The rhythmic pounding of hooves echoed fiercely against the cobblestone streets, the sound magnified in the silence of the late night. Jamie gripped the reins tightly, his knuckles white beneath his gloves as he urged the horses to gallop faster. The carriage swayed and jolted, wheels rattling over uneven stones, but on the wide main avenues, he didn't have to worry about navigating tight spaces. His focus was singular: getting back to the Golden Fiddle as fast as possible.

Outside the Golden Fiddle, Camille stood on the stoop, her arms wrapped around herself against the chill, forcing the final patrons out.

Her gaze snapped toward the street as the carriage barreled down, coming to an abrupt, jarring halt before the tavern. The horses snorted, stamping their hooves in restless agitation. Camille's eyes widened at the sight. The carriage was being driven recklessly, and Jamie's expression was one she recognized: a storm of anger and urgency.

Jamie leaped down from the coacher's seat, barely taking the time to tie off the reins. "Camille!" he called out sharply as he moved toward the carriage door. "Go fetch the cleric from the Commercial Quarter. He knows us."

Confusion flickered across her face. "What happened?"

"I'll explain later," he said tersely, pressing a gold coin into her hand from a pouch at his belt. "This should cover his fee. Please, hurry."

Camille glanced past him as Thomas emerged from the carriage, supporting the limp forms of Bertram and Aldwin, their arms slung over his shoulders. Her breath caught in her throat. The two young men were battered and bloodied, their clothes torn and stained crimson. Dark smudges of blood smeared their faces, and an ominous trail dripped from their wounds, leaving splatters on the carriage steps and forming small puddles on the ground.

Her heart pounded in her chest. "Gods, are they...?"

"Alive, but in need of help," Jamie confirmed, his tone clipped as he moved to assist Thomas. "Go, Camille. Now."

Snapping out of her trance, Camille gave a resolute nod. "I'm on my way," she said, turning on her heel and sprinting down the street, her footsteps echoing against the silent facades of shuttered shops.

Together, Jamie and Thomas hefted the unconscious men, bearing their weight as they walked toward the tavern entrance.

Pushing through the heavy doors, they entered the tavern's common room. Eliza stood behind the bar, wiping down the polished surface with a rag. At the sound of the commotion, she looked up, a friendly greeting dying on her lips as she took in the sight before her.

"What in the world...?" Eliza's eyes widened, seeing the pale faces of the youths. "You're tracking mud all over—" But her reprimand halted abruptly as understanding dawned.

"Upstairs to the first room," she instructed, her voice sharp with concern. "I'll fetch water and linens."

Jamie and Thomas nodded, wasting no time as they guided Bertram and Aldwin toward the staircase. The narrow steps creaked under their combined weight.

Reaching the second floor, they entered a modest room reserved for the company's mercenaries. It had sturdy wooden walls, two bunk beds, and sparse furnishings. Gently, they laid the injured men onto the beds, adjusting pillows beneath their heads and pulling blankets up to their chins.

Thomas glanced at Jamie, his brow creased with worry. "They need tending quickly."

"Camille will return with the cleric soon," Jamie replied, his jaw set tightly.

Eliza appeared moments later, a large basin of steaming water balanced in her hands, a bundle of clean cloths draped over her arm. Her usual composure was tinged with urgency. "I'll take care of them," she assured, setting the basin on a nearby table. "We will clean their wounds while the cleric arrives."

Jamie placed a hand on her shoulder briefly. "Thank you, Eliza."

She met his gaze with a firm nod. "Go do what you must."

He moved purposefully toward Thomas, who stood by the doorway, concern etched into his rugged features.

"When Camille returns, tell her to be here in the morning. I'll need her," Jamie instructed.

Thomas's brow furrowed, worry flickering in his eyes. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"To scout the Dusters' territory," Jamie replied.

Thomas hesitated, then closed the door gently as he followed Jamie down the creaking staircase to the tavern's main floor. "Are you sure about this?" Thomas pressed, his voice low. "Is it another bold and reckless plan?"

Jamie paused at the foot of the stairs, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry," he said, a glint of determination in his eyes. "This won't be either of those."

Without further explanation, he pulled his cloak tightly around himself and slipped out into the night, leaving Thomas standing in contemplative silence.

--

When Jamie finally returned to the tavern, the first pale hues of dawn were streaking the sky. The streets of Hafenstadt were deserted, and the usual bustle of the markets was still hours away. Camille stood once again outside the Golden Fiddle, her keen gaze scanning the quiet surroundings. She straightened as Jamie approached, noting the weary set of his shoulders and the shadowed circles beneath his eyes.

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"You're back," she said softly, relief evident in her tone.

Jamie nodded, brushing past her to enter the tavern. "Thomas has gone home?" he asked over his shoulder.

"He left a few hours ago. I've been keeping watch," Camille replied, following him inside.

"Thanks" Jamie replied.

The tavern's interior was dim, the lingering scent of ale and wood smoke hanging in the air. Jamie sank into one of the polished chairs near the hearth, the faint warmth of the dying fire offering little comfort. From within his cloak, he drew a thick sheaf of parchment and a worn quill. Without a word, he began to scribble notes, his eyes intent as he calculated figures and sketched out plans.

