Juna crested the outer ridge at first light with the glaive across her shoulders and Ferra puffing two steps behind.
The ruined road station squatted below them, its roof caved and every doorway gaping like a broken tooth.
"That's the place from the buyer's notes?" Ferra wheezed, planting her hammer and glaring downhill.
"Same chimney, same split gate."
"Then why's the salvage crew screaming already?"
Juna's ears snapped forward as shouts bounced out of the yard, frantic and coming from three doorways at once.
'Hajin stayed home to shake hands and sign scrolls, so this hunt is mine to lead.'
She remembered him sulking over breakfast at his stack of guild duties while she stole his last biscuit.
"Bring me back something weird," he begged, cheeks stuffed, "and don't you dare fight anything cooler than my exhibition."
She snorted at the memory and dropped down the slope at a run, glaive low.
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