The inn was quiet by late morning. Most travelers had already gone, leaving behind empty mugs, a few scattered coins, and the faint smell of ale and ash. Dust motes drifted through the air where sunlight spilled through cracks in the shutters.

  In the center of the taproom sat a young man tied to a chair. His wrists were bound behind him, his ankles tied to the legs. His head hung low, chin resting on his chest. A bruise spread across his cheek, Ennett’s work. It had been clean, controlled, and necessary.

  He looked barely twenty. Skinny, hungry, worn thin by bad choices.

  Maruzan leaned against the bar, arms crossed, watching him. The rest of the warband was spread around the room, Bram by the window, Xonya sharpening her blade, Ennett standing like a wall near the door, and Nethira sitting quietly by the hearth. The two couriers, Basil and Griswold, were there too, still shaken from the ambush earlier that morning.

  Basil, the older postal, rubbed his bald head and sighed. “Let’s try waking him up again. Maybe not the slap to the face this time.” He smirked at Ennett.

  Griswold nodded, stepped forward, and smacked the boy’s shoulder hard enough to sting. The prisoner jerked upright, gasping for air, his eyes wide with confusion.

  “Where—where am I?” he sputtered. Then he saw the faces around him and began to shake. “Please, don’t kill me. I didn’t mean anything. I swear I didn’t.”

  Basil crouched to meet his eyes. His voice was calm, almost weary. “Then tell me why you thought robbing postal riders was a good idea.”

  The boy swallowed, his voice trembling. “It wasn’t my idea. They told me it was easy coin. Just stop the couriers, grab the parcels, run. That’s all. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

  Maruzan’s tone was quiet, even. “Who told you that?”

  The boy hesitated. His gaze flicked toward the floor, then toward the door, like he might try to run if he could. “A man called the Hand,” he said finally. “Big, strong. Said we’d be helping something important. Said we’d be part of a change that’s coming.”

  “Change?” Nethira asked softly. She hadn’t moved, but her voice carried through the room.

  The boy looked at her, eyes widening at the sight of her moss-colored cloak and green-flecked eyes. “He said… he said the nobles keep all the power for themselves. That the rest of us deserve a share. He said we’d be heroes.”

  “Heroes who rob couriers,” Xonya muttered.

  “I didn’t know!” the boy said quickly. “I thought we were taking coin, not… not whatever this was.”

  Basil’s jaw tightened. “What exactly was it?”

  “I don’t know,” the boy whispered. “He said the postals carried something. A relic, maybe. He didn’t tell me what it looked like. Just said it had power, and power belongs to everyone.”

  Ennett stepped forward a few paces. Her voice was steady, not cruel, but firm. “Did he say where it came from?”

  The boy shook his head. “No. Only that it was being sent to a noble family. South of the Green Hills.”

  Griswold shifted uncomfortably. “That matches our route,” he said. “Our parcel was addressed to House Sofine.”

  Maruzan looked at him sharply. “Azandra Sofine?”

  Griswold nodded. “Aye. The package was marked for her hand.”

  The room fell still.

  “She’s the missing noblewoman,” Bram said quietly. “The one from the bounty.”

  “Heavens,” Griswold said. “We didn’t know she was missing until now. The Guild keeps us to the routes, no questions. We deliver what’s sealed and signed, and we don’t break the wax.”

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  Maruzan thought for a long moment. His mind was already working through possibilities, Azandra’s disappearance, the relic, the timing. None of it felt accidental.

  Nethira spoke again, her tone quieter now. “This Hand, did he ever mention a name above his own? Someone he worked for?”

  The boy hesitated. He seemed to search his memory, his brow furrowed. “He said something about a master. Called him the whisperer. Said the whisperer was gathering things others stole long ago. That he’d return them to the world when the time came.”

  The room chilled. Even the fire seemed to dim.

  Maruzan and Nethira exchanged a glance. Neither spoke, but they both understood. The language was too familiar, relics, whispers, restoration. It sounded like the rhetoric of Nezzarod’s followers.

