  Ethan’s stomach rumbled on cue. He grinned, relief and gratitude flooding his system. “You’re a miracle worker.”

  Mara winked, all warm mischief. “Tell me that after your second cup. Go on—grab some before the Pack sniffs it out and Buster eats half the tray.”

  Ethan finished his second mug of coffee, savoring the last trace of bitterness as sunlight snuck across the floorboards. Upstairs, the Pack was already in full morning chaos. Buster wedged half-under a bed in the hallway, determined to rescue a lost biscuit. Pixie zipped from room to room, trailing the sharp, sticky scent of honeycake crumbs, wings and tail wagging. Moose stretched with a yawn that nearly cracked his jaw before nudging Amelia away from the laundry basket she’d claimed as a den.

  Lyra stood at the door, already gloved, quietly making sure nothing and no one got left behind. She offered Ethan a wry look as Pixie attempted to stuff an entire honeycake into a pouch.

  “Shoes, Pixie,” Ethan warned. “You drop crumbs in the boots again and you’re cleaning them out.”

  Pixie popped her head up from the pile of gear, honeycake halfway gone. “I was just making sure they’re sweet for later!” She licked the crumbs from her nose and bounded off, circling the table twice before jumping up to nose at the pack by the door.

  Buster emerged with the rescued biscuit, crumbs dusting his muzzle. “If you don’t want it, I will,” he said, fixing Pixie with a hopeful look.

  By the time they were headed downstairs, Mara’s kids—Tessa and Kip—were waiting, arms folded, determined to block the way. Tessa clung to Amelia, her nose buried in fur. Kip brandished his battered wooden sword, jaw set.

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  “You promised I could braid your hair today,” Tessa mumbled.

  Amelia’s ears drooped, her voice small and uncertain. “Can we do it after? Ethan says we have to go adventuring now.”

  Lyra knelt beside Tessa, her tone soft. “We always come back. And when we do, maybe you can show me how you braid those ribbons, too.”

  Pixie darted between the kids and Amelia, then stood on her hind legs to nudge Tessa’s elbow. “Don’t let him braid it,” she said, tilting her head toward Buster. “He’ll eat the ribbons.”

  Buster sniffed indignantly. “Only if there’s honey on them.”

  Kip, still scowling, looked up at Moose and Ethan. “You’ll teach us what you learn, right? All the adventurer tricks?”

  Moose nodded. “Every trick we learn, you’ll get to try.”

  Buster nudged Kip’s hand. “Save me one of those honeycakes, and I’ll show you a real adventurer’s secret handshake.”

  Senna called from the kitchen, “Let them go, Kip. They have to do adventure stuff.”

  Kip tried to look brave; Tessa finally let go, still reluctant, but with a small, hopeful look toward Lyra and Amelia.

  Amelia pressed her nose to Tessa’s cheek. “Don’t eat the tea,” she whispered, very serious.

  Tessa giggled through her sniffles. “No, silly, you drink it. And you sit with me and the dolls.”

  “Oh.” Amelia thought about that, clearly working it over. “Okay. I can do that. I will sit very still. You can use all the ribbons, too, if you want. Pixie can help. Pixie is good at tying things.” She looked at Kip, ears perked. “I will try to remember all the moves. If Moose shows me, I can show you. Or maybe Ethan will show you. Some moves are hard.”

  Buster grumbled, “If I have to sit still for a tea party, someone better drop a scone.”

  With promises made, Lyra nudged Amelia forward, and the Pack finally made their way out, Mara waving from the porch with flour on her hands and a conspiratorial wink. Pixie did a final lap around the entry hall, then squeezed between Buster and Ethan at the door, humming to herself and already plotting which window she’d sneak back through later.

  The Guildhall looked more imposing in the full morning sun, banners catching the breeze and the carved door standing open for the day’s business. Ethan led the Pack up the wide stone steps, with Lyra at his side, her cloak swirling just behind him. Moose flanked the other side, and Buster kept pace, sniffing every new scent.

  Inside, the main hall buzzed with energy—adventurers and beast-tamers trading stories, runners weaving between groups, the sharp scent of oil and parchment mixing with wood smoke. Lyra walked close, her eyes always moving—tracking exits, watching for trouble, keeping a light hand on Amelia’s back in the crowd.

  A few heads turned as Moose and Amelia trotted in at Ethan’s side, Pixie scrambled up a chair to peer at the training tokens, and Buster did his best to look dignified. Lyra slipped in beside Ethan and the others, her movements quiet and self-assured.

  Near the front windows, Gwenna was already at the big map table, deep in conversation with Aldric, the Guild’s senior liaison—a mountain of a man with a calm, assessing gaze and hands that looked big enough to break a horse collar. Gwenna’s hair was pulled back, her manner all business, but she brightened as soon as she spotted the Pack.

  “There you are. Right on time,” she called, giving Ethan a small, approving nod. “Ready for some fun?”

  Aldric straightened, rolling his shoulders as he sized up the newcomers. A slight grin flickered at the edge of his mouth, making his formality seem like a game. “You brought the whole circus. Good. Let’s see how you handle a real test.”

  Gwenna turned to the Pack. “Aldric’s agreed to run you through some advanced drills. Figure it’ll be good for the Guild to see what you can do—and good for you to see how the Guild really works.”

  She flashed Ethan a quick, encouraging grin. “Don’t worry—you’re in good hands. I’ll check in after you’re done.” With a nod to Aldric and a final wink to the Pack, Gwenna peeled away toward the main hall’s offices, leaving Aldric to lead them down the side corridor.

  Aldric led the way, boots thudding quietly on polished stone. The hum and clatter of the main hall faded behind them as the group turned into a wide, high-ceilinged hallway lined with banners and old notice boards. Lyra stayed close to Ethan, her eyes scanning the route. Through tall, narrow windows, Ethan caught a glimpse of the large training yard out back—a broad sweep of packed earth, ringed with sparring dummies and archery targets—but Aldric veered instead toward a heavy door marked “Private Drills.”

  As they passed an office alcove, Mabel popped up from behind a stack of paperwork, her wild curls half-escaped from a bun, bright green eyes tracking the group. “Look at you all, off to get your fur ruffled. Don’t break my training dummies, Aldric—or I’ll make you fill out a hundred incident reports yourself.”

  Before Aldric could answer, Mabel slipped close, pinched his butt with a practiced snap of her fingers, and blew him an exaggerated kiss. “For luck,” she said sweetly, then flashed Ethan a wink and fell into step beside them for a few paces before veering off toward the records room. “Remember—break a dummy, you do the paperwork!”

  Pixie, ever blunt, scrambled onto a bench and looked between them. “Are you mates? You smell like it.” Her head tilted, ears perked in genuine curiosity.

  Aldric coughed and didn’t answer. “The training yard’s just ahead,” he said, voice a touch too calm.

  No one confirmed or denied a thing, and Ethan wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  As they neared the private hall, Ethan realized something else—Aldric hadn’t flinched, asked questions, or even blinked at the sound of dogs talking. No awkward sidelong glances, no off-balance jokes.

  He glanced over, curiosity getting the better of him. “You don’t seem all that surprised about the Pack.”

  Aldric offered a small, knowing smile. “Gwenna’s thorough. She told me what to expect.” He paused, then nodded at Pixie and Moose. “Talking beasts aren’t unheard of, but it’s rare to see more than one.”

  Ethan caught Lyra’s eye. She just gave a faint shrug, like she’d expected as much from someone Gwenna vouched for.