Quinn frowned while Durn counted out 900 gold. He held it out, but she didn’t take it.

  “Half,” she said. “It’s enough to know you value my work. Consider the rest a gesture of good faith.” She bowed low, drawing half the coin into her inventory and giving the other half a faint grimace.

  The NPC looked taken aback. Among dwarves, gold was taken as seriously as the carefully neglected appearance of their beards. Accepting less than the agreed-upon price was unheard of. Still, Durn pocketed the remaining gold and returned her bow.

  “Thank you,” he said graciously. “This is an expensive project, and the Guild must be careful with its resources.”

  Quinn nodded. She glanced down the alley, but it remained deserted except for them.

  “Senator Dorian Lysarian has made a private deal to purchase the aqueduct’s stone for his own interests,” she said in a hushed, hurried tone. “He intends to build cheap housing and has agreed to split the profits with the supplier. So even if you secure the votes to pass the bill…” She trailed off, spreading her hands.

  Durn frowned, his beard rustling against the collar of his heavy coat. “Unfortunate, but not unexpected. That certainly explains the delay.” He drew out a pipe and lit it, smoke curling into the air as he considered. “No matter. Stone has a way of ending up where it’s needed.”

  “I’m glad it isn’t concerning,” Quinn said. “Still, maybe I can help. I could ensure the deal he made becomes a problem for him.”

  Durn waved the idea away, causing smoke to billow between them. “That won’t be necessary. His arrangement doesn’t stop our plans. Even so, it does introduce a new complication…”

  He trailed off, deep in thought. Quinn waited, her expression calm and politely inquisitive. If he wasn’t worried about the stone going to someone else, that could mean only one thing.

  “If the concern is discretion,” she said eventually, taking a calculated risk. “I could ensure Senator Dorian becomes the focus of public scrutiny. It would keep the elves occupied with the scandal and make it appear the dwarves are still pursuing the original stone supplier—rather than purchasing the stone elsewhere.”

  Durn slowly exhaled, releasing a cloud of smoke near her face. “That’s a dangerous assumption.”

  “My business is intelligence, not assumptions,” she said, meeting his gaze evenly.

  He let out a low chuckle. “Well informed indeed,” he said, looking at her with newfound respect. “Yes, there is another supplier. One the elves would not tolerate if they learned of it. We’d lose every vote we have overnight.” He took a slow pull on his pipe. “If you can keep attention where it belongs while approval is pending, it would be useful. And richly compensated.”

  Quinn bowed low once more. “As you wish. I’ll be in touch, Master Durn. Good day.” He returned the bow, and they parted.

  Quinn flipped her hooded cloak over her head as she left the alley, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. That could not have gone any better. She’d sacrificed some coin, yes, but the intelligence she’d gained in return was worth far more. The real question was who else might be willing to pay for it before the night was over.

  Her next meeting wasn’t for some time, so she took a small detour towards the Elven Central Archive to see if anything new had changed, though she doubted it. It operated with the boring, mechanical stiffness of unyielding clockwork.

  The familiar building loomed into view as she rounded a corner, its pale stone reflecting the blushing hues of a late summer sun. Broad steps led up to a towering arched doorway inlaid with gold. Quinn imagined the interior was just as impressive, not that she’d know. The beefy minotaur guards stationed everywhere made sure of that.

  Somewhere inside was the Black Ledger, one of the few concrete facts she’d managed to confirm. NPCs grew weirdly evasive the moment she brought it up, as if speaking its name might smite their whole family. Elves were the worst. They refused to engage at all and usually walked away mid-conversation with their noses in the air, pompous little shits. Still, at least she knew where it was.

  Quinn’s gaze shifted from the guards to the steady trickle of elves coming and going through the massive doorway. Someone among them had something to hide, something they’d do anything to keep buried.

  She smiled to herself and slipped back into the flow of the street. Fortunately for her, she was now gainfully employed in the secrets business. Quinn hadn’t wasted any time in hunting down Lady Seranthe to tell her all about Vermin and Callum’s little plot, suspecting the secret wasn’t done earning her gold yet. Her instinct proved correct, as she was rewarded not just with a large sum of gold, but a job as well. Lady Seranthe owned the network of spies known as the Oculi and had invited Quinn to join them. The position opened more doors than she ever could have on her own.

