Doyle’s words echoed in my head as Rob led me over uneven cobbles and into narrower streets. This part of town leaned in on itself. Buildings pressed close, stone damp with age, the road sloping just enough to make your footing uncertain.

  A thought crept in as we walked. From what others had said, Roy was formal and fair about payment. Sebastian had warned me to be cautious, yet someone had burned the paperwork right under his nose. That left a few unpleasant possibilities.

  Maybe, someone didn’t want to pay.

  Or someone didn’t want witnesses.

  “This way,” Rob said.

  I followed him off the main street, the subtle weight of the rune pouch tugging at my side with each step. Without the coat it felt exposed, like I’d forgotten armour rather than clothing.

  Kent’s hovel in the better part of town, Rob had called it.

  I wasn’t so sure.

  “You going to tell me, yet what the whole deal is?” Rob asked, glancing back over his shoulder.

  I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Doyle had been right. If the shipment fell through, there’d be no point explaining anything. No point letting Rob get excited over something that might not exist by nightfall.

  “Still can’t,” I said. “Not yet.”

  He groaned. “Yeah, yeah. Secret surprise. I get it.” He slowed and pointed ahead. “Anyway. Here we are.”

  We stopped in front of a house that didn’t belong where it stood.

  It rose two stories tall, stonework older than most of Brookfield, set back from the road as if the street had grown around it rather than the other way around. The walls were dark with age, the windows narrow and barred, their shutters closed tight. The alleyways around it were uneven, the cobbles broken and slanted, forcing the street to bend away instead of meeting the front door.

  This wasn’t a shop.

  And it definitely wasn’t a hovel.

  Rob shifted his weight. “Told you Kent had a strange place.”

  I stared at the door, the rune pouch suddenly feeling heavier than before.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Strange’s one word for it. You told me he lived in a hovel,” I said, slowing. “This place looks massive.”

  Rob snorted. “Nah. You don’t get it. He doesn’t live here.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean he doesn’t live here.”

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

  He led me around the side of the house, where the road dipped sharply and the cobbles gave way to worn stone steps. They descended into a shallow hollow behind the building, hidden from the street above.

  The air changed as soon as we stepped down. The sharp scent of sawdust hung thick, mixed with old oil and cold iron. Somewhere, a saw had been used recently. The rough, familiar smell of cut wood clung to the stone.

  This was where the real work happened.

  A wide workspace sat tucked against the back wall, open to the sky but shielded from view. Grinding tables formed a loose circle, their surfaces scored and gouged from years of use. A dark anvil rested nearby, its face dulled by countless strikes and a warm hearth stood against the stone.

  Wooden practice weapons leaned against a rack. Targets were stacked to one side, stitched and patched over and over, bearing the quiet proof of how often this place was used.

  This wasn’t a home.

  It was a place you came to work.

  I glanced at Rob. “So where does he…”

  “Live?” He pointed down.

  Two thick double doors were set into the stone beneath the house, half sunk into the earth.

  “Oh,” I said. “I see.”

  I looked back up at the house. “Then why not live up in the house. You know. Like a normal person.”

  Rob shrugged. “No idea. Maybe it’s not his. Maybe it’s family. Maybe he just doesn’t like people.”

  He stepped forward and rapped his knuckles against the doors. “Hey. You home, mate?”

  There was a muffled crash from inside, followed by a sharp, irritated “Ow.”

  Rob and I exchanged a look.

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  Footsteps shuffled closer. A latch scraped back. The door opened just enough for a bearded face to peer out.

  “Ah,” Kent said, squinting. His grey beard bobbed as he smiled. “Young hero. Took you long enough.” His eyes flicked to Rob, then back to me. “Give me a moment. And who’s this you’ve dragged along, Seanie.”

  I smiled, polite but careful.

  The door shut again. We heard movement inside, a muttered curse, then the sound of something being dropped. A moment later Kent emerged fully, tugging on a tattered apron as he stepped into the light.

  “Right,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “You here for the tests then. That new idea of yours.”

  The rune pouch at my side felt heavier all at once.

  “Afraid not, old man,” Rob said lightly. “Seanie here wants a word.”

  Kent’s shoulders sagged for half a second, disappointment plain, before he looked up at me again and smiled. “Another hero, then. Another deal.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “A big one.”

  That gave him pause.

  He studied my face, eyes narrowing just enough to show the gears turning. I glanced at Rob, about to explain, but Rob caught the look and took a step back.

  “I’ll just… be over here,” he said, wandering toward the worktables.

  Kent watched him go, confusion deepening. When Rob was far enough away, I leaned in and lowered my voice.

  “I’ve heard you’ve been busy lately.”

  Kent’s smile slipped. “Have I?”

  Suspicion crept into his eyes.

  “On a certain red project.”

  His reaction was instant. His eyes widened and his hand tightened on the edge of the door.

  “How,” he said slowly, “would you know about that.”

  I smiled. “Sebastian mentioned it.”

  Kent exhaled hard and scrubbed a hand through his beard. “Bloody hell. Seb.” He shook his head. “The man can’t keep his mouth shut. I told him I’d help him out on the down low... But now he’s spreading it like gossip.”

  “He told me to keep it secret, said it was… dangerous.”

