The fire roared toward the beaters, flames licking at their boots, and Roman shrieked like a little girl who lost her doll.

  No, Kael thought. That’s an insult to little girls everywhere.

  He and Yuri exploded forward. Chaos followed.

  Kael moved like a weapon unsheathed—fists, elbows, knees—while Yuri smashed the remaining bottles against two beaters’ heads. Glass shattered. Flames surged. The men ran screaming, covered in fire. The air filled with the stink of burning hair and cooked flesh.

  The others faltered, exchanged looks. Prey animals—brave only in packs. Without numbers, they backed away.

  Roman scrambled backward on his hands and heels, crab-walking like a panicked rodent. His tailored suit caught on a nail and tore. He hit the wall and screamed again.

  Kael stalked toward him, the fire casting dancing shadows across his scarred face. He dropped to one knee, leaned in, and smiled.

  Roman went pale, sweat pouring down his face.

  “Roman, Roman…” Kael said, almost gently. “We’ve got a meeting to get to. And I’m here to make sure you don’t miss it.”

  The fire was spreading fast now, licking up the walls, illuminating the room in flickering orange light. Roman whimpered, his mustache drooping from the heat.

  “What are you going to do to me?” he choked.

  Kael stood, hauled him to his feet.

  Yuri stepped in on the other side, looping Roman’s arm around his shoulder like he was escorting a dazed bride down the aisle.

  Outside, a crowd had gathered—half-dressed men and women, faces glowing with awe and fear. The fire surged inside the building but stopped abruptly at the threshold. Glyphs pulsed faintly across the foundation, holding the blaze in check.

  Containment runes. Expensive. Legal requirement.

  Beaters approached from both sides. The trio turned to face them.

  Roman thrashed. “What are you doing?! Get me away from these maniacs!”

  The crowd parted as a hulking man stepped forward. Scarred, massive, with arms like tree trunks and a face carved from broken stone.

  “You set Terry and Bill on fire,” he growled, voice like gravel in a barrel.

  Beater muscle. Not part of Sly Fox, just enforcers.

  Kael met his gaze without flinching, then reached into his coat and tossed him the heavy coin pouch. It landed with a clink in the big man’s hand.

  “Hazard pay,” Kael said flatly. “Take the two crispy ones to the Sisters. Tell them I sent you—they’ll handle the burns.”

  The big man grunted. “And the rest of the guards?”

  Kael gestured casually toward the smoldering bar.

  “Fire suppression glyphs around the back. Mandatory for any place serving liquor or spirits. They’ll be fine. Long as they didn’t breathe too much smoke.”

  The man nodded once—slow, thoughtful. He stepped aside.

  Kael and Yuri walked forward, Roman still dangling between them, coughing in panic.

  The fire blazed behind them, but the street was silent.

  Everyone watched.

  Yuri couldn’t help himself.

  “Think we’ve got time to grab something to eat? I’m famished.”

  Kael thought back to his last meal, which felt like a lifetime ago.

  “Yeah. Let’s grab something.”

  Roman shuffled between them, looking lost, small, and very afraid.

  As the trio wound their way through the twisting streets of Brassreach, the first light of dawn spilled across the cobbles, painting them in hues of molten gold. Faint glyphs etched into the stone began to stir—blinking awake, one by one—each absorbing the sun’s radiance, like breath after a long night. They dodged a wooden wagon drawn by horses retrofitted with long handles for people to drag by hand, draped in green blankets, each one smelling sweetly, traders covered in rode dust riding on them, trying to get the cart to market.

  Overhead, Solanir, the Flamefather, began his steady march across the sky once more—bringing light, warmth, and that ever-crucial mana the realms depended on.

  One by one, the mage lamps lining the roads flickered and dimmed, their amber glow surrendering to the rising dawn, fading into silence.

  The city was waking up.

  Shops opened one by one, metal grates clinking up. Hawkers stirred behind their carts. Pikeys patrolled the lanes in crisp blue uniforms, sharp-pointed helmets glinting, polished boots slapping on the stone.

