The eastern road stretched through farmland that gradually surrendered to wilder terrain, where cultivation gave way to marshes that were more water than earth and trees that grew half-drowned in their own ecosystems. The Iron Hawks maintained a steady pace on horseback that spoke to experience with long-distance travel, though Ember found herself automatically adjusting her stride to match teammates who weren't there.

"Feeling adrift without the others?" Marcus asked after several hours of companionable silence broken only by the sounds of the wilderness around them.

"We're used to operating as a group," Ember admitted. "This is an adjustment."

"We're not all so codependent," Marcus replied. "Some adventurers value personal capability over constant collaboration."

"I'm glad you have such strong individual skills," Ember said. "It makes team coordination easier when you don't need constant checking-in to function effectively."

If Marcus detected her thinly veiled accusation, he didn't show it.

"Teamwork is like any complex endeavor," he said with a confident smile. "Proper execution requires clear definition of responsibilities and protocols."

"I've heard," Ember said, keeping her tone neutral. "It's impressive how well you make it work."

"Impressive is one word for it," Marcus agreed. "Others might call it the best possible configuration for success."

"Reasonable people could use many words for it," Ember replied. "I'm interested in learning which of those words apply and which don't."

A brief silence filled the space between them, and Ember watched Marcus's smile tighten with what might have been anger if he hadn't been so busy presenting himself as easygoing and professional.

"We'll see how well your words match reality," he said finally. "Best-case scenario, you learn something useful and share what you've seen with the others upon your return."

"Upon my return," Ember echoed, her paranoia telling her that worst-case scenario was more like "unlikely-to-happen" and that she shouldn't trust his version of reality.

She saw Marcus glance at Alessio as though sharing some private amusement she wasn't in on.

It felt a bit like being on an expedition with an explosive device whose wick-burn time was known only to her captors. Ember marched onward with the steady step of someone who'd learned to adapt to unexpected conditions, but whose nerves were tighter than her supply pack straps.

"How long have you been adventuring?" Elena asked, falling back from her scouting position to match pace with Ember. The younger woman, probably close to Ember's age, carried herself with the confident energy of someone who'd found her calling but hadn't yet discovered its limitations.

"Officially? About four months," Ember replied. "Though we had some, uh, informal experience before joining the Guild."

"Four months to A-rank," Thomas called from his position, where he surveyed the marsh with sharp eyes. "Impressive."

"We had some advantages," Ember replied diplomatically.

"Such as?" Marcus asked with casual interest that felt like fishing for intelligence.

Ember considered her response carefully. "We work well together."

"Coordination's everything," Gareth agreed from behind them, where he'd fallen into rear guard without needing to be asked. "Seen too many good people die because they couldn't watch each other's backs properly."

"But surely it requires extensive training to achieve that level of coordination?" Thomas inquired with a curiosity that sounded a bit like jealousy. "The literature suggests a minimum eighteen-month development period for high-performance teams."

The words hung in the air like awkward punctuation, demanding some response from Ember that balanced honesty with mystery.

"Unless you're just naturally compatible," Elena suggested brightly. "Some teams click right from the start, you know? Like they were meant to work together."

"Yes, well," Ember said finally, "the literature also suggests that A-rank progression takes significantly longer for most teams, so clearly we're operating under different standards."

"Natural compatibility is unreliable under pressure," Marcus said dismissively. "Proper cooperation requires training, discipline, and adherence to proven protocols. Instinctive teamwork falls apart when people start dying."

The criticism was subtle but unmistakable. Marcus was already laying the groundwork to diminish whatever performance Ember might demonstrate.

"What protocols do you use?" she asked, genuinely curious about how traditional teams coordinated with less-than-total mental linkage.

"Standard doctrine," Thomas replied, just a little defensively. "Positioning, lines of fire, communication procedures—everything designed for efficient teamwork without excessive micro-managing."

Gareth offered a half-smile at that, as if remembering his younger days when figuring out 'excessive' had felt like negotiating the terms of an armistice.

"And if Marcus gets taken out?" Ember asked.

"Chain of command drops to me," Gareth said matter-of-factly. "Then Thomas, then Alessio, then Elena. Simple."

