“Here you are!” the brown-skinned Southerner said, fshing a grin as he passed over two meatwraps. Cire received them, then pced the six copper coins she had prepared beforehand into the man’s open palm.

  As they walked away from the shop, she handed one to Viktor. He took a bite, and was instantly reminded of why he loved this so much. Grease ran. Heat bit back. Juices from the roasted, marinated beef soaked lightly into the warm ftbread, blending with the freshness of tomatoes, onions, and herbs, ones he still couldn’t quite name, all tied together by the vendor’s special sauce. He had eaten it so many times before, yet the taste never seemed to lose its charm.

  Beside him, Cire took a bite of her own and nodded in approval. “Mm... This is good,” she said, chewing. “A bit expensive, but worth it. Having it every now and then isn’t so bad.”

  “I’m surprised,” Viktor said. “I thought you’d rather cook something.”

  “It’s been a while since we went out together like this. I wanted to treat you. I heard you like these.”

  She had heard, huh? From who? Rhea? Jeanne? Alycia? Had she also heard how often he bought these, without telling her, using coins she didn’t know he had?

  Still, she didn’t show anything. No sign of suspicion or irritation. Instead, she just ate with quiet contentment.

  Looking at her enjoying the food for the first time like that, he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He could have let her try it sooner. Even if he didn’t want to buy it for her using his own money, as awkward questions would certainly follow, he could always make a certain blonde pay for the food.

  They walked side by side, the warmth of the meal spreading through their bodies, pushing back the icy grip of the surrounding cold as they made their way toward the caravan station.

  Before long, they arrived at the intersection of two old Imperial Roads.

  From the entrance, the complex spread out like a world of its own. To the left, a long barn sagged under the weight of snow. To the right, a cluster of storehouses stood crowded with barrels and crates. And, of course, across the courtyard, a grand stone building rose high above the surrounding structures, a testament to the authority of the Overseer, the very man they came to see today. The windows of the lowest floors were narrow, while the panes above were rger, taller, prouder, like eyes of a monarch watching over his domain.

  Winter had made the pce a lot less hectic than the time he had come here with Lahmia, but it was still far from quiet. All kinds of sound battered at his ears from every side: men shouting, horses clopping, wheels cttering on the cobblestones, cargo hitting the ground with heavy thuds. Cire didn’t seem to like it any more than he did. She picked up her pace, and he did the same. They pushed and slipped through the crowd until they reached the great doors of the administrative building.

  Once they were inside, however, they found that the noise of the courtyard was merely repced by a different soundscape, with boots echoing on the floors, with voices bouncing off the high walls.

  Before them stretched a two-story hall, its thick stone rising overhead, only interrupted by a balcony that ran in a neat ring around the space. Doors stood in neat rows, and half-seen figures lingered briefly at the railings, peering down for a heartbeat before vanishing inside. Pale shafts of daylight snted in through the narrow windows, catching the clerks working behind the broad counter, the merchants slumping in the waiting chairs, the adventurers squinting at the message board.

  As soon as they stepped through the doorway, a woman with dark chestnut hair came forward. She wore a professional smile that was perfectly practiced.

  “Welcome to the caravan station. How can I help you?”

  “Well, I... My name is Cire. I’m from the Adventurer’s Guild. I need to deliver a message from Guildmaster Isadora to Overseer Rennald.”

  “May I see the letter?”

  Cire shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s to be delivered in person.”

  For a fraction of a second, the friendly curve of the woman’s lips faltered, a twitch that betrayed just the tiniest irritation, before snapping back into pce as though nothing had happened.

  “I see. Please wait there.” She gestured toward the rows of chairs arranged neatly in the middle of the hall. “I’ll inform my superior about your visit.”

  “Thank you,” Cire said with a nod, then moved toward the chairs.

  After they settled into two side-by-side seats, Viktor leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting over the hall. “She didn’t give us a number,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Look, anyone who comes in gets stopped by one of those receptionists. They state their business, then get a piece of parchment with a number on it. Their turn, probably. Then they sit here, like us, until their number is called. Only then do they step up to the counter and sort out the details with a clerk.”

  “You’re very observant,” Cire said, smiling. “You figured all that out from just looking around a bit?”

  Well, he had learned a great deal about this pce, thanks to a certain spy. So he knew how it worked.

  The hall around them was the public face of the station. Upstairs and downstairs, clerks registered arriving and departing caravans, sorted cargo and issued tokens, calcuted fees and tolls, assigned escorts and handled contracts. Merchants and adventurers alike all had to pass through here to get things done, or at least try to.

  “I just like to watch people,” Viktor said. “Anyway, do you think it’s good or bad we didn’t get a number?”

  Cire shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re not exactly here to do business with the station, anyway.”