  She rounded a corner lost in thought and nearly tripped over a level 1 rat, which immediately lunged for her ankle.

  “Yech!” she yelled, reflexively kicking it in the face.

  The rat flew into a stone wall and crumpled into a heap. Quinn didn’t wait to see if it would get back up. She flicked her wrist, sending one of her throwing knives sailing into its body with a dull thump, killing it before it could recover.

  She walked over and looted the body, adding more rough fur and a few animal bones to her upgraded inventory. Rats were the only creatures she’d seen in Rome so far, but none of them seemed to be higher than level 3. The problem was that they rarely came alone.

  The thought made her frantically glance around, knives at the ready. Nothing else came sidling up out of the shadows to attack her.

  She exhaled slowly and kept walking, sliding the blades back into her belt. She hated rats.

  Quinn learned the hard way just how important stamina was. On her first night, she hadn’t been paying attention and collapsed in an alley. She’d woken up surrounded by the devils and almost became an example of one of the top ten stupidest ways to die in Eterna. She shivered, thinking of what would’ve happened if she hadn’t had her knives.

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  The meeting place Lady Seranthe had arranged wasn’t far now, tucked away in a district of tall sandy buildings and thinning foot traffic. Just as Quinn was about to step onto the narrow street that led to her destination, she spotted another player.

  He was clearly trying to pass as a dwarf, but Quinn thought he’d have better luck pretending to be a scarecrow. No dwarf she’d ever seen was that tall and skinny, and they certainly didn’t have well-trimmed beards either.

  She slipped quietly into the shadow of a nearby building and watched. He was walking casually down the street toward her, his hands in his pockets and whistling cheerfully. As she watched, he paused to scratch his beard, causing it to dislodge. He hastily readjusted it, glancing around to see if anyone saw before continuing on his way.

  It felt off to her. Although Eterna’s orientation had been packed with players, she hadn’t spotted many of them here yet. She figured there must be a lot of biomes and players were just spread out across them.

  He was getting uncomfortably close now. Quinn slipped back into the shadows, debating about what to do. She seriously considered cutting her losses and leaving, but the thought of the coin Lady Seranthe had promised her glued her to the spot. She needed that gold. There were a few upgrades that would be vital when it came time for the heist, and they were expensive.

  Quinn ground her teeth. She’d have to go, but carefully.

  Opening her inventory, she equipped her faun gear set, which was leagues better than that guy’s sorry attempt at being a dwarf. Fauns didn’t bother with pants, which made running around dressed like one a bit of a problem. Fortunately for her, nearly getting killed by a pack of rat devils had its benefits. Looting them gave her rough fur, which she used to craft a passable set of faun-like legs to serve as pants.

  They wouldn’t fool an actual faun or anyone paying close attention, but they worked well enough in a pinch. It was her first original creation. She glanced down at them with a flicker of fondness, imagining how hard Sophie would laugh if she could see her now.

  Quinn activated Shadow Step and began moving down the street at an unhurried pace, hunched over as if she had hooves. The wannabe dwarf didn’t notice her as she passed him. Still, Quinn didn’t head straight for her destination. She turned down another street instead, walked until she was out of sight and circled back behind the building.

  A moment later, she raised her hand and knocked on the back door.

  Soft footsteps approached. The door creaked open and a level 4 NPC servant poked his head out, looking Quinn over in mild confusion, his eyes lingering on the horns she still had on.

  “I’m here to meet Lady Lysarian,” she said quietly. “On behalf of Lady Seranthe.”

  He studied her for a moment, then nodded once and stepped aside. Quinn followed him down a narrow hallway into a lofty room furnished with high-backed chairs and a small tea table. She took a seat as the servant departed without a word.

  She didn’t have to wait long. Lady Lysarian entered a moment later, gliding through the door in a gown so finely made it probably cost more than a faun earned in a decade. She had impeccable posture and wore a calm, neutral expression. Her level 10 was the highest level of any elf she had yet seen.

  Quinn rose awkwardly and bowed. Lady Lysarian returned the gesture with a slight inclination of her head and motioned for her to sit again.