  “It is… if you’re not careful. That’s why I’m here…” He snorted. “The nobles don’t see a damn thing down here. Been working under their noses for years. But that’s not the only problem.”

  “Then what is.”

  He glanced back toward the Rob, then at the warm hearth, lowering his voice without thinking about it.

  “It’s the materials,” he said. “You don’t come across catalysts that pure very often. And even when you do, finding weapons worth binding them to is another problem altogether.”

  He looked at me again, something cautious and calculating settling in.

  “So,” he said. “What exactly are you asking for.”

  “I’m guessing the red one was bonded with a weapon Roy made?”

  Recognition flickered across Kent’s face before he masked it. “That he did.” His eyes narrowed as he looked me over again, slower this time. “You’re awful well informed. You ain’t a working man, are you. City boy, perhaps?”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, fat chance in that.”

  He leaned closer, squinting. “Don’t really look the part. So go on. Say it. What do you want with all this…”

  “I want to commission more,” I said. “The same kind of work you’re doing now.”

  He barked a laugh. “Not happening.”

  I didn’t argue. I reached into the pouch and let the yellow catalyst catch the light between my fingers.

  Kent froze.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Same place the red one came from,” I said. “This time, I want you to forge them for me.”

  For a moment he just stared. Then a slow grin crept across his face, sharp and hungry. “That’ll cost you.”

  “Doyle says he and Jerald will front the payment.”

  The grin vanished.

  “Jerald. The master of the barracks?” Kent stepped back like the name had burned him. “So, you are city...”

  “No,” I said quickly. “No. He’s backing us, not the city.”

  Kent didn’t answer right away. He studied me in silence, weighing something I couldn’t see. Finally, he clicked his tongue.

  “Times are getting rough,” he said. “The woman who brought me the red one said the same thing. Said something big’s coming. This year. At the Trials.”

  So, the rumours were spreading, I thought.

  His gaze dropped to the catalyst again.

  “That why you’re here.”

  I nodded. “We need all the help we can get. How long does it take?”

  “Once everything’s ready,” Kent said, “a day per blade. That’s forging, binding, and cooling done right.” He hesitated. “I only finished the red one this morning.”

  Hope sparked before I could stop it. “Can I see it?”

  He shook his head. “Already gone. The owner didn’t waste any time.”

  I let out a breath. “Figures. So how long would it take to forge four?”

  “Four.” He blinked. “You’re joking.”

  I glanced over and spotted Rob testing the weight of a training blade, fully distracted. I reached into the pouch and laid the remaining catalysts out on the worktable, one by one. The light caught them and didn’t let go.

  Kent went pale.

  “Sweet hell,” he whispered. “You’re trying to give me a heart attack.”

  He recovered slowly, hands already moving as his mind caught up. He pulled a scrap of parchment from a shelf and started writing without looking at me. Ingredients. Ratios. Heat cycles. Binding agent. Injector tolerances. Cooling methods. The list grew longer with every line.

  “This isn’t quick work,” he said. “And it’s not forgiving.”

  “When can you start?”

  “We need the weapons first,” he said. “Good ones. If Roy’s cutting corners, I won’t touch them.”

  “I doubt Roy would do that,” I said.

  “True enough.” Kent snorted. “That man’s never failed a forge or a trade in his life. I’ve known him for decades, even before the war. If there’s one thing I know about him, it’s this. He’s like stone. He doesn’t bend.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  He folded the parchment and tapped it against the table. “Soon as you’re ready, bring the weapons here.”

  Then he paused, eyes flicking from the catalysts to my blade.

  “Four,” he said again. “One’s yours. The others?”

  I didn’t see the need to correct him. I instead jerked my thumb toward Rob. “He gets one. Amelia too. And another friend.”

  Kent raised a brow at how I said the word. “Friend, huh.”

  I nodded.

  “Not a girlfriend?”

  I ignored the grin creeping back onto his face, already feeling the weight of how much could go wrong before any of this became real.

  “No. Just a friend.”

  Kent studied me for a moment, then gave a short nod. “Fair enough.” He stepped back toward the doors. “You know where to find me. Come back when you’re ready.”

  I agreed and let Rob fill the walk back with questions I refused to answer. By the time we reached the cottage, he was half convinced I was messing with him.

  Then we turned the corner.

  A wagon sat at the front gate, wheels still creaking as it settled. Symbols were stamped along its sides. Weapons. Armour. Rings. Crates stacked tight and sealed with fresh wax.

  Rob stopped dead.

  “What,” he breathed, “the hell.”

  I couldn’t stop the grin from breaking across my face.

  Sebastian stood beside the wagon, sleeves rolled up, directing two handlers as they unloaded. Doyle was there too, staring at the haul like it might vanish if he blinked. Celeste and Calum hovered nearby, drawn in despite themselves.

  Amelia’s gaze moved from the wagon to me. “Sean,” she said, careful now, “what is all this.”

  I felt the weight of it settle in my chest. The creak of the wagon. The smell of fresh wood and oiled metal. I let the silence hold for a breath longer than it should.

  “Not much,” I said grinning. “Just some help to nail the Trials.”

  Rob blinked. “Wait. Is this…”

  “All of it,” I said. “Ours.”