Speaking of Alessio, Ember hadn't heard from him all day. The rogue stuck mostly to himself, responding only to Gareth's prompting with single-word acknowledgments. She'd almost forgotten he was there, which—considering his profession—was probably a compliment.

"What about special cases?" she asked.

"Assessed as they arise," Thomas said confidently. "The value of doctrine is its adaptability. Our experience has given us enough situational awareness to apply established procedures to non-standard circumstances. Adherence to protocol doesn't mean we're inflexible."

"Good to know," Ember said vaguely, watching Alessio re-enter formation from somewhere downwind where she hadn't felt him circling.

The rogue looked at her impassively, giving her a single nod before returning to scouting the surrounding terrain. Alessio reminded Ember of a less-socially-adept Ash—focused, competent, and perfectly content to let the rest of the world pass him by as long as it didn't interfere with him doing his job.

She'd thought Ash's combination of borderline-aspie laser-focus and intellectual curiosity was an anomaly, but what if it was a general phenomenon that surfaced among certain personality types across all worlds?

"Stay vigilant," Alessio murmured almost too quiet to hear. "I don't like this fog."

She hadn't even realized a fog was descending, but sure enough, that creeping ground-mist was just starting to steal across the swamplands before them.

Mist rose from waters that reflected the sky while concealing depths that could range from ankle-deep puddles to channels deep enough to swallow horses. Wooden walkways connected patches of solid ground in a network that spoke to generations of travelers learning to navigate the wetlands safely.

"Drake country," Gareth announced, consulting a map marked with previous sighting reports. "Prefer the deep channels. Ambush predators."

"Standard elimination protocol," Marcus added for Ember's benefit. "Locate the nest, eliminate adults first, then destroy eggs to prevent population recovery. Simple and effective."

"You destroy the eggs?" Ember asked, her mind filling with thoughts of broken shells and unhatched reptilian embryos.

"We prevent population resurgence," Thomas corrected. "Stale nests can attract scavengers, and mature egg sacs can hatch in the presence of sufficient heat sources."

The way he said it was so casual—destroying nascent life was just standard protocol, same as sweeping the floors or filing paperwork after a long day.

"Plus, they're mean little bastards," Marcus added matter-of-factly. "Seen what they do to sheep. Not pretty."

Ember said nothing, though her sisters-selves would have had strong opinions about the ethics of destroying eggs. They'd learned to distinguish between threats that required elimination and creatures that simply needed to be relocated.

The Iron Hawks approached the bog with the sort of discipline that suggested they'd done this before. Elena bounded ahead through the tangled undergrowth, her movements confident, wary, but playful. She called back observations about terrain features and potential hazards without becoming bogged down (literally) in swampy spots or encountering surprises that could have been pitfalls.

Gareth and Alessio worked in complementary silence, flanking the team on either side in positions that always kept eyes on their surroundings without looking over their shoulders. They exchanged terse half-phrases that somehow carried entire conversations.

"Trails."

"East."

"Eggs?"

"No."

Every utterance had purpose—relevant information boiled down to its most concise components with the confidence that the person listening would understand both its relevance and how it fit into the larger mission context.

The confidence was attractive, in a gruff, experienced-adventurer sort of way.

Thomas began casting detection spells, his staff glowing with the faint blue-white illumination of magic that seeped through the swampland like water through sponges. Ember could almost see the way his magical energies flowed through the surrounding wilderness, testing, probing, searching for anomalies that indicated hidden threats.

"Getting anything?" Marcus asked.

Thomas didn't respond at first—whatever he was doing seemed to require intense concentration bordering on trance-like absorption.

Marcus shrugged at Ember with the sort of nonchalance that suggested he was used to Thomas's idiosyncrasies. "He'll let us know if there's a problem."

Gareth snorted as if in agreement.

"Three adults," Thomas reported, his voice distant. "Two juveniles. Large den. There." He pointed with his staff towards a small island in the heart of the bog, surrounded by channels where the water seemed darker, murkier. "Four eggs. Viable. Hot. Recently brooded."

