Aurelien is the first to stir. Morning light filters through the curtains, casting soft gold over the room. Risa blinks awake not long after, and with a shared glance, they agree to let the boys sleep in a little longer. Quiet as whispers, they slip out and head downstairs for breakfast.

  The inn’s dining area is already alive with the clatter of dishes and warm smells of baked bread and herbal tea. Aurelien and Risa tuck into a light meal, sharing a few words between bites. Once they’ve finished, Aurelien dabs her lips with a napkin and signals the innkeeper. “Would you kindly prepare breakfast for the boys? Please prepare an extra portion, as they have a big appetite.”

  Moments later, Aurelien stands outside the door, knocking gently. “Finn, Nyx, Cassius. Are you awake now? I’ve asked the innkeeper to send breakfast to your room shortly.”

  Finn’s voice replies through the door, calm and alert. “We’re all awake now. Please, come in.”

  Aurelien opens the door to find Finn and Nyx already dressed and seated, with Nyx even reading a book in his hands. Cassius is still nestled under the covers but his eyes are open, blinking at the morning light.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Aurelien greets, with Risa echoing behind her.

  Aurelien crosses the room and sits beside Cassius’s bed, gently lifting the edge of his sleeve to examine his arm. “Your wounds are healing nicely.”

  A voice from outside calls, “Sirs and Madams, your breakfasts are here.”

  Risa steps forward, raising her voice. “Just leave it outside. We’ll fetch it in a moment!”

  Once the waiter’s footsteps fade, she pulls the door open and wheels in a small trolley laden with covered plates, the smell of warm food instantly filling the room.

  “Eat up! It’s on Madam Aurelien,” Risa grins, lifting the lid of a plate with a flourish.

  Nyx and Cassius waste no time. They attack their meals with the wild energy of boys who have waited too long to eat, Cassius shovelling in food with reckless abandon while Nyx keeps pace, his manners just a shade more refined. Finn, meanwhile, savours each bite, chewing with care and catching the sideways glances the other two throw his way.

  “What?” he says, brow raised. “I’m hungry too.” He turns his back to them, shielding his plate protectively as he continues to eat.

  Aurelien chuckles. “Risa, could you fetch more food for our little gluttons?”

  Risa smirks and disappears downstairs, returning shortly after with a second helping and a wink.

  When everyone finishes, Aurelien folds her hands. Her voice is quiet but firm. “I’ve decided to buy back Evelyn’s pawned belongings from Maunther.”

  Finn gives a slight nod. “You’ve made up your mind, then.”

  At the mention of Maunther, Cassius stiffens. His fingers curl into fists. “Before my grandma passed… she sent you a letter. A message pigeon carried it. Did you… not get it?”

  The worry in his voice stings more than the words themselves.

  Aurelien’s face falters. “No. I didn’t. If I’d received it, I’d have come much sooner. I’m so sorry, child. I was too late.”

  Cassius bites his lip, trying to hold something back. “Grandma told me to wait in the house. I waited. I thought… I thought someone would come…”

  Aurelien draws him into her arms. His small frame trembles against her as she embraces him, her voice raw. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone. You’ve been so brave.”

  The others remain silent, the air heavy with things unspoken.

  Eventually, Cassius pulls back, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. His voice is quieter now. “They sent me to the orphanage after taking the house. I tried to run away… but I was caught by tra… traffic…"

  “By traffickers?” Risa asks gently.

  He nods. “They sold me to the circus. That’s how I ended up there.”

  He says it simply, but the weight behind his words is thunderous. The room falls still. Aurelien reaches for his hand and holds it, pressing her other hand gently atop his to give comfort, strength—anything he needs.

  Risa’s gaze sharpens. “What about the circus? They’ll notice he’s missing by now.”

  “They will,” Finn says. He turns to Cassius. “How exactly did the traffickers catch you?”

  “They caught me when I slipped out through a side gate.”

  “But how did they know you’d try to escape that day?” Finn presses. “Did you tell anyone your plan?”

  “No. Never.”

  Finn frowns. “Then maybe they were waiting. The traffickers might have been watching you all along.”

  He pauses, thinking aloud. “Here’s what I think: the traffickers were targeting Cassius from the moment he entered the orphanage. They caught and sold him to the circus, probably fetched a good price because of his uniqueness.”

  Risa leans forward. “So what do we do? Hide him? Smuggle him out of Pantmawr?”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “That won’t stop them from coming after him again,” Finn replies. “And buying him back? That would cost a fortune—one we don’t have.”

  Cassius lowers his gaze, shoulders tensing. They’ve only just met. He doesn’t expect them to go that far for him.

  But Finn isn’t done. “Or… we track down the traffickers and hand them, and even the buyers, over to the knights."

  “That’s more like it!” Risa grins. “Let’s shut down the whole operation.”

  Aurelien nods, her voice firm. “It’s the only way to ensure Cassius’s safety. But… how do we begin?”

  Finn doesn’t answer straight away. He needs more intel.

  Later that night.

  The tavern is alive with noise. Laughter, shouting, clinking mugs. Finn sits alone at a table near the corner, nursing a cheap ale, eyes sharp beneath his hood.

  Five men cluster around the table beside his. Their voices are raised, dulled only slightly by the tavern’s chaos.

  “Oh, finally a break! That damned ‘Belly’ nearly drove me mad!” one says, downing his drink.

  “That oaf’s been on edge since yesterday. Don’t know what crawled up his arse!”