Camille watched him for a moment, concern etching lines on her brow. "You should get some rest," she suggested gently.

"In a minute," Jamie murmured, not lifting his gaze from the papers. His mind raced, mapping out what had learned. Hours slipped by as he worked, the quill scratching steadily across the parchment.

When at last he set down his pen, Jamie gathered his notes, the fatigue of the long night finally catching up with him. He stood, his movements slow, and made his way up the staircase to his modest quarters.

Sleep claimed him swiftly, the world fading as soon as his head touched the bed.

--

It was well past midday when Jamie awoke. Sunlight flooded the room, and the sounds of Hafenstadt in full swing drifted through the open window.

Jamie descended the stairs to find Eliza, Camille, and Thomas seated around a table, their expressions a mix of curiosity and anticipation. Eliza, ever composed, regarded him with a steady gaze. "What are you planning?" she inquired, her tone measured.

Jamie placed his stack of papers on the table's scarred surface, spreading them out for all to see. Diagrams, maps, and lists of supplies covered the pages. "It's time to remove another piece from the board," he declared. "But first, I need your help."

Eliza leaned forward, her auburn hair catching the light. "Go on," she prompted.

"I need you to find large buildings near here," Jamie explained. "Preferably ones that are abandoned and have ample space inside."

Reaching into his coat, he produced a heavy pouch and set it down with a solid thunk. The sound of coins clinking together was unmistakable. Eliza's eyes widened as she untied the drawstring to reveal a glittering cache of gold.

"We have thirty gold coins that we can use to expand our business. I want you to use ten coins to purchase any suitable properties you can," Jamie instructed.

"Are you sure?" Eliza asked, astonished. "But how does this fit into your plans?"

Jamie met her gaze, his expression resolute. "We need to expand our presence. The Dusters, the Red Veil, even the government of Hafenstadt need to know that we're not to be trifled with."

He gestured to the plans spread before them. "We'll use these properties to grow our business. I want to establish a full-scale brewery. A true industry for producing our beer. Eliza, I need you to reach out to those traders that wanted to sell to the Holy Elven Empire. Secure contracts to supply them within the next six months."

Eliza blinked, digesting the scope of his ambition. "But how will we set up everything in such a short time?" she asked.

Jamie smiled slightly. "I'll be speaking with Knall to assist us. He's got the expertise we need."

"Thomas, I need you to stay here and keep the tavern safe," Jamie said as he rose from his seat, his voice carrying a note of urgency. "Camille, you're coming with me."

Thomas gave a firm nod. "Understood."

As Jamie approached him, concern etched across his features. "How are the boys faring?" he asked quietly.

"They're healing," Thomas replied. "They'll be back on their feet in two days at most."

"Good." Jamie's gaze hardened with determination. "In two days, we'll bring down the Dusters. Until then, stay alert and maintain our defenses."

"Got it," Thomas affirmed.

[The God of War is excited by what's happening.]

[The God of Mischief wants to know what you have planned.]

[The Goddess of Revenge just started watching your journey.]

With that, Jamie and Camille stepped out into the streets of Hafenstadt. The duo set off toward Knall's workshop, their footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestone.

For much of the journey, they walked in contemplative silence. It wasn't until they neared the bustling harbor that Jamie finally spoke.

"Does the Silence Vow work on more than one person?" he inquired, his gaze fixed ahead as ships bobbed gently in the dock, their sails billowing in the sea breeze.

Camille, who seemed lost in her own thoughts, blinked twice before turning to him. "It does," she replied. "As long as everyone is close to the one casting the spell."

"Excellent," Jamie said, satisfaction threading through his tone. "When we arrive, I'll need you to cast it on the three of us. What I'm about to discuss must remain strictly between us."

She nodded, her expression serious. "Understood."

As they approached Knall's workshop, they noticed the dwarf seated on the front steps. Knall's long, fiery beard was unkempt, and his shoulders sagged under an unseen weight. The usual spark in his eyes was dimmed, replaced by a weariness that Jamie hadn't seen before.

"Knall, is everything alright?" Jamie asked, concern evident in his voice as they drew closer.

The dwarf looked up slowly, his eyes meeting Jamie's. "They came again," he muttered, pushing himself up from the stoop with a heavy sigh.

"The Dusters?" Jamie's brows knitted together in a frown.

"Aye," Knall confirmed, his voice rough with suppressed frustration. "This time, they smashed my equipment." He turned toward the workshop, swinging open the massive doors with a creak.

Inside, the once-organized space was a scene of utter devastation. Shelves that had held meticulously arranged tools and alchemical ingredients were toppled, their contents strewn haphazardly across the floor. Shattered glass littered every surface, glinting dangerously in the shafts of light that pierced through the high windows. An array of vibrant liquids pooled in sinister puddles, their combined scents creating a nauseating miasma.

"Dammit," Camille whispered, her sharp eyes scanning the wreckage. The destruction was thorough, calculated, a message meant to intimidate.

"Perfect," Jamie said softly, though there was a cold edge to his tone that belied the word.

"Perfect?" Knall turned to him, one of his bushy eyebrows arching in disbelief. "My life's work is in ruins, and you call it perfect?"

Jamie met his gaze steadily. "I've come to put an end to them once and for all. And with this, you needn't feel any guilt about what will happen next."

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