The Temple of Healing looked exactly as they'd left it two weeks ago, except for the three men standing in the entrance hall who definitely didn't belong there.

  They had the look of people trying very hard to appear respectable, which generally meant they weren't. Their clothes were merchant-quality but worn like costumes, their boots too new and shiny, their smiles too practiced. One leaned casually against a pillar, thick arms crossed over a barrel chest. Another examined a tapestry of Helea with thin fingers that kept twitching toward his belt. The third stood close enough to Elder Adra that she'd backed against her desk.

  "...very reasonable rates," the close one was saying as Reyn and Venn entered. His voice had the oily quality of someone selling something nobody wanted. "Especially considering the dangerous times we live in. What with the Crimson Hand so active these days."

  The entrance hall smelled different too. Under the usual herbs and healing incense was something sharper: steel oil and road dust and the particular musk of people who made others nervous for a living.

  "The Temple of Healing has operated safely for three centuries," Elder Adra said with a tone so polite it had to be rehearsed. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her ledger. "We have no need of additional... protection."

  "Oh, you're hiring guards?" Reyn asked with a bright voice, setting down her pack with relief. The vescori venom clinked softly inside. "That's wonderful! The roads are getting dangerous. We met a merchant who warned us about Rivier."

  The three men turned to study the newcomers. Their leader, the one who'd been crowding Elder Adra, had the kind of face that smiled without meaning it. His eyes tracked over Reyn's considerable height and the massive sword on her back before settling on her face.

  "Not hiring, precisely," he said. "Offering our services."

  "Even better!" Reyn beamed. "Guarding a temple is respectable work, and they sure need someone to help out. Do you have references? I remember back in Bormecia, some temples demanded that potential guards needed three character witnesses and proof of combat training before they got the job."

  She suddenly realized where she was, and that everyone was staring at her. "I mean, I don't know how you go about it out here..."

  Venn made a small sound somewhere between a cough and a whimper.

  "We're not that kind of guard," the man said slowly, as if explaining to a child.

  "Oh?" Reyn tilted her head, genuinely confused. "What kind are you then?"

  "The kind that prevents... unfortunate accidents." He examined his fingernails with theatrical casualness. "Shipments going missing. Fires starting mysteriously. That sort of thing."

  "That sounds very useful," Reyn said, her brow furrowing as she worked through the logic. "Though I don't understand how you prevent accidents. Aren't accidents by definition unpreventa..."

  "Reyn," Venn interrupted quietly. "They're not actually guards."

  Reyn looked at her companion, then at Elder Adra's pale face, then at the three men who were smiling without any warmth reaching their eyes. The air in the room seemed to shift, like the moment before a thunderstorm.

  "I see," Reyn said, her voice dropping to something quiet and dangerous. The cheerfulness drained from her voice like water from a broken cup. "You're threatening them."

  "Such an ugly word," the leader said. "We prefer 'offering insurance.' The Temple pays a small fee, and nothing unfortunate happens. Everyone stays happy."

  A familiar tension began building at the base of Reyn's skull. The Rage stirred, uncoiling like a serpent made of heat and violence. Her muscles began to tighten, tendons standing out like iron cables beneath her skin. The scent of steel oil suddenly seemed stronger, mixing with something else: the copper-taste of impending violence that filled her mouth even though she hadn't bitten her tongue.

  "You're threatening," she repeated, her voice gone very quiet, each word precise as a blade stroke, "a place of healing. Where the sick come for aid. Where children pray for their parents. A temple devoted to helping others."

  "Business is business," the man shrugged. "Even temples need protection in these troubled times."

  "From you." It wasn't a question. The Rage was building now, that sweet familiar burn crawling up her spine, making her fingers itch for her sword. She could feel her heartbeat slowing, the world sharpening to crystal clarity as her body prepared for violence. Reyn breathed slowly, steadily, using the techniques drilled into her since childhood. Control defines the warrior.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "You create the danger, then charge to prevent it."

  "Well, we personally don't create the danger, but you're catching on," the man said with another meaningless smile. "So, shall we discuss rates?"

  "No."

  The word dropped into the conversation like a stone into still water. The man by the tapestry stopped pretending to examine it, his hand drifting toward his hip. The one by the pillar straightened, redistributing his weight to the balls of his feet.

  "No?" The leader's smile flickered. "Miss, perhaps you don't understand the situation..."

  "I understand perfectly well." Reyn's hand moved to rest on Good Deeds' hilt. Not drawing, not threatening, just finding comfort in the familiar weight. "And I don't care to be called 'Miss,' sir. I'm Reyn Caleran of Bormecia. And you're leaving. Now."

  The change in the room was immediate. The three men exchanged glances that carried entire conversations. The one by the pillar actually took a step back, his boot scraping against stone. The thin one's fingers stopped their nervous twitching.

  "Bormecian," the leader said, and something flickered in his eyes. Recognition? Calculation? It passed too quickly to identify.

