The path forked into three trails—none of which looked remotely like the sketch on their map.

  "Alright. It's this one," Trey announced with absolute confidence.

  Luna groaned. "You said that ten minutes ago."

  "Yes, and confidence," he said, guiding his horse forward, "is half of navigation."

  "The other half is knowing where you're going."

  He turned the parchment upside down, squinting.

  "Hm. Maybe the mapmaker was an optimist."

  "Maybe you're holding it wrong."

  "Impossible. Lancaster men are born with a perfect sense of direction."

  Luna snorted so loudly that both horses twitched.

  "You got lost inside the school building once."

  "The architecture is confusing!" he protested.

  Duskveil stomped, Nightwind snorted as if agreeing with her.

  "See?" Luna said, smirking. "Even the horses think you're wrong. I'm choosing the next turn."

  "Fine. But if we end up in another swamp, I'm naming it after you."

  "I'll drown you in it."

  She rolled her eyes and nudged Duskveil forward down the left trail.

  After hours of wrong turns and Trey's confidence wearing thin, they finally emerged onto a path curving through a sea of golden rye. A farmhouse waited at the far edge, haloed by the setting sun.

  "Okay, how did that path bring us here?" Luna asked, staring at the field. "It's completely wrong—and somehow still right."

  "Because Lancaster is the navigator," Trey said proudly.

  "That's what I'm afraid of."

  Before he could reply, a rough voice called out from the field.

  "Map? What map?"

  Trey blinked as a broad-shouldered man with gray-streaked hair limped toward them—his leg in a cast, yet moving with surprising speed for someone half-broken. Trey quickly dismounted.

  "This one!" he said brightly, handing over the mission slip—and the folded map.

  The man took both, eyes narrowing at the official Starshade stamp... and then widening at the ridiculous doodle beside it. Silence. Then his face turned crimson.

  "THOMAS!"

  A boy's voice echoed from the farmhouse. "Yeah, Pa?"

  "Did you enclose your brother's treasure map in that guild request again?!"

  "...It looked more interesting."

  "For the love of—there is no treasure buried in this neighborhood! You've sent the guards on a wild chase through half the valley!"

  He turned to them, mortified. "I'm so sorry. My boys think every hollow tree hides gold. You must've been chasing their nonsense for hours."

  "Only three wrong turns and a swamp detour," Trey said cheerfully.

  "And a goose," Luna added.

  "...You fought a goose?"

  "It won," Trey admitted solemnly.

  The farmer dragged a hand down his face, muttering something inaudible. Then he eyed them again—really looked.

  "So you're the Starshade guards they sent? You look a bit young to be useful."

  "Said the man who lets his kids send fake maps in official requests," Trey shot back.

  The old man blinked, opened his mouth, then sighed. "Fine. Not like I've got other options." He tapped his cast. "I'm Kendrick, owner of this farm."

  "I'm Trey Landers, and this is Luna Atkins, from Starshade, sir."

  "Stable your horses. We started harvesting yesterday, threshing now. You'll guard the farm till the merchants arrive. My wife will show you around."

  He pointed his cane toward a small stable and hobbled away.

  "Trey Landers?" Luna said once he was out of earshot.

  "Oh—that's my disguise," Trey replied smoothly, barely hiding a grin.

  "What do you mean disguise? You just told him my real name!"

  "Lesson one, partner—know when to lie."

  "You're unbelievable."

  "And yet," he said, "here you are—believing me anyway."

  When they reached the stable, a sturdy woman with a flour-dusted apron and cheeks pink from oven heat approached, her face lighting in a smile so warm it nearly matched the sunset behind her. She wiped her hands on her apron before offering each of them a firm handshake.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "You two must be exhausted after the trouble my boys put you through."

  "I'll take half the blame for not realizing the map had dragons on it, ma'am," Trey said, matching her smile.

