Doc stirred at the sound of measured footsteps approaching his door, followed by a polite but firm knock. His ribs protested as he sat up—a sharp reminder of the golem battle two days ago. Fish lifted her head from the foot of his bed, violet patterns rippling across her dark fur as she assessed the visitor.

  “Doc?” Edda’s voice carried through the wooden door. “Are you awake?”

  He pulled on his shirt, wincing at the movement. “Coming.”

  When he opened the door, Edda stood in the corridor wearing her usual composed expression, though he caught a hint of anticipation in her eyes.

  “There’s a meeting,” she said without preamble. “You should be there.”

  Doc nodded, stepping into the hallway. Fish padded after him, her claws clicking softly on the stone floor. “What’s it about?”

  “Trade expedition,” Edda replied as they walked toward the main hall. “With the dwarven colony secured, people are excited about the possibilities.”

  They passed through the temple corridors, and Doc couldn’t help but notice the energy humming through the community. The air itself felt charged.

  “The meeting will cover what we need and what we might be able to offer,” Edda continued. “Now that we have a safe route to the outside world.”

  Doc paused at a junction, watching Tanna guide Tavi and the other children past the rabbit enclosures. The Phasehorn Rabbits had multiplied considerably in the last two days, their soft chittering filling the air as the young ones practiced their short-range teleportation abilities.

  “How’s everyone recovering?” he asked as they resumed walking.

  “Most of the expedition members are still sore, but thankfully the potions have done their work. They’re back on their feet.” Edda’s tone carried relief. “Dulric’s arm is nearly healed, though Ironha still won’t let him near the forge. Carl’s been experimenting with lighter projects. Kesh is already talking about scouting the mountain path for hunting game.”

  As they entered the main courtyard, Doc caught fragments of conversation drifting from groups gathered around the central fire pit.

  “…real metal tools again, not just scavenged scraps.” “Fish! Haven’t had fish in months.” “Books, if they have any—knowledge from the outside.”

  Bran’s voice carried from the cookfires. “Wonder if they’ll have Mealgrain flour out there. Hearthgrain’s kept us well enough, but an imperial loaf’s got a sweetness I’ve missed.”

  Tor glanced up from the hatchet he was honing. “Same for lumber. We’ve got quality wood in the Vale—if the markets are open, it’ll fetch a fair price.” Brenn grunted agreement, steadying the tool he was sharpening against his knee.

  The community’s morale appears significantly elevated, Lux observed through their neural link. Trade prospects are generating optimism and forward-thinking behavior patterns.

  Ironha stepped out of the infirmary, drying her hands on a cloth. Lina kept pace beside her, eager and attentive. “Medical supplies,” Ironha was saying. “Proper tools for advanced potions. We have rare ingredients here in the Vale, but without the right equipment, we’re still limited.”

  “What about what we can offer?” Lina asked, her Greenhand Healer instincts already turning outward.

  “Our herbs,” Ironha replied without hesitation. “Half the tonics I’ve made here rely on plants I’ve never seen outside the Vale. Feverroot, frostfern, moonbulb—things you’d never find in the north or south. Herbs like that would draw interest from any guild worth its seal.”

  Doc felt a familiar knot of concern in his stomach. Rare plants, rare cores—it was easy to imagine how quickly word could spread, and how fast the wrong people might come looking.

  Edda caught the look on his face. “Something troubling you?”

  “Just… thinking about unintended consequences,” he admitted.

  Edda’s expression grew thoughtful. “Caution is wise. Better we decide the terms of change than let it sweep us along.”

  They approached the main hall, where Mazoga’s voice could already be heard addressing the assembled crowd. Doc paused at the threshold, watching his companions—once captives in the dark, now standing at the edge of new horizons—debate their future with the outside world.

  Doc entered the hall, the hum of voices washing over him as the crowd shifted to make room. He Sat down near the exit and listened as Maz gave a good accounting of the what they found in the old dwarven colony.

  Marron settled back as Mazoga finished her account of the ancient colony—intact forge, working mechanisms, and enough preserved knowledge to make any scholar weep with joy. The woman had a gift for laying out facts without unnecessary flourish, a trait he'd come to appreciate.

  When she concluded, Dulric stepped forward, still favoring his left side slightly.

