"Where are they?" Jamie muttered.

Thomas gazed into the distance, his eyes scanning the carriages departing the grand estate. Ornate vehicles bearing the crests of noble houses rolled past, but none bore the emblem of the Golden Fiddle Company. "They were so excited," he remarked, concern edging into his voice. "There's no way they just fell asleep in the carriage."

"No chance of that happening," Jamie agreed, his jaw tightening. "Let's go find them."

"Are you sure? I can go on my own," Thomas offered, glancing around at the elegantly dressed guests still mingling near the entrance. He was mindful of Jamie's image and the impressions of the highborn attendees.

"I'm certain," Jamie replied firmly. "Aside from the noble heiress, there's no one here whose opinion concerns me. The Governor and his ministers didn't even bother to attend." He shrugged nonchalantly.

With hurried strides, Thomas fell into step beside him. The pair drew stares from those lingering on the raised walkway, aristocrats and dignitaries who looked on with shock and disdain as the two men headed purposefully toward the muddy road leading away from the festivities.

As they made their way, a couple of servants in crisp livery approached them nervously. "Is there anything we can assist you with, sirs?" one of them inquired, wringing his hands.

"Just point us to where the carriages are kept," Jamie demanded curtly, his gaze steely. There was an edge to his voice that brooked no argument, leaving the servants no choice but to comply.

"Of... of course," the other stammered, gesturing down a side path lined with lanterns. "Follow that road, and it will lead you to the stables."

Without another word, Jamie and Thomas pressed on. A nagging feeling gnawed at Jamie's thoughts. He couldn't fathom Bertram and Aldwin failing in their sole responsibility, especially given how proud they'd been to bear the insignia of the Golden Fiddle Company.

The path wound away from the glittering lights of the mansion, the sounds of music and laughter fading behind them. The air grew cooler, and the sounds of nocturnal creatures stirred in the underbrush.

They emerged into a wide courtyard where several carriages stood in waiting, their polished surfaces gleaming faintly under the starlight. Drivers lounged nearby, some seated atop crates, others leaning against the wheels, but as Jamie and Thomas approached, the men averted their gazes, suddenly engrossed in adjusting reins or inspecting nonexistent blemishes on their vehicles.

"Something's not right," Thomas murmured, his hand instinctively moving closer to the hilt of his sword.

Jamie nodded.

The stone path continued toward the stables. As they neared the entrance to the stables, the familiar scents of hay and aged wood enveloped them. But beneath it lingered another smell, metallic and sharp.

'Iron,' Jamie thought, his senses sharpening.

Jamie pushed open the stable doors with such force that they groaned on their hinges before slamming against the walls. The sharp sound reverberated through the interior, startling a few nearby attendants who glanced up in surprise.

Inside, the expansive stable housed dozens of alcoves where carriages were neatly parked, each in its designated space. Even from a distance, Jamie's gaze fixed upon their carriage at the far end, the emblem of the Golden Fiddle prominently displayed on its left door. Seeing it brought a momentary relief, but that feeling was short-lived.

Nearby, a small group of people had gathered, their hushed voices carrying across the quiet stable.

"Are you sure?"

"We could call someone."

As Jamie approached, Thomas followed close behind. The group parted to reveal a scene that made his heart tighten.

Bertram and Aldwin stood by the carriage, and they were a sight to behold, a deplorable one at that. Their clothes were cut, crumpled, and torn, with scorch marks marring the fabric in several places. It was as if they'd been through hell and back. Their faces and arms bore numerous cuts, fresh blood seeping from wounds both shallow and deep. Dark bruises were already forming, painting their skin with shades of blue and purple.

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Bertram's face was swollen on one side, his cheekbone visibly raised. Aldwin's nose was bent at an unnatural angle, the break evident and painful to look at. Blood trickled down from their eyebrows, trailing over their injuries and staining their torn garments. Splashes of crimson dotted the ground around them, the metallic scent of iron heavy in the air, so much so that it overpowered the usual odors of the stable.

Despite their battered appearance, the carriage remained untouched; no dents or scratches marred its polished surface. The two young men stood upright, their arms folded behind their backs in a stance that was both disciplined and defiant.

"Leader," Aldwin acknowledged as Jamie drew near, his voice steady despite the apparent pain etched across his features. Bertram straightened, wincing slightly but meeting Jamie's gaze with a mix of apology and pride.