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The Iron Hawks immediately began coordinating as though this were routine that only mildly demanded their attention. Gareth moved forward to survey the terrain for entry points, Alessio faded into the background without comment, and Marcus started planning their assault while Thomas channeled additional spells.

That left Ember feeling like a spare part, a tag-along dragged into someone else's adventure who hadn't been worth explaining anything to.

"The hell is that?" Ember asked, pointing to where Thomas was pouring magic into his staff.

"Target-marking," Marcus replied. "So Alessio can land critical strikes more easily."

"It only works at close range," Thomas added absently, his attention still on his spellwork.

"Not a problem," Elena said, casually notching an arrow. "We'll be up close real soon."

That seemed like all the warning they were going to give before charging straight into combat. Ember scanned their surroundings for cover, line of sight, and ways this situation could go horribly wrong. She looked at Marcus with what she hoped was professional interest and not budding concern.

"So what's my job here?"

"Stay out of the way," he replied shortly. "You're an observer. That means you do not contribute."

"I can help," Ember protested.

"Your help is not required," he clarified, "and your presence is not an asset in this situation."

It felt like being slapped. Ember stared at Marcus for a moment with the sort of expression usually reserved for watching train-wrecks unfold in slow motion, then she realized the Iron Hawks were already moving into position.

Elena bounded to a slightly higher patch of ground that offered good lines of sight, her movements light and sure-footed on uncertain footing. Thomas was still lost in his magic, and Gareth had vanished from sight.

Then a shadow flitted through the mist, as Alessio emerged from nowhere with daggers already flashing. The strike landed on a Mire Drake's scaled throat before it could react, opening a precise cut that left the creature staggering as blood fountained with each heartbeat.

The other two adult drakes took notice. Their hulking reptilian bodies reminded Ember of alligators, though these creatures stood taller at the shoulder than any 'gator Ember had seen and could easily be mistaken for dragons—if dragons lacked wings and had faces like giant lizards.

"Concuss!" Thomas barked, pointing his staff. A rippling wave of force slammed into the nearest drake's head, sending it reeling as the spell compressed air pressure around its skull like invisible fists battering from all sides.

"Flank!" Gareth shouted, emerging from cover to attack another drake from behind, slamming into its legs with a powerful two-handed slash of his axe.

"Watch the juveniles!" Elena called, firing arrows with smooth, repetitive motions that looked more like exercises than attacks. Her shots landed in vulnerable spots—the juncture of head and neck, the underside of limbs, soft scales around the belly—anywhere that would impede the drakes' movements or wound them enough to slow pursuit.

The Mire Drakes responded exactly as cornered predators everywhere did—they attacked.

The creature Thomas had stunned with Concuss lashed out with teeth and tail, biting at the air and striking blindly as it tried to recover from the magical assault. Another drake charged toward Elena, its long body cutting through the water like a ship under sail as it barreled down on her position.

Gareth slammed into the creature's side, sending his axe-blade slicing across the scales protecting its flank in an attack that drew blood but didn't stop the creature's charge. Elena backflipped away, springing from rock to root as the drake tried to snap her up without slowing.

The third adult drake, wounded by Alessio's sneak attack, snapped at the rogue in a slow arc that would have removed the man's head from his shoulders if the attack had connected. Alessio rolled away, his body almost vanishing into swamp-water before re-emerging coated in mud and detritus that made him look like an angry swamp spirit come to take revenge for desecrating the wetland.

Ember hung back—she'd never felt so superfluous in battle. Her contribution was literally just watching as the Iron Hawks fought.

The Mire Drakes, recovering from the initial ambush, went on the offensive. Their bulk smashed through foliage and they carved trails through swamp-water as they converged on the Iron Hawks like a siege engine rolling over enemy lines. Elena was forced to dodge between trees and boulders, flipping out of range of one drake just in time for another to lunge at her from an unexpected direction that left no time for reactive shots.

Thomas was forced to hold his fire as the drakes moved close enough to pose the risk of friendly damage, while Gareth and Alessio traded strikes that drew blood without slowing the massive monsters.

"Form up!" Marcus shouted, though the order was unnecessary as the Hawks instinctively shifted into formation with Elena on point, Gareth and Alessio flanking, and Thomas at the rear.