  One squad looked their way. Kael and Yuri tightened their grip on Roman’s wrists. Subtle. But enough. Roman got the message.

  Even he knew what happened to beaters who talked to pikeys.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  And it was a hell of a lot worse than what Kael and Yuri had done today.

  Yuri exhaled deeply as they crossed the old bridge toward the harbor. Below, the docks stretched out like a rusted spine, buildings on stilts clinging to the edges and underside like barnacles.

  The Iron District.

  The Ironbound.

  My district, Kael thought, breathing in the salt from the Sea of Sorrows.

  A voice called out from across the street.

  “Hey, Kael! Busy night?”

  Merry stood in front of The Tangled, the tavern they called home more often than not. Busty, bright-eyed, and far too smart for the city.

  Kael smiled. “Nothing too crazy. Just a bit of cleanup. Gutter scum, you know.”

  Merry stepped forward, blocking their path, and gently cupped Kael’s face in her hands, searching his eyes.

  “When’s the last time you ate?” she asked. “You’re not getting past me until you sit down, have a pint, and tell me everything.”

  Kael didn’t argue.

  “You coming in, or do I have to drag you?”

  Yuri grinned. “Merry, you’re an angel sent straight from the heavens. I’m parched just looking at you.”

  Merry gave him a glare sharp enough to gut a boar.

  “One more word and you’re drinking outside.”

  She led them in. Roman looked deeply uncomfortable, sweat soaking through his once-perfect suit.

  The Tangled was warm, inviting—low-lit with thick wooden beams, worn floorboards, and a wide deck out back that extended over the water. Merry brought them out there, past the regulars who knew better than to make eye contact when Kael was working.

  She sat them at a table in the sun and ignored Roman completely.

  “Kael,” she said, already heading for the kitchen. “Usual? Beer and that stew we’ve been slow-cooking since dawn? Carrots, beef, tomatoes… and that red sauce you like?”

  Kael gave her a grateful nod. “Sounds perfect.”

  “I’ll have a—” Yuri started.

  “You’ll have my foot in your mouth if you say another word,” Merry shot back over her shoulder.

  Yuri slumped, heartbroken. He looked like a kicked dog in a rainstorm.

  Kael chuckled, watching Merry work. She moved with ease—yellow dress, white apron, sapphire eyes with just a touch too much weight behind them. She’d seen more of the world than most. Still kept going.

  Kael leaned back in his chair and let the morning sun wash over his face, his scars. The breeze off the sea carried the scent of brine and smoke. He closed his eyes.

  Peace. For a moment.

  A scrape of wood broke the silence. Kael opened one eye to see Yuri dragging Roman back into his seat.

  “Bit early for a swim, yeah?” Yuri quipped, smiling like a fox.

  Roman said nothing. He was pale, and sweating under the rising sun like it was judgment day.

  Merry returned, setting down a steaming bowl of stew in front of Kael, a big hunk of bread, and a cold mug of beer. One for Kael. One for Yuri.

  Nothing for Roman.

  “Merry, darling, you forgot—” Yuri began.

  Merry raised a fist under his nose. “Forgot? I didn’t forget shit.”

  Then, finally, she turned her eyes to Roman.

  It was the first time she acknowledged him. And her look could have shattered Yuri’s heart into dust.

  “This him?” she asked, low.

  Kael looked into her eyes, serious now, and gave a single nod.

  Merry nodded back and, without breaking eye contact with Roman, placed a mug in front of him. Then she spat in it.

  Merry brought her own bowl and beer, settling into the seat beside Kael. He could feel the warmth of her leg through the fabric of his trousers—close, close enough to notice. Then she scooted her chair even nearer, the scrape soft but deliberate. She dipped her spoon into his stew, gently blew on it, and took a bite like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Roman blinked. Confused. Absolutely baffled.

  Kael started eating. Calm, casual. Across the table, Yuri attempted to inhale an entire loaf of bread and a bowl of stew at the same time. His jaw was working like a siege engine as crumbs exploded in every direction.

  Roman eyed the mug in front of him, sweat pouring off his forehead. He sniffed the contents. Cringed. But drank it anyway.

