The press of something sharp against his lower back. A firm hand locking the back of his neck.

  “Hello, Kavari,” Kael said calmly—like he wasn’t currently being restrained against his will in the middle of the market.

  She spun him around, effortlessly pinning him to the blue-hued wall. Her claw retracted as smoothly as a whisper sliding back beneath skin. She looked at him with that soft blue, the kind of blue that made you believe things could grow again. They were lit with mischief, blazing even brighter against the tight emerald green summer dress she wore like it was stitched from envy itself.

  Kael caught Yuri’s confused stare nearby—hand on his dagger, unsure if this was an ambush or something else entirely.

  “Damn,” Kavari sulked, cocking her head. “What gave me away?”

  He looked her up and down. The red braid was loose today, a deliberate dishevel. Her dress was cut just above the knee—shorter than fashion dictated, enough to draw eyes, enough to sell a distraction.

  “You’re hard to miss,” Kael replied with a smirk.

  She leaned in, lowering her face to his neck like a lover unable to wait for privacy. To any passerby, they were simply a couple tangled in the city’s summer heat.

  “Really? You’re going for the lovers ploy?” he muttered beneath his breath.

  “Worked, didn’t it?” she whispered, voice like silk dragged over a blade.

  It was a trick as old as the streets: a man or a woman traveling alone drew questions. A man with a woman? That was comfort, familiarity. Not a threat. Certainly not spies or saboteurs. Kael hadn’t known how she’d reestablish contact, but he’d left enough chum in the water.

  He slid a hand down her back to her hip—gesture intimate, sign subtle. Move fast, he signed to Yuri behind her back. They’re on us.

  Yuri nodded once, slipping into the crowd, face flushed crimson. Twice in one day. Poor kid.

  “I’m supposed to be resting,” she whispered into his collarbone, voice edged with heat. “But someone gave me more work, a stack of reports thick enough to bury a wyrm. Took a lot of favors and coin to get them. Emphasis on lot.”

  Kael smiled faintly. “I’m flattered.”

  She pressed closer, her tail tracing up his arm, teasing along the bend of his elbow.

  “So,” he said, lowering his voice, “you wanna do something fun?”

  She arched a brow. “You really know how to talk to a lady.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  She gasped—mock offense—then let him go with a flourish and spun once, the hem of her low cut dress flaring to reveal muscular, sun-kissed legs honed by years of battle.

  “I am a lady,” she insisted. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve worn a dress?”

  Then she grabbed his hand, fingers lacing through his with surprising softness.

  “Only for you, darling,” she added with a wink, tugging him forward into the crowd.

  The shadows followed.

  As she pulled him along through the market’s winding streets and vibrant stalls, they made an odd pair—fire and ice. She was radiant in her emerald summer dress, all flowing grace and smirking confidence. Beside her, Kael cut a stark contrast: dark, brooding, the shape of a storm wrapped in quiet steel. People glanced at her—some lingering too long—only to catch sight of him and look quickly away.

  She played the role of a smitten lover well, dragging him from shop to shop, trying on hats and scarves with exaggerated flair, looping her arm through his. The game between them never stopped—while fingers danced over fabrics, their eyes swept the crowd for shadows. While admiring a pair of boots, their low conversation slipped into code, Kael quietly briefing her on the day’s plan.

  The mention of the Blister Rats—industrial quarter pyros with a reputation for creative chaos—lit a spark in her. She leaned forward over the small iron café table where they stopped to eat, eyes gleaming as she described an idea. Her leg slid beneath the table, trailing up the inside of his like fire climbing a fuse. Kael didn’t react—couldn’t afford to. He needed attention on him today, not on Yuri. And she, clever as ever, needed a reason to be seen alongside a district lord without raising questions.

  She was playing the moment to her advantage—and Kael couldn’t even fault her for it. He was working too. And hell, it was fun.

  Finally, after the meal, she rose with a grin and pulled him in close, lips grazing the side of his neck. To the outside world, they were just another passionate couple.

