In all their years of adventuring, neither Emmitt nor Leylin expected to be interrogated alongside a life-sized cake in the design of an old man with a monocle and top hat. It’s been a strange night. At the moment they are sitting on wooden chairs with their hands bound behind them and their legs strapped to those of the chairs. A cake that has been shaped in the likeness of Fitzgerald Fauntleroy McCappon stands to their left, waving with a wide grin as though welcoming everyone into this spare room. Abandoned among the many incidents that has marred the celebration, McCappon’s image is beginning to melt, as though he is aging in real time. Various other extraneous objects sit on the table nearby, including stacks of spare plates and kitchen utensils.

  Vilma eyes each of them with a hungry expression before deciding to stick to her usual harpoon. She waves it at Emmitt and Leylin in an accusatory fashion.

  “Let me explain how we are going to move forward, what will be most productive.” Her anger is cutting through her usual fa?ade, but even the expression of rage appears to be a carefully curated contortion of the face. The blood from her lip has been carefully cleaned away, leaving only a small scab. She ends up looking more manic than anything, as though taken by a sudden burst of energy after a long bout without sleep. “You have both completely overstepped your bounds. You are trespassers, you are vagrants, and you have disrupted the enjoyment of the party for our valued friends and partners. The only reason that we have been so accommodating so far is that we believe you are not working alone.”

  Leylin looks down at the ropes binding her in place, skeptical. “This is accommodating?”

  “You will only speak when spoken to.” Vilma jabs the end of the harpoon just in front of Leylin’s forehead.

  To the extent that she can still move, Leylin makes a shrugging motion, not unlike a teenager that has been reprimanded for something pointless. Emmitt is much more cautious, trying to not to provoke. He gives Leylin a look to tell her to shut up.

  Maria is on the opposite end of the room, sitting on a chair next to the stacks of dishes and utensils. She is not bound in any way, but she looks as trapped as any of them. As Vilma waves her harpoon with a furious but company-approved bloodlust, she slowly raises her hand. “Um, should I be here for this?”

  Vilma turns back to her with the same rage she afforded to Emmitt and Leylin. “, miss, have not shown yourself to be responsible enough to be left alone. I will ask that you be silent as I deal with this situation.”

  Maria nods and quietly lowers her hand. Increasingly uncomfortable, she gives an anxious look towards the door. The guards look back with a cold indifference.

  “Now, where were we?” Vilma turns back to Leylin and Emmitt.

  Emmitt continues to look as complacent as possible while Leylin focuses her attention on Maria. She appears more concerned for her than her own life, scarcely paying attention as Vilma demands for answers.

  “If you are cooperative, then we may be kinder in determining the reparations that you owe us,” Vilma tells them. “So please do not make this any more difficult. Who are you working for? The Copenholm Republican Strike Team? The Castilucian Inquisition? The adventuring guilds?”

  She waves the harpoon back and forth with each suggestion as though conducting an orchestra. Emmitt and Leylin exchange a look, thinking it over. Ultimately they both remain silent, to Vilma’s great fury.

  “I will have you know that we are being charitable in our handling of your miscreancy. Do you know how I would normally deal with trespassers? There are still other options on the table if you do not cooperate.”

  When she says that, a look of horror passes over Maria’s face. She becomes increasingly restless in the chair, fidgeting around. Her eyes track the end of Vilma’s harpoon as it comes close to the prisoners’ faces. She flinches as the door swings open, interrupting the interrogation.

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  “Maam?” A voice calls from the door. The man is wearing the white gold armor and halo sigil of Seraphim.

  “I very much hope that this is important,” Vilma tells him.

  “There has been some kind of attack in the ballroom.” Despite his Seraphim affiliation he seems to defer to Vilma’s authority, speaking carefully with an apprehensive look on his face. “They set off smoke bombs everywhere.”

  Vilma stares at the guard, then back at Emmitt and Leylin, eyes wide in frustration. Leylin can’t help but smile. “Oh man, it seems like you should really get on that.”