  "I've traveled far during my time in the dwarven military," the smith said, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Seen maps, walked trade routes from the Sunward Peaks to the Ironhold Reaches. Based on the terrain we crossed and the mountain formations..." He paused, stroking his beard. "I believe we're in the Northern Territories."

  The Northern Territories. Marron kept his expression neutral, but his mind immediately began cataloging implications.

  The North had been... complicated since the Imperial integration. Officially, it was a peaceful annexation—the High King had bent the knee in exchange for autonomy and cultural preservation. In practice, it meant walking a tightrope between old clan loyalty and new Imperial oversight.

  Marron had traded there before the troubles in the Hollow Vale and the simmering tension between those who welcomed Imperial roads and markets, and those who saw every southern trader as a threat to their ancestral ways was a merchant nightmare.

  The current capital—formerly just Frostmoor Outpost—had grown fat on Imperial coin and southern goods. Modern buildings, paved roads, guild halls that wouldn't look out of place in any Imperial city. But drive a day's ride into the mountains and you'd find holds where Imperial currency was still viewed with suspicion, where clan law superseded Imperial decree, and where a southern merchant's accent could sour a deal before it started.

  If Dulric's right, Marron thought, we're walking into a region where every transaction carries political weight. Where the wrong word to the wrong clan representative could mark us as Imperial sympathizers or Imperial threats, depending on which way the wind's blowing.

  He glanced at Doc, sitting quietly near the back with Fish at his feet. The man's strange tools and obvious education would read as wealth and influence to anyone with eyes. In the North, that could open doors or paint a target, sometimes both at once.

  The crowd murmured at Dulric's assessment, excitement mixing with uncertainty.

  Time to earn my keep, Marron decided, and raised his hand to speak.

  Marron cleared his throat, drawing attention as conversations died down. He nodded respectfully toward Mazoga and Dulric before addressing the room.

  "If I may," he began, his merchant's tone calm and measured. "I've traded in the Northern Territories before our... extended stay in the Vale. What Dulric says matches my experience of the region's geography." He paused, letting that sink in. "Which means I know something about the markets we'll be walking into."

  He stood, hands clasped behind his back—a posture that commanded attention without seeming threatening.

  "First, let's discuss what we actually have to trade." Marron gestured toward the assembled crowd. "Hob's surplus crops, certainly. Tor and Brenn's quality lumber. Ironha and Lina's medicinal preparations. The cores we've gathered, and the rarer plants that grow only in the Vale."

  Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.

  "Now," Marron continued, his voice taking on a cautionary edge, "not all goods are created equal in a trader's eyes. Crops and lumber? Safe. Expected. They'll buy those without asking uncomfortable questions." He held up a finger. "Monster cores, however, draw attention. Guild assessors want to know where you got them, how many you have, whether you're licensed to hunt in their territory."

  Kesh shifted uncomfortably. Several others exchanged glances.

  "And Vale flora?" Marron's expression grew serious. "Plants from the Hollow Vale are worth their weight in gold to alchemists, precisely because most people who venture in don't come back out. That kind of rarity makes people curious. Curious about how we survived, where exactly we've been, what else we might have found."

  The room had grown quiet, the earlier excitement tempered by reality.

  Marron walked a few steps, gathering his thoughts. "The Northern Territories present... unique challenges. Since the Imperial integration, there are essentially two markets. The Imperial guild halls in places like the Northern capital—they deal in coin, paperwork, and standardized rates. Stable, profitable, but heavily taxed and monitored."

  He turned back to face the group. "Then there are the clan holds deeper in the mountains. They still prefer barter, still operate by traditional law, and they view southern influence with deep suspicion. Trade the same item to Imperial guilds and clan representatives?" He shook his head. "You'll be branded as either Imperial sympathizers or Imperial threats, depending on who you crossed first."

  Doc remained silent in the back, but Marron caught the man's thoughtful expression. The scholar's strange tools and obvious education would read as significant wealth to anyone with eyes—the kind that opened doors or painted targets, sometimes both.

  "There's another consideration," Marron continued carefully. "We're not just regular traders. We're fairly high level" he looked toward Maz "Consider your level, you a level 45 Warden. Some will view that as threat worth investigating. Others will see opportunity worth... redirecting."

  Mazoga leaned forward slightly. "You're suggesting we're walking into danger."