  The reaction was immediate. He spat it out in a violent spray.

  “What in tarnation?!” Roman squawked, startling a few of the other patrons.

  Merry smiled sweetly.

  “Salt water,” she said. “For pond scum like you.”

  Roman paled further. The smell of fear was practically radiating off him.

  Kael watched Merry eat. Watched the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before leaning across him to reach his bowl again. Her body brushed his. Close. Too close. Her perfume trailing behind her—sweet, floral, just a little wild. He felt it all the way down to his bones.

  She didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she did.

  Her eyes met his. Held.

  Kael didn’t move. Neither did she.

  Across the table, Yuri blustered, coughed, and started choking on something—probably his own poor life choices—but Kael barely registered the noise.

  “How are things?” he asked, still watching her. “The toughs keeping the peace?”

  Merry leaned back slightly, spooned another bite of stew, and blew on it before answering.

  “They’re doing great,” she said. “Since you started giving your hounds a purpose, they’ve really stepped up. Stopping fights. Catching pickpockets. Cleaning up the streets like you told them to.”

  She took another bite and smiled faintly.

  “Doing a hell of a better job than those fucking pikeys.”

  “Good,” Kael said, taking another bite. “Let me know if any of them step out of line. I know a lot of the beaters like to stop here during their patrols.”

  He took a sip from his beer. “How about the donation boxes? They working out?”

  Merry looked at him, and her face lit up with a bright, genuine smile.

  “They’ve been fantastic. I didn’t know what you were thinking when you set them up—or why you asked the businesses to toss in leftover food—but it’s working.”

  She leaned forward, elbows on the table, the sun catching the warmth in her skin.

  “Dora and Sam? They’ve been making extra batches of bread and pastries just to contribute. People are actually talking, Kael. They feel… proud. Safe. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  She shook her head, a bit in awe.

  “I mean, I’ve never heard of a beater doing what you’ve done for a district. No gambling rings, no brothels, trade is up, and the streets? Cleaner than they’ve ever been.”

  Her long lashes fluttered slightly as she looked at him, tone soft but certain.

  “Honestly? It’s pretty amazing.”

  Before Kael could respond, Roman moved.

  Fast—desperate.

  He lunged across the table, hand snatching for the spoon like he meant to drive it into Kael’s eye.

  Three fists struck him simultaneously—Kael, Merry, and Yuri moved as one. Roman was launched backward, crashing off his stool and sprawling onto the deck with a heavy grunt.

  Yuri stood, walked over casually, and picked him up by the collar.

  He plopped him back on the stool like a misbehaving child.

  “Rude, man,” Yuri muttered, brushing dust off Roman’s shoulder. “People are talking. We’re busy.”

  He looked him dead in the eye.

  “You pull that shit again, I’ll break both your knees and your ankles. You can crawl the rest of the way to your meeting.”

  “Roman,” Kael said calmly, his voice low and even. “You’re in my district now. There are no Pikeys here. No beaters I don’t own. No Sly Fox Syndicate pulling the strings.”

  He leaned forward, letting each word sink in like a weight.

  “You know why you’re here. You know what you did to Rachel.”

  Roman blinked, confused, then scoffed.

  “Wait… this is about that whore? Not the drugs? Not the smuggling route?” He laughed, a harsh, choking sound. “You’re crazy. You’re risking bringing the whole Syndicate down on your heads over some—”

  He didn’t finish.

  Merry’s fist struck his throat with a sickening thud. Roman gagged, doubling over, struggling for air.

  She stepped forward, eyes burning.

  “Rachel is a waitress,” she said coldly. “She hasn’t worked in a brothel in years. She’s not your property. She never was.”

  Roman wheezed, still gasping, his face going red.

  Merry didn’t stop. She grabbed his hand, pressed her fingers around one of his own, and looked him dead in the eye.

  “You’re not being dragged to a back alley to vanish,” she said. “You’re being taken to face justice. Our justice. So let me be the first…”

  Snap.

  Roman screamed as his finger bent the wrong way.

  “…to properly welcome you to the neighborhood.”