Thomas stepped through the doors of the tailor shop and stopped dead. A long table ran down the center of the room, buried under bolts of fabric—rich wools, shimmering silks, crisp linens, and cottons in every color he could name and a dozen more he couldn’t. The air smelled faintly of cedar and new cloth.

  An older gentleman with silver-rimmed glasses and the calm authority of a man who had measured half the world approached, looking Thomas up and down like he was already seeing the finished product.

  “Welcome to my shop,” the tailor said. “From all the chatter flying around, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But that’s not my job, is it?” His eyes twinkled. “My job is to make you look like the honor that’s due you is already yours. And it is due, young man—for the honor you’ve shown others. Stand still.”

  Thomas obeyed. The tailor—Gold, Eric had called him—moved with quiet efficiency, tape measure flashing as he recorded chest, arms, waist, inseam, shoulders, neck. Every few seconds he murmured a number or gave a thoughtful hum.

  When he finished, Gold stepped back and smiled. “Basics done. Now colors.” He raised his voice just enough to carry. “Mary? Once we settle on palette, run these numbers over to Mickelson. Tell him we need full outfitting—school clothes, weekend clothes, outdoor gear, whatever he thinks a growing gentleman requires. Isaac Jacob authorized everything. And don’t forget good bags.”

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  He turned to the fabrics again, then glanced at Eric. “What do you think for the suit? Something that makes people sit up and notice?”

  Eric grinned. “Strong impression. Absolutely. When we’re done, no one’s going to recognize the kid we walked in with.”

  Right on cue the door opened again and Mickelson strode in, already loaded with shopping bags.

  “So this is the man of the hour,” he said, setting the bags down. “If anything doesn’t suit you, we swap it. But I think these match the man Eric and the others already see in you.”

  Thomas opened his mouth—some reflex protest rising—but Eric lifted a hand.

  “No,” Eric said firmly. “Don’t do that ‘I don’t deserve it’ thing. Not today. When someone offers help, the kindest thing you can do—the strongest thing—is let them help. Accept the service.”

  Gold nodded like that was the most natural truth in the world. “So,” he asked gently, “shall we have you back in two hours for the first fitting, or would you rather knock out the optometrist now and come straight here after?”

  “I’m taking him for an eye exam,” Eric said.

  Gold’s smile widened. “Smart. If Jacob comes looking, I’ll point him that way.”

  Thomas looked from one face to the other—three men who had decided, without asking his permission, that he was worth the effort. Something warm and terrifying loosened in his chest.

  He managed a quiet, “Thank you,” that didn’t feel like nearly enough.

  Gold just waved it off and reached for a bolt of midnight-blue wool that seemed to drink the light. “Thank us by wearing it well, young man. Now go get those eyes fixed before you walk into any more doors.”