  "That's right." The Rage was singing in her blood now, begging to be used. She held it back like a hunting hound on a leash, feeling it strain against her control. "On pilgrimage. Looking for good deeds. Protecting temples from extortion seems fitting."

  The thin man shifted his weight, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple despite the cool air. "Boss, maybe we should..."

  "Quiet," the leader snapped, but his eyes never left Reyn. There was something in his expression now, a wariness that went beyond facing an armed opponent.

  "We should go," the one by the pillar said, his voice tight. "This isn't what we signed up for."

  His leader shot him a look that promised later consequences, but nodded slowly. "Perhaps we've been... misunderstood. We'll take our leave."

  They moved toward the door with the careful steps of people backing away from an unfriendly dog. Or perhaps, Reyn thought, like men who'd seen something that reminded them of a story they'd rather forget. The leader paused at the threshold, turning back with forced bravado.

  "This isn't over. The Hand has a long reach."

  "Good," Reyn said simply, letting a little of the Rage color her voice. "I've been looking for them."

  Something definitely flickered across the man's face then. Surprise mixed with something else, something harder to read. He opened his mouth as if to say more, then thought better of it. The three of them disappeared into the street, leaving only the lingering scent of steel oil and fear-sweat.

  Elder Adra sank into her chair with a long exhale. "Thank you, Miss Caleran. Though I fear you've made dangerous enemies."

  "They were already enemies," Reyn said, slowly releasing her grip on Good Deeds. The Rage subsided reluctantly, leaving her feeling hollow and slightly shaky, like a bell that had stopped ringing. "We just hadn't been introduced yet."

  "How did you know?" Venn asked. "About what they were doing?"

  Reyn turned to look at her. "I didn't, until you told me. I really thought they were guards offering legitimate services, strange as they were." The anger flickered again, a ember of the Rage still glowing. "But threatening healers, exploiting fear... in Bormecia, that would be..." She stopped, shaking her head. "It's wrong."

  "They knew what you were," Venn said quietly. "The moment you said Bormecia, they reacted differently."

  "Many people fear Bormecian warriors," Elder Adra said. "The old stories of raids..."

  "No," Venn shook her head. "This was different. I can’t say for sure."

  Reyn frowned but said nothing. The confrontation and unused Rage had left a bitter taste in her mouth, mixing with the phantom copper of near-violence. She'd come west expecting bandits and monsters, clear enemies to fight for clear reasons. Not this corruption wearing merchant clothes and speaking in implications.

  "We should go to Rivier," Venn said suddenly.

  Elder Adra looked at her sharply. "Rivier?"

  "A merchant warned us the Crimson Hand controls it," Venn explained. She turned to Reyn, jaw set with determination. "We should go. If they're bold enough to threaten temples in broad daylight, someone needs to do something."

  "You were against it before," Reyn pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

  "That was before they came here, threatening my home." Venn's hands clenched around her quarterstaff. "This is sacred ground. They don't get to just walk in here and make threats for profit."

  "Agreed," Reyn said. "We deliver the venom, rest tonight, and leave for Rivier tomorrow."

  "Be careful," Elder Adra warned, genuine concern in her voice. "If those men report back..."

  "They'll say a Bormecian warrior is protecting the Temple and actively hunting them," Reyn finished. "Good. Maybe they'll come find me instead. Save me the trouble of searching."

  As Elder Adra left to secure the venom, Venn turned to Reyn. "Were you really not worried? They were dangerous men."

  "They were bullies," Reyn corrected. "Bad men who prey on those who can't fight back. The Temple isn't weak anymore." She smiled slightly. "Besides, I meant what I said. I am looking for the Crimson Hand. They just made themselves easier to find."

  "By threatening us?"

  "By existing so openly. They are getting too bold. Easier to find." Reyn stretched, working out the tension the near-fight had left in her muscles. "Rivier is a start."

  They headed deeper into the Temple, Venn still processing the encounter. "You know, most people try to avoid making enemies of criminal organizations."

  "Most people aren't on pilgrimage," Reyn pointed out. "They seem like just the kind problem I should handle."

  Despite the danger, Venn found herself smiling. There was something reassuring about Reyn's straightforward approach to problems. No hand-wringing, no political calculations. Just: here's a problem, let's solve it with determination and possibly violence.

  "You realize you've already done at least one good deed for Vaelen?" Venn said.

  Reyn looked down at her. "What do you mean?"

  Venn spread her arms wide. "You cleared the Temple of giant rats! You helped get the vescori venom. Helea's grace, you carried a wounded man for hours to save his life!"

  "So he could tell us about the Hand," Reyn said.

  "The reason doesn't diminish the deed." Venn's smile widened. "Face it, you're already a third of the way through your pilgrimage requirements for this kingdom."

  Reyn considered this, then smiled back. "Maybe. The reason is important, I think. We’ll see how Rivier goes."

  As they walked through the Temple's familiar halls, neither noticed the small marking the thin thug had left on the doorframe. A tiny red hand, barely visible unless you knew to look for it.