  “You are to be .” Vilma stabs the harpoon at Leylin’s head with full intent to kill. It comes up against an invisible barrier, curtesy of an increasingly anxious Emmitt. Vilma tries to stab her several more times, and eventually gives up in frustration. She walks back to the door, prepared to approach the situation outside. Then, as an afterthought, turns back to grab Maria by the arm and drag her out with her. “Quickly now, quickly.”

  The remaining guards follow after, with Fitzgerald McCappon in cake form to wave them out. The door slams shut, and Emmitt and Leylin are left alone.

  “Well, I’m definitely glad I punched her,” Leylin says.

  “Are you?” Emmitt asks.

  With the immediate danger gone from the room, Emmitt’s nervousness gives way to frustration, which takes Leylin a few moments to pick up. She does another shrug in the confines of her binding as he heaves a heavy sigh. “What? Don’t tell me she didn’t deserve it. It’s like she was magically engineered to have a punchable face. And personality.”

  Emmitt sighs. “There are a lot of people out there who deserve it. But that doesn’t mean you can put your team or the mission at risk. You can’t fix the world just by punching everyone you don’t like. Now we’re stuck up here while Marco and Gabriel need us.”

  “Gabriel straight up wanted to kill the woman,” Leylin says in defense.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, she said we could stuff her in a box downstairs.”

  Emmitt pauses for a moment, then shakes his head. “That’s…we should maybe address that later. But the point is that you ran in without a plan, knowing that we were outmatched, and now the mission is in jeopardy. How many people might die because we spent half the night in some backroom with melting cake person?”

  Leylin doesn’t have a great response to that. She stares at the ground with a tired expression, leaning against the force of the rope holding her in place.

  “Do you ever plan ahead?” Emmitt asks. “Do you just focus on whatever’s in front of you?”

  Leylin looks down at the tattoos along her arm, the musical notes rising and falling in a carefully composed melody. They are starting to feel out of place on her body. With her sword and shield removed, she is an awkward sight all around. “Maybe we should just focus on getting out of here, yeah?”

  “Fair enough.”

  Emmitt stands up from the chair and his ropes fall away. Leylin looks at him with surprise.

  “The guards didn’t check for invisible knives. Here, hold on.” He kneels down to mime cutting at the ropes around her wrists, then the ones around her ankles.

  Leylin takes a big stretch as she finally stands up out of the chair, letting out a big sigh that turns into a whistle. “Good now, that feels much better. Now let’s break some teeth. Or continue to sneak around. Whatever.”

  “We should join up with the others as soon as we can.”

  As Emmitt speaks, the door swings open. Emmitt raises an invisible sword while Leylin grabs a cake knife off of the table. They are ready to strike as Marco steps into view with a worried expression, swords raised.

  “Is everyone alright?” Marco asks. “Are the guards still around?”

  Emmitt has a relieved smile as he lowers his hands. “No, we pretty much took care of everything.”

  Leylin lowers her knife as well, striking a casual pose. “Yup, you’re a little late actually. Not really much help.” She takes a slice out of cake McCappon’s arm and slides it into her mouth.

  Marco is unable to see the humor in the situation, almost looking a little hurt by their nonchalance. He regards Emmitt with an uncertain expression before taking out a familiar two-pronged sword and brass shield off of his back, which he offers to Leylin. “I got your equipment back, but I suppose you were going to handle that yourself as well.”

  Leylin graciously accepts his gifts. “It was on the list.”

  Still fuming, Marco peers into the hallway, watching the chaos unfold on both levels of the building. The smoke seems to have largely dissipated, but the guards are still trying to keep a lid on the sense of panic amongst the guests. He turns back. “We should meet up with Gabriel. I have a feeling we won’t be able to wander around this place much longer.”

  “Agreed,” Emmitt says. “Did you find anything while looking around?”

  “Nothing very useful.”

  Marco and Emmitt have their weapons drawn, visible or otherwise, and are prepared to step into the hallway. As Leylin straps the shield to her arm, something occurs to her. She puts out a hand to stop them.

  “The astronomer.”