The city where he’d left, among other things, Mira. And a pending conversation neither of them had fully resolved.

*The favor I asked her. She said yes. But she didn’t tell me if she’d be able to do it. She just said she’d try.*

*We’re going to have to trust that.*

*When I come back—if I come back the way I want to—that conversation is going to be waiting for me.*

*Good. Time to move.*

He looked forward again. The road stretched in a straight line for approximately two hours before curving southwest, toward the first meeting point with the Veil system.

Liaraen, beside him, adjusted her hood slightly.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, almost gently.

Nathan glanced at her briefly.

"About what I left behind."

"Is it a lot?"

"Less than I would have expected. More than I’d planned to have."

"That’s enigmatic."

"It’s intentionally so."

"Acceptable."

Silence again, but more comfortable than before. The cart moved along the road at the chestnut horse’s steady pace. The fields on either side began to change from cultivated to semi-wild as they moved away from Greywall’s agricultural control. The sun rose high enough to warm the air slightly. The light shifted from gray to pale gold.

It was beginning to feel, specifically, like a journey.

---

Meanwhile, in Brenwick’s office on Five Anvils Street, the merchant had been without sleep for several hours.

The oil lamps’ light illuminated the main desk with the specific yellowish tone of the end of a long night. In front of him, spread across the table, were three distinct reports. The first, from the extraction team leader, delivered by direct Messenger from the Table approximately three hours after the retreat from Greywall’s southeast. The second, from the bearer who had awakened in the open box in Brenwick’s office basement, drafted under direct interrogation by Larian himself. The third—an old file Brenwick had ordered extracted from his historical records, documenting bearers with anomalous capabilities recorded across the continent over the last forty years.

Larian stood at the other side of the desk, hands clasped behind his back, awaiting instructions.

Brenwick finished reading the third report for the second time. Closed it. Stacked it with the other two. Stared at the pile for a moment.

"Larian."

"Yes, sir."

"I’m going to summarize the situation out loud. Correct me if anything I say doesn’t match the data."

"Yes, sir."

"Hunter Voss, officially F-Rank, accepted a sensitive merchandise transport mission on his second day of guild registration. The mission was structured so he would be intercepted on the road by a Table team, the merchandise transferred to a southern final client, and he would likely be eliminated as part of the process to leave no witnesses."

"Correct, sir."

"Hunter Voss neutralized the initial interception team on the road. Six Draken professionals, four combat hounds. Leaving no living witnesses except one, whom he specifically left alive."

"Correct, sir."

"Hunter Voss brought the merchandise to Greywall, kept it hidden for twenty-four hours, and when the Table sent a second high-Rank extraction team, he confronted them on the southeastern road. He killed none of them. He used a skill that neither the team leader nor the survivor can specifically name. Both describe exactly the same effect: they perceived their own death for approximately thirty seconds."

"Yes, sir."

"And then he returned to my office that same afternoon, with the original box, with the original lock intact, with living contents inside, and delivered what appeared to be the completed merchandise. I opened the box in front of him, found the second extraction team member unconscious inside, and I didn’t react. I paid him the full balance. I offered him permanent employment. I sent a positive note to the guild."

"Correct, sir."

Brenwick was silent for a moment.

"Larian."

"Yes, sir?"

"What’s the correct reading of all this?"

Larian took a few seconds to respond.

"Sir, with respect. There are two possible readings. One. Hunter Voss is not F-Rank. His Class is of a much higher level, and for reasons we don’t know, he’s operating under official F-Rank cover. Two. Hunter Voss is indeed F-Rank, but his Class has characteristics that make him equivalent in capability to much higher Ranks. Either reading leaves us in the same operational position: we cannot treat him as a pawn in the operation."

"Agreed. And strategically speaking?"

"Strategically, sir, we have two options. One. Treat him as a threat and eliminate him as soon as possible with resources appropriate to his actual capability—which will require external contracting and likely involve the Table in the operation, which will expose us internally to the conflict with the Table that already exists from the second intercepted team."

"And the second option?"

"Treat him as a potential resource. Cultivate the open relationship we initiated with the employment offer. Turn him into an ally instead of an enemy. Leverage his capabilities for future operations. This carries the risk that he’ll formally reject us and remain in an offensive position, but it also has the benefit that if he accepts, we no longer have a pending problem."

Brenwick nodded slowly.

"Your recommendation?"

"Sir. The second option. With conditions."

"What conditions?"

"One. We don’t pressure him. The employment offer remains open but we don’t reiterate it. Two. We thoroughly investigate his origin without him finding out about the investigation. Everything that can be known about him before Greywall. Family, background, places he lived, anyone who might have had prior information about his Class Awakening. Three. We passively monitor his current movements. If he leaves Greywall, I want to know where he’s going. If he returns, I want to know who he’s coming with. Four. If at any point the gathered information suggests he represents a direct operational threat, we activate the first option. Until that moment, we maintain cordial relations."

"Approved." Brenwick looked at the stack of reports. "And the Table."

"The Table, sir."

"The Table is going to demand explanations about the southeast incident. The extraction team leader has already reported. The Table is going to send an internal investigator within the next forty-eight hours—probably by the end of this week."

"Yes, sir."

"When they arrive. We give them all the information on Hunter Voss. Without hiding details. But we frame it in a specific way: we identified him first, we reached out to him first, and if the Table wants to engage with him, they’ll have to do so through us. We turn the internal crisis into an opportunity to redefine our position within the Table."

"Understood, sir."

"Good. Start the investigation this morning. On him. On the girl. On anyone who might have been in contact with them over the last four days. Discreetly. Very discreetly."

"Yes, sir."

"And Larian."

"Yes, sir?"

"This Hunter Voss."

"Yes?"

"Thirty years ago, when I was young, I learned a trade rule I’ve never forgotten. When someone appears who changes the odds of an entire operation by themselves, without being invited, without being predicted, without fitting into any known category, you have to ask yourself one very specific question before deciding anything about him."

"What question?"

"Who sent him."