  "I'm suggesting we're walking into a complex situation that requires careful navigation." Marron spread his hands. "My recommendation? We start cautious. Small expedition, manageable load of safe goods. Lumber, surplus crops, maybe some common medicinal herbs. Establish one reliable contact, test how we're received."

  He looked around the room, meeting various gazes. "We don't walk into the Northern Capital as merchants laden with treasures from a legendary death trap. We walk in as simple merchants with enough to trade for necessities, nothing more."

  The excitement that had filled the room earlier now mixed with thoughtful consideration. Voices began to murmur—some disappointed, others nodding in agreement.

  Marron returned to his seat, leaving the choice to their leaders. "The Vale's gifts will still be here when we understand the ground we're walking on."

  Edda listened to the quiet murmur that followed Marron's words, weighing the mix of disappointment and consideration in the room. She stood, her shoes clicking softly against the stone floor as she moved to address the gathering.

  "Marron speaks wisely," she said, her calm authority cutting through the subdued conversations. "What he's describing isn't timidity—it's the difference between building lasting ties and chasing short-lived profit."

  She paused, letting her gaze move across the assembled faces. "I've seen merchants arrive at court with wagons full of treasures, believing wealth alone would open every door. They left poorer than they came, having learned that reputation matters more than inventory."

  Edda stepped forward slightly, her tone taking on the measured cadence of someone accustomed to governance. "What we choose to bring, how we appear, and how we conduct ourselves will define our place in the North for years to come. First impressions become lasting reputations, especially in territories where memory runs long and trust runs short."

  She looked toward Dulric and Mazoga. "Marron outlined the guild and clan divide, but we must understand it runs deeper than trade preferences. These are competing allegiances. The Imperial guilds offer stability and standardized law, but at the cost of independence. The clan holds maintain their traditions and autonomy, but view outsiders with suspicion earned through generations of experience."

  The room grew more attentive as Edda continued. "If we appear too eager to work with Imperial guilds, the clans will mark us as Imperial sympathizers—potentially closing off entire regions. If we favor traditional clan methods, the guilds may classify us as dissidents, bringing scrutiny we cannot afford."

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

  She let her shoulders loosen as she spoke, but her eyes held a quiet authority that made her seem both calm and commanding. "Our advantage lies not in the treasures we've gathered, but in what we represent as people. We have Hob, a farmer who can coax crops from any soil. Ironha and Lina, healers whose skills speak for themselves. Dulric, a smith whose work reflects generations of knowledge. Kesh, a hunter who understands the land."

  Edda's voice took on a warmer tone. "These are roles every community values, skills every trader respects. We present ourselves not as mysterious treasure-hunters from a forbidden forest, but as a modest village seeking fair trade for honest work. Nothing more, nothing less."

  The earlier disappointment was giving way to thoughtful nods and quiet agreement.

  "Marron's proposal for a small expedition isn't born of caution—it's strategy." Edda looked directly at those who had seemed most disappointed. "We establish ourselves as reliable, competent, and reasonable. We learn the currents before we attempt to navigate them. Then, when we do reveal our rarer goods, we do so as trusted partners rather than unknown quantities."

  She tapped her staff once against the floor. "A foundation built carefully will support greater weight than one rushed in haste. We have time. We have safety. We can afford to be patient."

  Mazoga nodded approvingly from her position near the front. "How do you suggest we proceed?"

  Edda considered for a long moment before she spoke. “A modest expedition, as Marron advises. Enough to open a door, not enough to raise alarm. Marron, for his knowledge of Northern trade. Another to speak for our fields and harvests. And one whose strength is plain, so no one mistakes us for defenseless.”

  Her gaze drifted toward Doc at the back of the hall. “And one whose presence commands respect without suggesting threat—a voice that steadies rather than intimidates.”

  The murmurs shifted, eagerness giving way to measured discussion, the sound of a people planning for endurance.

  “We build slowly,” Edda concluded. “But we build to last.”

  Doc slipped out of the main hall as the discussions continued, his mind churning with Edda's measured words and Marron's warnings. The corridor felt quieter after the animated crowd, his footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone.

  The upcoming expedition would take their most experienced traders and negotiators away from the sanctuary for days, possibly weeks. No contact. No updates. If something went wrong—either in the North or back home—they'd have no way to coordinate, no means to call for help or offer it.