  "What a delightful young man! I'm sure you'll do just fine here. Normally my husband handles patrols himself, but sadly—yeah, you probably noticed the leg, huh?—well, you should start working at dusk. I'll show you around, then fetch you something to eat."

  "I'll save you the trouble, ma'am," Trey replied, surprisingly serious. "Looks like you've got plenty on your hands already. We'll scout the area before sunset and start our shift after. Just tell us what to expect."

  "Well then," she said with a nod of approval, "we've got a big patch of rye already harvested. The animals are in the barn—the oxen and the hens. Bandits've been sniffin' around lately—easy pickin's during harvest. They go for the grain, not the people, but it ruins us all the same."

  She pointed toward the tall silo beside the barn. "So that's your main post—the silo. Our whole year's work is in there. Guard it well; the rest doesn't matter as much for now. The merchants will come in two days. Until then, don't let anyone near it."

  When Mrs. Kendrick disappeared toward the farmhouse, Luna turned to Trey, worry flickering across her face.

  "Trey... what do I even do if bandits show up? I barely scraped through basic combat."

  Trey replied, grinning.

  "Relax. You're with Trey Lancaster— I mean Landers— professional hero."

  "That's exactly why I'm worried." Luna folded her arms. "Didn't you promise Mr. Cornwall you were training me?"

  "Right—and what better training than real field practice?" he said, eyes glinting. "If they show up, I'll let you take the lead."

  "You'll what?"

  He bent, eyes sparkling, grabbed a nearby hoe, and handed it to her with mock ceremony.

  "Your weapon, madam trainee. I'll jump in if you start losing limbs."

  "Appreciated," she said dryly. "Truly."

  The sun sagged low when Trey led Luna along the fence, boots crunching over stubble from the cut rye. Beyond the fields, rows of barley stood half-green and rustling — the Kendricks' next crop, Trey explained between stretches of nonsense.

  "Rule one of patrol," he began, sweeping his arm like a commander unveiling a grand strategy, "never step in anything that squishes."

  "That's... your first rule?" Luna asked.

  "Absolutely. Trust me, you don't recover your dignity after losing a boot to a cow pie."

  He nudged a patch of mud with his boot. "Anyway, actual rule one—watch the edges. Bandits don't charge through the middle; they skirt the outer lines. See that barley? Perfect cover once it's taller."

  He pointed toward a low ditch near the barn. "And that? Soft ground, easy to crawl through. If I were a thief, that's where I'd start."

  "Noted," Luna said, impressed despite herself. "And here I thought you just guessed which direction trouble comes from."

  "Oh, I do," Trey said cheerfully. "But I've got a very accurate guessing system."

  He crouched, inspecting scuffed soil near the fence posts. "Someone's been walking here—lighter than Kendrick, heavier than the kids. Probably just a neighbor cutting through."

  She watched him work, realization flickering behind her eyes. He actually knows what he's doing.

  Trey stood, dusting his hands. "Come on, let's get our headquarters lit before we freeze."

  They circled the silo, hanging lanterns on the posts and ladder rungs. Golden light pooled across the ground, pushing back the deepening dusk. By the time they finished, the farmhouse windows glowed in the distance.

  Mrs. Kendrick appeared at the edge of the yard, apron corners fluttering in the wind. "Brought you some supper, dears!" she called, setting down a basket near the ladder.

  "Bless you, ma'am!" Trey shouted back.

  "Don't eat it all at once!"

  "No promises!"

  He winked at Luna. "That's what I call morale support."

  They climbed the narrow ladder, Trey carrying the basket, Luna balancing the hoe in one hand. From the top, the world spread out like a painted map—dark barn roofs, silvered fields, and the far tree line swallowed in shadow.

  Trey hung a lantern on a hook near the railing. "Best seat in Valebridge," he said, settling down cross-legged. "We can see anyone coming."

  Luna sat beside him, the night air already cooling. They unpacked the basket—bread, cheese, a jar of honey, and two little mugs for cider.

  "This is... nice," she admitted.