  “I can’t wait anymore,” she whispered, low and hungry. “You’re coming back with me.”

  Before he could reply, she took his hand and led him toward the towering silhouette of the Adventurers' Guild Hall—four stories of carved stone and majesty, dominating the street like a fortress of glory and debt.

  As they stepped inside, the Adventurers' Guild Hall opened up around them—wide, vaulted, and loud. The first floor was a sprawling mix of reception and tavern, filled with adventurers of all shapes and sizes. The air buzzed with laughter, shouted boasts, clinking tankards, and the occasional thud of a weapon being dropped too carelessly on a table.

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  Heads turned. Tin, iron, bronze—and even another gold-ranked adventurer—all glanced their way. Some out of curiosity, some with recognition, others with poorly concealed envy. Kavari walked like she owned the place, confidence radiating off her in waves as she led him straight to the counter, hips swaying like a challenge.

  Kael lingered a step behind, casually letting his eyes drift over the mission board beside them. A few stood out.

  Disappearances. A whole stack of them. Not new.

  Railway building Escort—decent pay, glorified guard duty.

  Pirate King—1,000 gold.

  His eyebrows nearly hit his hairline.

  Damn. That’s a serious bounty.

  The bounty glared down from the guild board, edges of the parchment curled from the summer humidity. Ink sketched in brutal strokes: an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard, long and braided at the end like a knot of legacy. One eye was missing—replaced with what looked like a carved sapphire set into a rusted metal socket. He grinned in the drawing like a man who knew the sea had tried to kill him and failed.

  “Captain Berrik Varu. The Storm,” the posting read beneath the sketch. “Wanted for high piracy, mutiny, murder, sabotage, illegal arcane trafficking, and the theft of a Triune battleship.”

  A full battleship?

  Kael exhaled slowly. That wasn't a pirate. That was a legend wrapped in cannon smoke.

  Kael stared for a beat longer than he meant to.

  Other postings flicked by.

  Hiveling nest—again.

  Dreadborn in the south eastern swamps. Nasty thing in a nasty place.

  Necromancer activity. Hate em.

  Standard bullshit. Goblins again? Gods help them all.

  Then his eyes caught it—

  Wyrm sighting. Greyvein Peaks.

  He frowned. Not their usual hunting grounds. Those mountains ran north of the city, cold and cruel. No dragon—just a wyrm, probably stone or fire. Either way, a bastard to kill. No details on type. That always meant trouble. Long job, high risk. Needed a full party.

  Could be worth it, he thought absently.

  And then he heard it.

  “Room.”

  His head snapped toward Kavari, who was speaking with the receptionist, far too sweetly.

  Room? What the hell was she playing at?

  They didn’t have time for this. He needed to get to the industrial quarter, check in with Yuri, push on the Blister Rats, and keep his plan moving.

  She turned to him with a coy smile, holding out a brass key like it was a piece of candy.

  She turned on her heel and headed for the stairs, hips swaying again, boots striking the floor in rhythm. Kael sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. Every damn time with her.

  And yet… he followed.

  She led him up the stairs without a backward glance, heels sharp against the stone, tail flicking like punctuation with every step. The room she opened was modest but private—dark-wood furnishings, thick curtains, and a bed that looked cozy and bigger than he expected.

  The door clicked shut behind him.

  Then she started peeling off her clothes.

  Kael turned his eyes aside—out of habit, maybe discipline—but he didn’t turn away.

  She noticed.

  A low, husky chuckle escaped her lips as layers came loose. One strap slid down a sun-kissed shoulder, revealing scarred flesh beneath. A second followed. Then the dress dropped in a ripple of green to the floor. She stepped out of it barefoot and bare, all scars and strength and dangerous beauty.

  As she brushed past him to hang something on the door—a small runic charm that shimmered faintly with privacy wards—he felt her heat, like a hearth fire that knew exactly how close to burn.

  She was naked now, fully, completely. Unashamed.