  The servant reappeared, setting a tray of wine and cheese on the table before withdrawing.

  “Please,” said Lady Lysarian, gesturing lightly toward the refreshments.

  “No offense, my lady, but I don’t drink.” Or willingly poison myself, Quinn thought.

  She regarded her impassively. “It is considered impolite to refuse hospitality.”

  “I understand,” Quinn said. “All the same, I’m sorry.”

  Lady Lysarian inclined her head and took a measured sip from her own glass, her eyes not leaving Quinn’s face.

  “You’re punctual,” she said airily, placing her wine glass back on the tray. “I appreciate that in people who deal with…delicate matters.”

  “I’m a professional,” Quinn said, not quite knowing how to respond.

  “Yes,” she replied, her gaze flicking briefly over Quinn’s furry legs. “I can see that.”

  Quinn resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

  “As you know,” she said, a little louder than intended, “Lady Seranthe arranged this meeting to address rising tensions between your houses. She believes your alliance was mutually beneficial in the past and would like to restore that, despite a few…ah, recent misunderstandings.”

  “Misunderstandings,” Lady Lysarian echoed softly. She folded her hands in her lap and studied Quinn in silence.

  Finally, she said, “You seem to have a talent for being present when things are beginning to shift.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Quinn said, fidgeting in her seat.

  “Information has been changing hands with some speed, as of late,” said Lady Lysarian. “Odd, don’t you think? Even so, we elves do like to talk amongst ourselves. Word travels fast among our circles, as I’m sure you can imagine. And so I have no doubt who is responsible for the recent…misunderstandings, as you put it.” She gave Quinn a cold smile.

  Quinn stood abruptly, feeling a cold prickle in her chest. “If there’s nothing further—”

  “Oh, I think we both know there is.”

  A door crashed open behind them. Quinn whirled, her hands flying to the knives at her belt. She sent one hurtling across the room before she’d fully registered what was happening, aiming for whoever had just burst in. It missed, burying itself in the wooden doorway with a heavy thwonk.

  A player strolled in, a lazy grin plastered across his face as if he owned the place. Quinn recognized him instantly as the cowboy from the market. He was closely followed by a few other players she’d never seen before and a bulbous pink creature whose flesh shifted as it moved, as if its skin was boiling.

  Quinn didn’t waste time wondering what the fuck that was. She dodged behind her chair, sending two of her remaining knives flying straight at the cowboy’s face.

  He threw up a hand.

  The knives twisted in mid-air, snapping sideways as if yanked by an invisible force. They sailed into his open palm and vanished as he pulled them into his inventory. Before she could react, the remaining knives tore free from Quinn’s belt, drawn into his grasp just as easily.

  “Nice outfit,” he said, grinning.

  Quinn bolted for the door. She made it two steps before something slammed into her from the side, lifting her off her feet. She crashed into the table, glass exploding as wine splattered across the floor. Pain flared as glass tore across her arms, her health bar dropping.

  “Now, now, missy,” the cowboy said in a long drawl. “Let’s not be hasty. My friend here’s been lookin’ forward to this.”

  Quinn tried to move, but nothing happened. Her limbs refused to respond, her body locked in place as if wrapped in invisible restraints. Panic clawed up her throat, but she forced it back down.

  “I reckon you remember this here gentleman, don’t you?” the cowboy continued, throwing an arm over the pink creature and tugging it closer. Quinn could see the vague outline of a face beneath the blistered surface.

  “Vermin?” she gasped.

  The creature roared and lunged at her, but two of the cowboy’s minions grabbed him and held him back.

  “I wouldn’t use that name, if I were you,” Lady Lysarian said coolly.

  She rose slowly from her chair, smoothing her gown as though this was how most of her evenings went. “My son finds it disrespectful.”

  Quinn’s stomach dropped through the floor. Oh hells….

  “Professional, indeed,” Lady Lysarian said scornfully. She stepped over Quinn and left the room.

  The cowboy chuckled. “Go on, partner,” he said, slapping Vermin heartily on the back.

  The last thing Quinn saw before the world exploded in pain was the pink blistery creature charging right at her, fury boiling in its eyes.