  Cassius’s escape, Finn thinks. ‘The Belly’ had noticed he was missing.

  “He’s been tearing our rehearsals apart!” another grumbles.

  “Shh!” a third warns. “What if he or his wife is nearby?”

  “Heh,” the man smirks. “No chance. He’s likely at the betting house by now, and Lady Vex? Probably soaking in her stupid gemstone tub.”

  The conversation veers into vulgar gossip. Finn tunes them out and slips away, satisfied.

  The next day. Maunther’s pawnshop.

  The counter gleams under polished brass light. They’ve agreed on almost everything, but one final matter remains.

  Finn, standing with arms folded, plays negotiator. “There’s one thing Madam Aurelien isn’t pleased about.”

  Maunther crosses his arms. “Fifty thousand is the best I can do. Any lower and I’ll be out of business.”

  “It’s not about the price,” Finn says, patting his shoulder—though he barely reaches it on his toes. “It’s about the boy you threw out.”

  Yorik bristles. “That wasn’t us!”

  “I know. But Madam Aurelien worries about the boy and his condition.”

  “I’d help if I could,” Maunther replies. “But I’ve no idea what happened to him.”

  “We’ve got intel. The circus is holding him, but freeing him won’t be easy.”

  Finn leans in, lowering his voice. “So here’s the deal. You and Yorik help us pull off a performance. If you pull it off, we can raise the price to fifty-five thousand.”

  Maunther squints. “We’re not actors.”

  “You don’t need to be,” Finn grins. “It’s your forte.”

  Elsewhere.

  Felix (no longer Finn for now) sits hunched over a poker table thick with bodies and bad decisions. The room is low-ceilinged and reeking of smoke, the air so dense it clings to his clothes like damp fog. Voices rise and fall in a jumble of cackles, curses, and drunken cheers. Smoke coils from his fake moustache, curling lazily into the air until it disappears into the haze above the table and merges with the fog floating above the crowd.

  Across from him, a stone-faced dealer distributes cards with mechanical precision, sliding them across the felt to eager hands. The moment a player taps the table or gives a sharp nod, another card is dealt without a word.

  Felix, dressed like a man who belongs here, blends in effortlessly. No one questions his presence since he’s been here for three straight days, and the regulars already know his face, or at least the one he’s wearing.

  It’s also his third losing streak.

  But if the mounting losses bother him, he doesn’t show it. Each time his stack dwindles to crumbs, he just chuckles dryly, throws his arms wide, and bellows, “I’ll win it back in the next game!” before shoving his remaining chips into the pot like a man chasing ghosts.

  Sometimes, by sheer luck, he does win. But more often than not, he loses. And that makes him a favourite among the house dealers: a dependable source of income, a walking pot of gold for the betting house.

  Today, though, fortune is particularly cruel. Within a handful of rounds, he’s emptied his stash entirely. His chair scrapes back with a screech as he rises, arms flailing in frustration.

  “Why is my luck so bloody awful today?” he complains, drawing attention. “I lost everything in just a few rounds!”

  He turns on the other players, barking insults none of them takes seriously, for which they’ve seen this performance countless times before, and then he makes for the door in dramatic haste.

  Just as his fingers brush the handle, a smooth voice calls out behind him.

  “Sir, perhaps you’d like to play a few more rounds?”

  A man in a trim black suit, hair slicked back with a mirror finish, steps in his path and clasps Felix’s arm with a practised gentleness.

  Felix narrows his eyes. “You offering to pay for me?” His tone is half-amused, half-annoyed.

  The man flashes a smile that’s all teeth and calculation. “Indeed, sir. We’re more than happy to keep our valued patrons entertained.”

  “Oh? And I suppose I only need to repay a small amount of interest?”

  The man’s smile widens. “Exactly. Just a teeny-tiny bit.”

  Felix arches a brow. “How teeny-tiny are we talking?”

  “Come,” the man gestures across the smoke-filled hall. “Our counter is just over there.”

  “Let me guess,” Felix says, already moving. “You’re a bloody usurer.”

  The man places a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “The term is credit facilitator. But yes, I am. You may call me Tomick. Need funds? The Gilded Fang always delivers the best bargain!”

  Felix snorts, bemused. “Then let’s see this so-called bargain.”

  Tomick leads him through a side door, away from the chaos and into a dimly lit room that smells faintly of leather and money. A bulky, sun-tanned man in tinted glasses approaches. His hair is just as slick as Tomick’s, and he grabs Felix’s hand in a hearty shake.

  “Welcome to the Gilded Fang,” he purrs, voice oozing with false warmth. “Where a little debt goes a long way.” He winks, and Felix fights the urge to shudder.

  It’s Risa’s handiwork that keeps them hidden. Her talent with makeup and disguise has turned both of them into completely different, unrecognisable people, unless someone looks far too closely.

  A man named Mathur steps forward, lugging a bag heavy with chips, then passes it to Felix. They sit in silence for a few minutes, letting the illusion settle, then Felix rises once more. This time with weight in his step and a glint in his eye.

  He returns to the poker table with the swagger of a man reborn, tossing the bag onto the table with a loud thud. Chips spill out in a colourful cascade.

  “Dealer,” he says coolly, sinking back into his seat, “give me cards.”

  A portly man with a thick moustache seated beside him eyes the chips, squinting through the haze.

  “Oi, mate,” he grunts. “Where’d you get that kind of money?”

  Felix turns slowly to face him. The corner of his mouth curls upward.

  Got him.