  Lux, what options do we have for maintaining communication over distance?

  The fabricator's material constraints prevent high-frequency transmission arrays, Lux replied through their neural link. However, it can produce functional radio components within mid-tech parameters. Bronze-alloy circuits, ceramic speakers, basic oscillators.

  Doc paused near a junction in the corridor, considering. Range limitations?

  Significant. Standard fabrication would yield perhaps five to ten kilometers under optimal conditions. However, given our current elevation and the mountain terrain, a relay station positioned at sufficient altitude could extend effective range considerably. The fabricator can produce the necessary components for a broadcast amplification node.

  Doc resumed walking, his pace thoughtful. The communication issue had solutions, at least temporary ones. But a larger question gnawed at him as he navigated the familiar passages. With the outside world now accessible, their material limitations would gradually resolve. Trade would bring metals, components, resources they couldn't harvest from the Vale.

  Which raised the more troubling consideration: should he arm them?

  The fabricator could produce weapons far beyond anything this world had seen. Personal shields, low-tech energy weapons, targeting systems. With proper materials, he could outfit every member of their community with technology that would make them nearly invincible by local standards.

  Lux, what are our current regulations regarding the introduction of advanced armaments to pre-industrial populations?

  Federation Armament Regulation, Articles Seven through Nineteen, Lux responded with clinical precision. Advanced weaponry introduction is restricted under the Directive of Containment. However, Article Seven's survival exception permits certified scientists to authorize weapon deployment at their discretion during immediate threat scenarios.

  Doc's steps slowed as Lux continued the briefing.

  Article Twelve limits civilian access to non-lethal defensive tools, with exceptions for populations lacking stable authority. Article Fourteen prohibits deployment that would alter natural political development, unless withholding weapons would result in societal collapse. Article Nineteen requires tracking and reclamation of military-grade arms, waived only when reclamation endangers survival or stability.

  The Discretionary Clause, Lux added, grants field scientists authority to override regulations when immediate survival, life preservation, or threat containment requires it. Such decisions require justification under review, but the authority remains with the operative.

  Doc absorbed this, weighing the implications. They weren't in immediate danger now, but they were also far from any Federation oversight. His decisions here would be his own, guided by principles rather than real-time authorization.

  The sound of voices drew him from his contemplation as he approached the workshop. Through the partially open door, he could hear Carl's voice, animated with the particular enthusiasm he reserved for technical explanations.

  Doc reached the workshop entrance, pausing to observe Carl gesturing over what appeared to be one of their hybrid devices while Calen leaned in with focused attention, his silver circuit-scars catching the ambient light.

  The question of armament could wait. For now, communication took priority.

  Doc knocked on the workshop doorframe, the sound sharp enough to cut through Carl's animated explanation. Both young men looked up with startled expressions, Carl's hands still hovering over some contraption while Calen blinked as if surfacing from deep water.

  "You missed the meeting," Doc said, keeping his tone light.

  Carl's face went through a spectacular progression of emotions—confusion, realization, then horror. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no." He looked around the workshop as if the scattered components might somehow explain where the last hour had gone. "We were just... the resonance matrix wasn't working right, and then Calen had this idea about the stabilization array, and I thought maybe if we adjusted the—"

  "Maz is going to kill me," Carl groaned, slumping against the workbench. "Again. She specifically said everyone needed to be there."

  Calen's expression remained carefully neutral, though Doc caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "We got... absorbed in the work."

  Doc chuckled. "I'll cover for you if you can help me with something."

  Both young men straightened, Carl's despair immediately replaced by eager curiosity while Calen adopted his characteristic alert wariness.

  Doc approached the fabricator, running his hand along its sealed surface. "I need your expertise with power adaptation." He paused, accessing Lux through their neural connection. Which blueprint should I reference for basic radio construction?

  Model R-47 Standard Communications Array, Lux replied. Bronze-alloy housing, ceramic-etched diaphragm, basic oscillation matrix. Suitable for mid-tech fabrication parameters.

  Doc activated the fabricator's interface, the familiar blue light casting shifting patterns across the workshop walls. The holographic schematic materialized—a sleek bronze device with an extendable antenna and crystalline components.

  "What is it?" Carl breathed, his earlier embarrassment forgotten entirely.