The drakes attacked as the formation consolidated.

Elena ducked under a snapping bite, rolling between two sets of legs and striking a decisive blow with a dagger-thrust at the belly of a passing drake, aiming for the creature's softer under-scales.

Gareth held the center of their formation, using his tower shield to block snapping jaws or sweeping tail-swipes while cutting at legs, bellies, throats—whatever vulnerability he could reach. Alessio moved in a complementary blur of blades, daggers flashing from both hands as he sliced at vulnerable points.

Marcus remained on the sidelines—watching, assessing, offering what Ember could only assume was supposed to be encouraging shouts of instruction that had no meaningful effect on the battle.

The tide turned slowly, inexorably, in favor of the Iron Hawks. For all their bulk and ferocity, the Mire Drakes couldn't maintain pressure against disciplined teamwork that kept them isolated from helping each other or coordinating defense.

After one drake fell with a gurgle as Gareth's axe-blade sliced open its throat, the fight was essentially over. The remaining adults were worn down, their movements slowing and attacks growing increasingly desperate until they, too, collapsed into expanding pools of blood that muddied the water around their bodies.

The two juveniles lasted barely a minute against focused, coordinated attacks that ended them as swiftly as possible.

Gareth walked forward, planting his boot on the lead drake's neck and levering his axe free with a satisfied grunt.

"Scaly bastards," he said fondly. "Almost had you, Elena."

"Nonsense," she replied cheerfully. "I had it under control."

Marcus didn't even have the decency to pretend to contribute—this fight had been his team's victory, not his.

"Congratulations on your victory," Ember offered. "Guess I wasn't needed after all."

"Like I said," Marcus replied with a smug grin, "observe and learn. The best teams can handle problems without unnecessary support."

"I'm sure," Ember said, unable to keep the annoyance from her voice. "Glad everything worked out."

"Wasn't even close," Alessio muttered, wiping his blades clean. "Not worth the detour."

Marcus threw Ember a meaningful look, as though the rogue's nonchalance somehow proved their superiority over her own more cautious approach to problem-solving.

What would her sister-selves say, if they were here?

Pyra would be poking the bodies, trying to determine exactly how these beasts were put together. Cinder would make loud, pointed comments about the drakes that were probably jokes but somehow fell flat without context. Kindle would be asking the Iron Hawks about their past exploits, keeping things lively with questions and dramatic retellings. And Ash would be—

Ash would be doing her own thing. Because that's what Ash did.

"Alright, get rid of those eggs," Marcus ordered his team. "I don't want to see another drake anywhere near those farms. Proper elimination, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Elena replied with a cheeriness that felt forced. "Proper elimination."

The nest was built into the root system of a massive dead oak, its hollow trunk providing protection for clutches of leathery eggs. Thomas's fire magic made quick work of the destruction, though Ember found herself looking away as flames consumed what might have been the next generation.

"And that's how you handle agricultural pest management," Marcus said with obvious satisfaction, consulting his pocket watch. "Ahead of schedule."

"You're keeping a schedule?" Ember asked, following along as they set out again at a brisk pace. The road was long and day was short, and they weren't getting paid by the hour.

"Of course, we are," he replied. "Adhering to schedules is how you ensure reliable performance under pressure."

"Right," she said quietly. "Of course."

The Iron Hawks moved with the sort of grim purpose that Ember might have mistaken for duty if she didn't know better. They didn't ask questions or look for unexpected complications—everything was straightforward, simple, and exactly as it seemed.

Danger? Eliminate it. Problem? Solve it. Adhering to protocols, schedules, and procedures without stopping to consider whether the rules were adequate.

They wouldn't survive a week with her sister-selves.

The thought of Marcus trying to enforce simple procedures on Pyra, Ash, Kindle, and Cinder was so horrifying that Ember found herself stifling inappropriate giggles.

The trek back toward the main road took them past travelers whose wagons had stopped for what appeared to be route planning. Three covered wagons surrounded by nervous guards, with a well-dressed figure consulting maps while gesturing toward the bog with obvious frustration.

"Caravan trouble," Elena observed brightly. "Wonder what's got them stuck?"