  “Room’s mine for the day,” she said, circling him like a panther around prey that hadn’t decided if it wanted to be caught. “No one’s gonna bother us in here. And those shadows? They’ll be waiting outside all day… and all night. I have a small chest I keep here with some odds and ends. Not tied to me.”

  She moved behind him, voice low, tempting.

  “So, before I slip into my work clothes—”

  A pause. A breath just behind his ear.

  He turned to face her then. Not shying from her body, not pretending to be unaffected. But there was steel in his voice, a core she respected.

  “If you’re coming with me,” he said, voice low but resolute, “I want us sharp. Alert. Not worn out from... indulgence.”

  Her eyes sparkled with mischief, rainstorm blue lit from within.

  “Pity,” she murmured, voice like velvet stretched over coals. “Just trying to be generous. We’ve got the whole night, after all…”

  Kael rolled his eyes, half in amusement, half in self-defense. He didn’t trust her grin—not entirely—and definitely not when she moved like that.

  She dropped into a crouch by the bed and pulled out a small travel chest. Within seconds, she was slipping into a set of dark leather gear, clearly worn for mobility, not modesty. Armor tailored to her curves but reinforced in all the right places.

  Efficient. Deadly.

  She began tying her braid back—tighter, more severe, meant for battle. Kael's eyes drifted, just for a second. Just enough to get him in trouble.

  He caught her gaze in the mirror.

  A smirk tugged at her lips. Caught red-handed.

  “Careful,” she said without looking away, voice teasing and dry. “Keep staring like that, and I will climb you.”

  Kael sighed, shaking his head.

  But he didn’t look away.

  She turned, and the mask slipped on.

  Gone was the playful veneer, the seduction—replaced in an instant by something quiet, severe, and unmistakably professional. Her posture straightened, her voice lowered, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked, tone clipped and sharp. “I lost the tail. We can slip out the window, hop the roof line, make it to the Smog Quarter without being spotted. Blister Rats. You leading, or am I?”

  Kael pulled his coat tighter, adjusting the fit across his shoulders like armor settling into place.

  “We need to make noise. Fast. I need their leader’s attention—face to face.”

  His voice was low, deliberate.

  “Stick close. Follow my lead. My tempo. I need them scared… not scattered.”

  A pause. The edge of something heavier slipped into his tone.

  “There are bigger pieces in motion.”

  Kavari’s expression shifted—just slightly. A flicker of mischief danced in her eyes. Almost a smile. Almost. But behind it, sharp understanding.

  She nodded once. “No killing. Breaking them a bit? Fine. But keep it surgical. You need them alive and cooperative.”

  Kael exhaled slowly, his mind tracing the details like lines on a battlefield map. Gods, it was nice working with a skilled professional again. When she wasn’t trying to climb him like a siege tower.

  “Grum Barrelburn—calls himself the Smokestack Tyrant. Leader of the Blister Rats. Charismatic, loud, dangerous. Thinks he’s a freedom fighter—some industrial messiah out to liberate the smog quarter from beater enforcers and noble lapdogs. Would burn half the city just to make a point.”

  Kavari grunted. “Sounds charming.”

  “He’s got a steam-forged maul—Cinderjaw. Vents scalding vapor with every swing. Can cook a man alive if he gets close. On his left arm’s a mechanical gauntlet—arc weld, crush, ignite. Custom build. Probably dwarven.”

  Kavari’s brow ticked. “So keep out of arm’s reach. Got it.”

  “And then there’s his pet,” Kael added, jaw tightening.

  “Fizzbit,” He finished grimly. “A soot-sprite. Mutated elemental. Looks like a coal ember with teeth and a bad attitude. Hangs on his shoulder like some molten parrot. Don’t touch it. Don’t threaten it. Don’t even think about it too hard. If that thing gets hurt, Grum will bring the whole damn city down just to make a point.”

  Kael nodded. “Yeah. That about covers it.”

  Kavari tilted her head, arching a brow. “So… we’re going in quiet?”

  “My version of quiet,” he replied, deadpan, a faint smirk ghosting across his face. “Which means things are gonna get loud.”