  "A... resonance communicator," Doc said, choosing his words carefully. "It captures voice and transmits it across great distances using harmonic frequencies."

  Carl's eyes widened. "Like the ancient talking stones from the guild legends?"

  "Something like that." Doc gestured at the schematic. "But it needs proper power integration to function in our current environment."

  Calen studied the projection with sharp attention, his circuit-scars pulsing faintly as he focused. "The energy channels look familiar, but the resonance pattern..." He trailed off, suspicious but not questioning.

  The fabricator hummed to life, hard-light scaffolding beginning to shape the bronze housing. Doc turned to his companions. "I'll need specific materials. Carl, can you gather copper wire—thin gauge, about twenty meters? And those ceramic discs you've been experimenting with."

  "The resonance discs? Yes!" Carl practically bounced toward his storage area.

  "Calen," Doc continued, "I need one of your stabilized core fragments. Something that provides steady energy without fluctuation."

  Calen nodded, moving to his organized collection of modified components. His movements carried the quiet confidence he'd gained since his evolution, no longer the hesitant boy who'd once guided them through the forest.

  As they worked, Doc explained the device's function in carefully chosen terms. "The resonance communicator captures speech patterns and transmits them along harmonic lines. Distance depends on elevation and atmospheric conditions, but properly positioned, it could maintain contact across the Northern Territories."

  Carl paused in his wire-gathering. "You mean... we could talk to people in distant cities? Like the ancient mage networks?"

  "Exactly like that." Doc watched the fabricator shape the antenna assembly. "Though this version will need relay stations to achieve maximum range."

  The bronze casing took shape with mechanical precision, internal channels perfectly formed to accept their hybrid power system. Carl returned with an armload of copper wire and ceramic components, while Calen approached with a small, carefully wrapped crystal fragment.

  "This one's been stable for weeks," Calen said, unwrapping a core shard that pulsed with steady amber light. "Never fluctuates, never surges."

  Doc accepted the fragment, feeling its warm energy through his prosthetic fingers. "Perfect. Now, Carl, your core-battery design—can you adapt it to this power requirement?"

  Carl examined the fabricator's output, his Cross-Construct Insight skill flickering behind his eyes. "The channels are... elegant. Much cleaner than anything I've built." He looked up at Doc with renewed awe. "This really is ancient magic, isn't it?"

  Doc smiled, letting the assumption stand. "Very ancient indeed."

  The fabricator completed its work with a soft chime, the bronze-cased communicator settling onto the build plate with satisfying weight. Carl immediately reached for it, but Doc caught his wrist gently.

  "Let me test it first," Doc said. "We need another unit anyway—one for the expedition and one for the sanctuary."

  He activated the fabricator again, selecting the same blueprint. As the hard-light scaffolding began shaping a second device, Doc lifted the completed radio and examined its bronze surface. Carl's modifications had integrated seamlessly—copper wire threading through ceramic regulators, all feeding into Calen's stable core fragment nestled in a crystal housing.

  "Now for the real test." Doc handed the radio to Carl. "Can you tune this to frequency... let's say 147.3?"

  Carl's brow furrowed as he studied the device, his Cross-Construct Insight flickering behind his eyes. After a moment, he began adjusting small knobs along the side panel. "There's a resonance dial here... and this crystal responds to pressure..." He made several careful adjustments. "I think... yes. The harmonic signature feels right."

  Lux, patch into suit communications and match that frequency.

  Frequency synchronized, Lux replied through their neural link. Standing by for transmission test.

  "Both of you stay here," Doc instructed, moving toward the workshop door. "When I contact you, respond normally. Don't be surprised if my voice sounds... different."

  Doc walked through the ancient corridors toward the infirmary, his footsteps echoing softly. The communication range would be minimal inside the temple's thick stone walls, but it should be sufficient for a basic functionality test.

  He found Ironha grinding herbs at her workstation, the familiar scent of medicinal preparations filling the chamber. She looked up with a warm smile as he entered.

  "Doc, perfect timing. Lina and I were just discussing—"

  Doc held up his hand gently. "One moment, please."

  With a thought, his suit's helmet deployed from the collar assembly, ceramic and polymer flowing over his head with practiced efficiency. The HUD activated immediately, displaying environmental readings and system status in familiar blue text.

  Ironha stepped back slightly, her expression shifting to fascination mixed with concern. The helmet's deployment always drew reactions—too smooth, too advanced, too far beyond local expectations.