"Not our concern," Marcus replied without slowing. "Our contract was Mire Drake elimination, not caravan escort."

"Those guards look jumpy," Gareth said shortly. "Like they're expecting a fight. That's our problem."

Alessio let out a noncommittal grunt.

"Nothing we need to worry about," Marcus assured them. "Whatever trouble they've got, it isn't part of our mission."

"What mission?" Ember asked him, pitching her voice low so it wouldn't carry. "We're on the way home. Problems like this are the point of adventurers."

"We're here to complete one job," he replied, "not deal with unrelated issues that don't pay."

"That's—" she started, but was interrupted.

The caravan leader noticed their approach and hurried to intercept them. Middle-aged, expensive clothing adapted for travel, bearing that suggested boardrooms rather than wilderness experience.

"Adventurers!" he called with obvious relief. "Guild certification?"

"Iron Hawks," Marcus replied with professional courtesy. "Contract complete, we're returning to Amaranth."

The man's relief faded into polite resignation, and Ember felt a sudden surge of dislike toward Marcus. Not because he was enforcing protocol—protocol was important in some circumstances. Her dislike came from knowing that even a show of concern would be enough to at least hear these people's problems.

"We should at least hear what he has to say," Ember told him.

"My decision is made," Marcus replied.

"You," Ember said, making her voice casual, friendly, open, and caring, "look like you've got big problems. I'd be happy to listen."

The caravan leader immediately latched onto her words like a shipwreck survivor sighting a life raft.

"Yes, good lady, you and your companions are a welcome sight for tired eyes," he gushed, bowing slightly. "I am Navarro, a representative of the Rumanus Trading Company. We've had a bit of bad luck, I'm afraid. Standard road's flooded from recent storms. Local guides suggested northern passage through deeper bog sections, but my security team has expressed concerns about monster attacks."

"Concerns?" Thomas asked mildly. "What sort of concerns?"

Ember suppressed a smile as the others listened despite Marcus's posture. This team may have been ordered to ignore the problem, but it was obvious they didn't like it.

"We've heard rumors," Navarro said, shaking his head. "Gnolls raiding, stealing, destroying shipments. I've heard they're gathering for some sort of military campaign, but I'm hoping that's just idle talk. That's the problem with mercantile travel—there's no way to tell truth from fiction."

"Gnolls?" Ember prompted, earning an annoyed look from Marcus.

"Two-legged, hairy, hyena-headed things," Elena explained. "Aggressive, tribal, prone to raiding."

"Thugs and slavers," Gareth added. "Bad news for honest folk."

"Tales grow in the telling," Navarro said. "I've traveled for years without ever seeing a gnoll, and I'll be happy to keep it that way." He glanced at Ember. "There was talk of a small gnoll settlement, but the Guild cleared them out of here years ago."

Alessio frowned. Marcus shook his head in dismissal.

"We've no reason to deviate," he said. "Navarro, I'm sorry for your troubles, but this is not—"

"We'll pay you double the rate of a standard escort," Navarro said.

"Double for standard duty?" Marcus mused, his expression softening. "That's certainly tempting."

Gareth nodded.

"Can't leave folk to gnolls," he rumbled.

"I'm sure the Iron Hawks can accommodate a slight deviation," Thomas said. "That's standard procedure, after all."

"Double is generous," Elena added with cheerful enthusiasm.

"Double, and you've hired yourself an escort," Marcus agreed after a moment of obviously unnecessary calculation.

Navarro looked almost weak with relief.

"Yes, yes, of course," he said, gesturing grandly. "Double rate."

Marcus glanced at Ember as though daring her to question this arrangement, and she just nodded.

They were escorting a merchant caravan because she'd shamed them into it.

Pleasure rushed through her like hot cocoa, but Ember managed to keep her expression neutral. She had Marcus in a snare of his own making, and he knew it.

Escorting the caravan meant helping people, not performing some macho demonstration for her benefit. It was work, plain and simple. Easy work. Obvious work. Work they should have done without payment, but at least they were doing it.

She filed away his motivations to confront later. For now? They had a job to do and she'd be damned before she gave him an excuse to delay them even longer.

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