  The receptionist they just spoke to had moved to a door at the far end of the hall and disappeared behind it. Now they waited. Of course, Viktor didn’t hold much hope that this visit would actually achieve anything. Whoever came out to see them next would probably just politely tell them to “fuck off.”

  “You know...” Cire let out a small chuckle. “We waited here together once before.”

  “Did we?” Viktor arched an eyebrow. “I don’t remember.”

  “Of course you don’t. You were only two or three back then. We came here with Father.” She turned her gaze to where the message board stood. “He went over there, looking for a caravan job, while we sat here, you on my p, waiting.”

  Right.

  Cire and Quinn’s father, a Bronze-ranked adventurer who had been taking caravan guard work from time to time. From what Viktor knew of him, the guy had been mostly a disappointment. But Cire probably didn’t care about any of that. For her, it was a fond memory of a time when her family was still together. Now, she was on her own. Yes, she hadn’t realized it yet, but she was truly alone.

  The door the receptionist had vanished behind swung open again, and a different employee of the station emerged. She swept her gaze across the waiting area, before walking straight toward them.

  She was blonde, busty, and she looked familiar.

  Viktor suppressed a ugh. To think she’s the one who’s going to tell me to “fuck off.”

  The woman stopped in front of them and let a friendly smile bloom. A smile he might have thought genuine if he hadn’t known who she actually was.

  “Good morning. My name’s Yvonne. You’re from the Adventurer’s Guild, right?”

  Cire nodded. “Yes.”

  “And this is?” the former Lyndorian spy asked, gncing at Viktor.

  Your master.

  “My brother,” Cire replied.

  “Oh, the little brother tagged along with his sister, huh? How cute!” Yvonne ughed softly. “You two must be really close, then.”

  No, we aren’t. We’re not even reted, actually.

  “Well, yes, we are,” Cire said, her expression softening.

  “Anyway, I was told that you wanted to see the Overseer and deliver a message from your Guildmaster. Unfortunately... he’s not seeing anyone at the moment. If you leave the message, I can pass it along whenever he’s avaible.”

  Which meant never. After all, every previous attempt from Isadora had been ftly rejected.

  “I’m sorry, but Guildmaster Isadora said I had to give him the message in person. Can you help us somehow?”

  “I really want to. But he isn’t meeting anyone at the moment. Even at the station, only a handful of people get to see him. I, for example, have never met him in person since the day I started working here.”

  “I see,” Cire said, keeping her disappointment in check. Well, she had probably expected this outcome.

  “How about this? Why don’t you come back another day? Meanwhile, we’ll try to let the Overseer know you were here.”

  “Well, that’s the only way. Thanks for your help. We’re going now.”

  “Let me see you to the entrance.”

  “You don’t need to,” Cire said, shaking her head.

  “I’m leaving too,” Yvonne said with a smile. “So we might as well go together.”

  As they made their way toward the door, Viktor gnced at the woman. “It’s still working hours. You have business outside?”

  “Well, no. It’s... personal.”

  “You’re seeing someone?”

  “...Yes.”

  “A man?” Viktor grinned.

  “Well, yes... technically...”

  With each answer, the carefully maintained veneer of professionalism Yvonne was wearing crumbled a little. A complicated look crossed her face, and for a fleeting moment, Viktor half-expected her to cry on the spot.

  “Quinn!” Cire frowned sharply. “Don’t ask her such personal questions. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

  Yvonne quickly waved her hands. “No, no. It’s not his fault. It’s just... my circumstance...”

  Apologies, my dearest spy. But seeing you like this, I can’t resist the urge to tease.

  They parted ways once they reached the entrance of the complex. Yvonne’s polished mask returned, and she waved at them with a friendly smile before walking toward the east side of the town.

  “So,” Viktor asked, “what now?”

  “I don’t know. What if I go back to Guildmaster Isadora and tell her I tried but it didn’t work?”

  “She’ll bite your head off.”

  “Figure,” Cire said with a sigh. “Maybe we can try to befriend one of the employees here and convince them to help us. How about... that girl just now? She seems very nice.”

  There were so many things wrong with that statement. After all, Yvonne’s friendliness was nothing but an act. She had no reason to help Cire, not in the slightest. And, even if she did want to, she couldn’t reach Rennald herself, so how the hell was she supposed to help other people see him?

  “You really think that will work?” Viktor asked.

  “She seems... troubled by something,” Cire said thoughtfully. “Maybe if we help her with her problem, she’ll return the favor.”

  Um... the source of her problem is standing right in front of you.

  “How about asking our friends for help instead?” Viktor said. “Like Jeanne, or Alycia?”

  “You think they can help?”

  “Four heads are better than two. Let’s have a strategy meeting in a few days. Meanwhile, I’ll help you gather information on the caravan station.”

  “A strategy meeting?” Cire smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Viktor said. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”