  Doc activated the comm system. "Workshop, this is Doc. Do you copy?"

  Static crackled for a moment before Carl's voice emerged from the radio, tinny but clear: "Doc? Doc, is that really you? Your voice sounds like it's coming from inside a cave!"

  "Signal is clear on this end," Doc replied. "How's the reception quality?"

  "Amazing!" Calen's voice joined the transmission. "It's like you're standing right here, but... echoing somehow."

  Doc smiled beneath his helmet. "Good. Continue monitoring. I'll return shortly."

  He deactivated the comm and retracted his helmet, the device flowing back into his suit's collar. Ironha stared at him with undisguised wonder.

  "That was..." she began.

  "Ancient technology," Doc said simply. "Communication magic from a very distant place."

  Ironha chuckled and shook her head, no longer surprised by Doc's antics. "Of course it is."

  Lina looked up from her herb preparation, eyes bright with curiosity. "Will you teach us how to use the communication magic, Doc?"

  "Perhaps," Doc said. "Though I suspect Carl and Calen will become the experts soon enough."

  Ironha returned to her grinding with a knowing smile. "Those two could probably build talking stones from soup bones and good intentions at this point."

  Doc waved goodbye to both her and Lina, making his way back through the corridors toward the workshop. The successful test had confirmed his suspicions—Carl's hybrid power systems weren't just functional, they were exceeding his original specifications. The monster-core batteries seemed to resonate with ambient magical fields, amplifying signals far beyond what standard physics should allow.

  Back in the workshop, he found Carl and Calen hunched over the second radio, which sat completed on the fabricator's build plate. They looked up as he entered, both wearing expressions of barely contained excitement.

  "It worked perfectly," Carl said, his words tumbling over each other. "The resonance was crystal clear, and the harmonic stability never wavered, and—"

  "We heard Ironha laugh," Calen interrupted with something approaching a grin. "Through the stone walls."

  Doc nodded, already moving to the fabricator for the next phase. "Good. Now we need a relay station."

  He activated the interface again, this time selecting a more complex blueprint. The holographic schematic materialized—a larger bronze device about the size of an ammunition crate, bristling with telescoping antenna arrays and covered in adjustment dials.

  Think they can handle relay station integration? Doc asked Lux silently.

  Carl's Cross-Construct Insight and Calen's new abilities should prove adequate, Lux replied. Though the power requirements will be significantly higher.

  As the fabricator began shaping the relay's bronze casing, Doc turned to his companions. "This one's more complex. It captures transmissions from the smaller units and rebroadcasts them at much higher strength. Positioned properly—say, at elevation—it could maintain contact across entire mountain ranges."

  Carl's eyes went wide. "Like... like the ancient mage towers? The ones that could speak across kingdoms?"

  "Exactly like those." Doc smiled as the hard-light scaffolding built layer upon layer of precise components. "Though this version will need more substantial power integration."

  Calen studied the emerging device with analytical intensity, his circuit-scars pulsing softly. "The energy channels are three times as complex. We'll need multiple core fragments, probably a regulation matrix to prevent overload."

  "Can you build it?" Doc asked.

  Both young men exchanged glances before Calen nodded slowly. "We'll need to experiment. Maybe use the stable fragments as anchor points and build the regulation system around them."

  "The crystal matrices could work as harmonic dampeners," Carl added, already reaching for his collection of components. "If we wire them in parallel instead of series..."

  Doc watched them dive into technical discussion, their enthusiasm infectious. They debated power regulation theory with the confidence of young men stepping into their own, their evolved classes allowing them to bridge magic and technology in ways that shouldn’t be possible.

  The relay station took shape under the fabricator’s assembly—bronze housing etched with channels for energy flow, internal spaces perfectly sized for Carl’s hybrid batteries, antenna ports that would accept both copper wire and crystalline resonance enhancers.

  At last the relay station settled into place on the fabricator’s plate with a final chime. Doc lifted the device, feeling its weight before setting it on the workbench. Carl and Calen bent over it at once, voices overlapping in eager speculation.

  Doc leaned against the fabricator, letting a faint smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “So,” he said, cutting through their debate, “who wants to climb a mountain?”

  Thanks for reading!

  Chapter 44 drops Friday!