Good Sunday.
I start my day sitting across Ashlynn right after breakfast. The plates are still warm. The air smells of bread and tea.
"Ash, do you want to continue our discussion from Friday?"
"Sure."
"So I have been assassinating alchemists while working as a clerk—"
"Actually," she interrupts gently, gesturing around the entire room, "I want to know how you acquired all of this. Your wealth."
Her eyes travel across the furniture, the polished wood, the careful arrangement of everything we own.
"I've been doing side work as Thadeo. Gambling of some sort… some call it investment," I say, keeping my face calm, steady, unreadable.
She nods slowly, accepting the explanation—accepting the lie.
"Now the problem is…" I continue, folding my hands together. "I finally realize I've accumulated so many lies that I can't protect you without risking your life. You were literally kidnapped by your own friend."
"And what are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to teach you alchemy… or at least the knowledge I possess."
"You mean you want to teach me how to fight?"
"Yes."
There's no hesitation in my answer.
I hand her a note I prepared—copied carefully from Hearthlight Order archives. Shardfang. Trackfang. Whisper Plate. Even Memorite. Each one listed with what it does and how it is used.
I only teach her up to Excellent Grade at most. Anything beyond that remains mine to carry.
She scans the notes, then chuckles lightly. "They're just recipes… just tricks. I thought alchemy was about making something."
"Yes!" I reply immediately. "It's all about preparation."
Alchemy is never the explosion. It is everything that comes before it.
She studies the pages again, more seriously this time. Perhaps she understands now. Perhaps she sees that survival is not talent—it is readiness.
She probably learns something new.
I hope.
I rise and before I walk out she asks me: "Are you going to teach me how to turn the knives you asked me to buy into shardfang... trackfang... or something else?"
"Yes. But not now," I say as I continue moving toward the foyer.
After leaving my house, I head straight to Market Port to visit Rehanza.
In his office.
"About the distribution company plan." I pick up the tea on the table and take a sip.
"Yes. I have done my research as requested." He slides a thick stack of documents across the desk, the paper edges aligned perfectly.
I take them and begin reading.
Projected capital in phens.
Warehouse locations near dock access.
Existing storage facilities available for purchase.
Transport contracts.
Labor estimates.
Port clearance fees.
Everything itemized. Everything calculated.
"Although I have not found any companies selling used trains to help you expand rail transportation," he adds.
"That's fine." I turn a page, scanning figures quickly. "Also, Rehanza."
"Yes, Monsieur?"
"How fast can you set this company up?"
"If you mean legal registration, one day. A business is paper." He folds his hands neatly on the desk. "If you mean functional — operational warehouses, contracted carriers, working routes — two weeks. More or less."
I look up from the documents. "Two weeks?"
"If you are willing to pay extra."
I close the file slowly.
"Pay extra." I set the documents down. "You mean acquiring something that already exists."
He does not answer immediately. His silence is deliberate.
"There are three mid-sized freight operators currently in decline," he says at last. "Poor debt structure. Aging management. Under-leveraged assets."
"So."
"If capital is injected aggressively, and controlling shares are secured quickly… yes. It would not be building a company."
"That's fine. We can seize and merge them."
"Understood. I will prepare the papers. Tomorrow you will simply need to bring the capital and sign the documents."
"Great… about my new house in Duenchester?"
"I'm sorry, Monsieur. I was too busy researching the distribution company. I did not have time to assist you in finding a new house."
"Apology accepted. And one more thing."
"Yes?"
"Do you know anything about Sarvine? What even is that?"
"They are carnivorous plants. They grow in damp soils down south in Carrowen Wood."
"Are they rare?"
"Uncommon. But farmers keep destroying them because the plants tend to consume livestock."
I take another sip of tea, savoring it.
"Can you provide me with some?" I ask.
"No problem. I can hire laborers to gather them for you. You can have a full bag within three days."
We continue enjoying our tea in composed silence before I take my leave.
After finishing my business in Market Port, I arrange for a carriage from my company to take me to Valazam Hotel.
The lobby is lively as usual. Polished floors. Soft murmurs. Controlled luxury.
I spot Mynar at a table near the window, laughing to himself as he holds a newspaper.
I walk over and take the seat across from him.
"You seem happy," I say.
"Ah, Good Sunday, Monsieur Len," he replies brightly, handing me the newspaper. "Please… read."
I take it and glance at the front page.
The headline catches immediately.
Nightmare in Eldenmere.
I look up at him. He is already grinning.
"Keep reading," he urges.
"Heirs of Valazam Group die in a single week. Witnesses describe a rider wearing a dual-expression mask. Speaker of Valazam Estate dubs the masked rider Twilight Wraith."
He chuckles again, unable to suppress it.
"Why are you so happy?" I ask.
"Can't a man be happy?"
"You know anything about this?"
His expression stiffens instantly. "No. No—not at all."
I lean forward slightly, eyes narrowing.
He clears his throat. "Let's talk about something else," he says with an awkward chuckle.
I lean back and shrug, letting him escape.
We drift into small talk. He speaks of how sorry he is for his brother. How tragic it is for his nephews to die so suddenly. His tone is appropriate. His face is not.
Eventually, I leave.
I return to work as a clerk. I go to work late, which is acceptable. I am an agent. I outrank every clerk and laborer in the building. I answer only to Gary.
I work as usual, though a little more alert than normal.
Miriam and the other clerks whisper among themselves. The name Twilight Wraith passes from desk to desk. Even a few clients join in, lowering their voices as if the masked rider might be listening from the rafters.
I watch them from the corner of my eye. Occasionally I remind them to return to work, offering a polite smile that ends the conversation without effort.
When I finish for the day, I leave the building.
Outside, I notice something immediately.
Carriages bearing my company's insignia dominate the plaza.
Polished wood. Uniform paint. Consistent jarvies.
I approach a few random pedestrians, asking casually about their preferences.
"I prefer carriages from Bellingham Transportation Enterprise," a man says confidently.
"They're affordable," a woman adds.
"They're comfortable," another man claims.
"They're just better," is the most common answer.
I nod, satisfied.
I hire one of my own company's carriages to take me home.
Yes.
The ride matches the reputation—steady, clean, efficient.
I reach my house.
As I step into the foyer, the house greets me with warmth and silence.
Then—
Noise from upstairs.
A sharp sound. Movement. Impact.
I take the stairs without rushing.
"Hyaaaahh!" a woman shouts.
The voice comes from one of the bedrooms.
I approach the opened door, each step slow and measured. No alarm. No panic. Just awareness.
I glance inside.
Ashlynn stands in the middle of the room, holding the rapier I bought her. She moves with force and speed. Each thrust cuts the air cleanly, though her posture remains stiff, her footing slightly awkward.
Against amateurs, she would win.
Against a trained fighter, she would fall.
I step inside quietly and approach her from behind.
When both her arms extend forward in a thrust, I close the distance and wrap my arms around her waist.
"Len?" she asks softly.
"How do you know?"
"I heard you."
I brush her hair aside and press a kiss against the side of her neck.
A soft moan escapes her.
"What are you doing?" I murmur.
"You said it's hard to protect me," she replies, steady despite my hold. "So I train. Maybe I can be present in other aspects of your life."
I bite her neck—not enough to harm, just enough to claim.
Her hand reaches back and pulls my hair firmly.
"We can continue this somewhere else," I say against her skin.
She slips from my arms with surprising agility and turns in one fluid motion.
The rapier rises.
The tip stops just short of my face.
"How about you earn me?" she says with a smirk.
The blade remains steady.
Her eyes do not waver.