"Forgive us, sir," Bertram began, his voice trembling, not from fear, but from the raw emotion threatening to overflow. "We tried to stop them, but we couldn't. Still, we made sure no harm came to the carriage."

Aldwin maintained a proud tilt to his chin, his eyes reflecting determination even as a bead of blood ran down his temple. It was clear he was attempting to mask the agony and pain coursing through him.

The onlookers, sensing the weight of the moment, began to disperse. They slipped away quietly, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire of whatever was to come.

Jamie surveyed them both, his sharp eyes taking in every injury, every tear, every drop of blood. A storm brewed behind his composed demeanor, but his voice remained steady when he finally spoke.

"Who?" The single word hung in the air, laden with restrained fury.

Bertram and Aldwin exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering across their faces.

"Who did this to you?" Jamie repeated, his tone calm but with an undercurrent that sent a chill down Thomas's spine.

"We don't know their names, sir," Aldwin replied, his gaze focused as he tried to recall the details. "But they seemed to be from the Dusters. There were about ten of them, including some dwarves. They didn't wear any symbols, but they acted… strangely, like they were under the influence of something."

"Thorgrimm," Jamie uttered in a low, controlled voice, the name escaping his lips like a venomous whisper.

"He wouldn't do this... would he?" Thomas questioned incredulously, his eyes searching Jamie's face. "All because of that exchange?"

"Get into the carriage," Jamie commanded sharply.

"But sir—" Bertram protested, his battered face etched with confusion.

"You two—and Thomas—into the carriage," Jamie repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. Turning to Thomas, he added firmly, "Take care of them."

Without further delay, Jamie strode toward the front of the carriage, his boots echoing against the cobblestones. He climbed up to the driver's seat, seizing the reins with a decisive grip. For a fleeting moment, Thomas considered challenging the sudden orders, a flicker of concern crossing his face. But as he glanced back at his leader, he recognized the determination etched into Jamie's visage. The path they were embarking upon was set, and there would be no turning back.

Though Jamie's orders had been delivered with an outward calm, Thomas sensed the undercurrent of emotion stirring beneath the surface. The usual seductive warmth in Jamie's eyes had been replaced by an icy resolve, a tempest of fury simmering just bellow the surface.

Swallowing his hesitation, Thomas guided the two injured young men toward the carriage. "Come on," he urged gently, supporting Aldwin as Bertram limped alongside.

Once all were settled inside the carriage, Jamie snapped the reins, and the horses lurched forward. The carriage rolled away from the stables, the wheels crunching over the gravel before finding a steady rhythm on the main road. The grand mansion receded into the distance, its glittering lights dimming as they ventured into the night's embrace.

The air inside the carriage was thick with unspoken thoughts. For Thomas, the evening had been a strategic success, a chance to introduce themselves to the influential circles of Hafenstadt. But now, that victory felt hollow. Jamie, however, had used the event to assess his adversaries, to discern which among them might merely bark and which would dare to bite. He hadn't expected that a rabid dog would try to sink its teeth in without warning.

As they journeyed onward, a disquieting smile crept across Jamie's face, a smile that bore no trace of joy or humor. It was a grin that hinted at darker thoughts, a silent promise of retribution. Seated beside him on the driver's bench, Jay felt a chill run through his spectral form. The ethereal cat watched his companion warily, sensing the storm brewing within.

"What are you planning to do?" Jay ventured cautiously, his voice barely more than a whisper carried on the wind. He hoped to anchor Jamie's thoughts, to prevent him from acting on impulse driven by rage.

"Me?" Jamie replied, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The smile remained, cold and unwavering. "I'm going to bury the Dusters. I'll show Thorgrimm that we're not even playing the same game."

"Revenge for harming the boys?" Jay pressed gently. "Isn't this a bit hasty? They're much larger than we are."

Jamie let out a mirthless chuckle. "Size doesn't matter when your opponent is on the ground," he retorted. "And no, this isn't just about the boys. Today, Thorgrimm didn't merely attack Bertram and Aldwin—he made an open assault on the Golden Fiddle itself. He came after me directly." His grip on the reins tightened, knuckles whitening. "And I don't leave my enemies alive."

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