  Basil exhaled, rising to his feet. “That’s enough. He’s just a kid trying to save his own skin.”

  The boy shook his head frantically. “I’m telling the truth. I swear it.”

  Basil ignored him, running a hand along his jaw. “He’s not useful to us. He doesn’t know what he’s part of.”

  He reached for his knife.

  Winnum, who had stayed quiet through most of the questioning, stepped forward suddenly. “Wait,” he said. His tone was sharp, surprising even himself. “He’s just a boy. He’s scared out of his mind.”

  Basil looked at him. “I’m not going to kill him,” he said simply. Then, before anyone could speak, he grabbed the boy’s ropes and cut them loose with one quick motion.

  The boy stumbled forward, hands free, staring in disbelief.

  Basil caught him by the collar and pulled him close until their faces were inches apart. “You listen to me,” he said, his voice low and hard. “If you ever touch a courier again, or follow men like that Hand, I’ll find you myself. And next time, I won’t stop at the rope.”

  The boy nodded, trembling. “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Then go.”

  He didn’t need to be told twice. The youth bolted for the door, tripped over the threshold, and vanished down the street, his bare feet slapping against the dirt.

  For several seconds, the room was still. Then Bram spoke. “So. We’ve got a missing noble, a relic no one’s supposed to see, and a band of thugs working for someone who calls himself the Whisperer.”

  Nethira’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t just about theft. It’s about gathering power. The kind of power Nezzarod thinks he needs.”

  Xonya leaned back against the wall, folding her arms. “So the noblewoman goes missing, and the couriers carrying something for her get attacked the same week. That’s not chance.”

  “Agreed,” Maruzan said. His tone was quiet, but there was tension in it now. “Whatever she was mixed up in, it connects to this relic. And to whoever these men serve.”

  Griswold slung his satchel over his shoulder. “Our duty’s clear. We keep the parcel sealed and deliver it when we’re told.”

  Basil nodded. “If you’re heading after her, I’d move quick. You could still beat us to Three Corners. Postals aren’t known for being swift.” He gave a little chuckle.

  Maruzan nodded once. “We’ll try.”

  Ennett pushed off from the door. “And you two should watch yourselves. If there’s more of these men around, the road won’t be safe.”

  “We’re always careful,” Basil said. But there was a faint smile beneath his mustache, the kind that meant he’d seen too much to promise anything.

  The two couriers left together, the door closing softly behind them.

  Inside, the warband remained where they were, each caught in thought.

  Maruzan looked toward the window. Beyond the glass, the sky was pale blue, the road stretching into the hills. Somewhere out there, Azandra Sofine had vanished. And whatever relic she had been meant to receive, others were willing to kill for it.

  He straightened, his decision clear. “We leave within the hour. If we ride hard, we’ll make the foothills by nightfall.”

  Nethira nodded. “I’ll gather my things. And I’ll send word to the groves, see what the dryads know.”

  Xonya buckled her quiver and muttered, “Then I’ll buy more arrows. We’re going to need them.”

  Bram chuckled under his breath. “You think we’ll ever have a simple job again?”

  Maruzan gave a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not while we’re still breathing.”

  As the others prepared to leave, Winnum lingered by the empty chair where the boy had sat. The rope lay on the floor in a loose coil.

  He knelt and picked it up, running his fingers along the frayed end. For a moment, he thought about the boy’s eyes, the fear, the shame. He’d seen that same look once before, months ago, in his own reflection after he’d failed to heal Yohanan.

  Maybe mercy still mattered. Even when it didn’t change the world right away.

  He rose quietly and followed the others out the door.

  Outside, the sun was climbing higher. The market was alive again, merchants calling out prices, children running between stalls, the sound of hammers from the smithy. It felt almost normal.

  But under it all, a shadow was moving, unseen, patient, and growing stronger.

  And as the warband set off down the road later that morning, each of them felt it, even if no one spoke it aloud.

  The mission had changed.

  They weren’t just searching for a missing girl anymore. They were chasing the first signs of something much darker, something that had already begun to awaken.