  "Careful, Atkins," he said. "Say it too loud, the goose will appear."

  "Still traumatized?"

  "Haunted."

  They ate, trading quiet jokes between mouthfuls. The lantern's light barely reached their faces, leaving just glimmers—his grin when he teased her, the gleam of her eyes when she rolled them. Beyond that, only the chorus of crickets and the soft hum of wind around the silo.

  When she finally pulled her jacket tighter, Trey noticed and, without a word, unwound his scarf and draped it around her shoulders.

  "You'll catch cold," he said. "And if you die, I have to fill out paperwork."

  Luna sighed but didn't give it back. "Always so selfless."

  "Heroism is my curse."

  The fields whispered below. The lantern swayed gently. For the rest of the night, they kept their silent watch, only the faint glow painting half-faces and the sense—unspoken but certain—that this was the kind of calm that never lasts.

  No bandits came that night. Only the quiet, and the steady heartbeat of crickets in the dark.

  Dawn rolled over the farm in a wash of pale gold. The first rooster had barely finished crowing when Trey flicked a piece of straw at Luna's face.

  "Rise and shine, rookie. We survived the night. You may applaud."

  Luna blinked, blearily adjusting the scarf he'd forced on her. "It's morning already?"

  "Tragically, yes. I recommend we celebrate with food before we collapse somewhere soft."

  They climbed down from the silo. Mrs. Kendrick was already by the farmhouse, sleeves rolled, apron dusted white. She waved a wooden spoon like a general greeting her troops.

  "Well, look who's still alive," she said, smiling. "Come eat before you fall over."

  Trey didn't need a second invitation. They ate fresh bread and eggs at a makeshift table outside, listening to the wind hum through the empty rye field.

  "Barn loft's warm," Mrs. Kendrick said. "You can rest there till afternoon. My boys are helping their pa, so you'll have peace."

  "Peace," Trey sighed contentedly. "A word I don't hear often."

  They slept through half the day, curled on piles of hay in the loft. Luna stirred once when a hen clucked below them. Trey's hand dangled over the ledge. She debated whether to wake him—then the hen solved it by pecking his knuckles.

  Trey shot up with a muffled yelp. Luna pretended to snore, but her lips betrayed a smile.

  When they finally rose, the air outside had the warm, dusty scent of late afternoon. Mr. Kendrick asked Trey to check a section of the outer fence that had come loose in the wind. It became another impromptu 'training walk.'

  "Lesson two," Trey announced, hammering a nail back into place, "always fix things before you need them."

  Luna squinted at him. "That's... surprisingly wise."

  "Tragic, isn't it? If I keep this up, you'll start thinking I'm competent."

  They followed the fence line toward the west side of the farm, where the barley grew uneven in greenish-gold waves. Trey crouched suddenly near the ditch and brushed away some dirt with the back of his hand.

  Luna leaned closer. "What is it?"

  "Footprints." His voice dropped its usual levity. "Fresh. Not Kendrick's size—and not from this morning."

  She stiffened. "Bandits?"

  "Maybe. Or travelers who didn't fancy the road." He studied the impressions a moment longer. "Either way, you're on a training mission, so—lesson three."

  He rose, pointing toward the trees that rimmed the field. "Always check where the prints lead, not where they start. Bandits rarely walk straight; they circle to test how alert you are."

  Luna followed the faint marks until they vanished under patches of grass. "You think they were scouting?"

  "Could be. They didn't come close to the silo, though. Probably watching the field first."

  He straightened, brushing dust from his hands. "So tonight, we double the light on this side. And maybe," he added, glancing up at the lowering sun, "we keep our dinner within sprinting distance this time."

  Luna gave him a sidelong look. "You actually take this seriously when you want to."

  "Scandalous, isn't it? Don't tell Francis—he thinks I only function on sarcasm."

  She smirked. "I think he's right."

  "Maybe. But let's keep you alive long enough to file your disagreement."