Septimus raised his mug when the second round arrived. Then again for the third. His words slowed. Shoulders eased. That quiet heat behind his eyes, the one always watching, always measuring, faded back.
Not gone. Just resting.
Lottie leaned back with a laugh, loose and warm. “If you hit round four, I’m carrying you out.”
He waved her off, deadpan but lazy about it. “I’m perfectly capable of regretting my own decisions, thank you.”
The fire burned lower. The tavern thinned. Chairs scraped. Voices softened to nothing. But Septimus stayed where he was. Drink still in hand. Eyes distant, but not searching.
Just calm.
He woke late. Not the soft kind of late. Not the kind with birdsong or slow light. This was sharp. Sun stabbing through the curtains. Time already half-spent. His head throbbed with smoke, firelight, and three too many rounds of that godawful, totem-touched whiskey.
He groaned. Both hands scrubbed over his face before he sat up with a grunt.“Agh... I slept in.”
Lottie was already at the window. Wind-mussed, wide awake, and grinning like she’d been waiting for this moment just to twist the knife.
“You always sleep in,” she said, maddeningly bright. “That was three rounds of barrel-aged regret, Septimus. You’re lucky you still have both eyebrows.”
Across the room, Silas didn’t even look up from the folded city map spread across his lap.
“Didn’t think we had time for dreams,” he said, voice mild.
He shifted one corner of the map, not really needing to. The flicker in his eyes said enough.
Lottie spun on her heel, hand braced on the windowsill. “Well? We’ve got coins lining our pockets, a whole city to wander, and probably someone desperate enough to need folks like us.”
She tossed a glance between them. “Or, at the very least, people who can punch and sparkle.”
Septimus grunted and reached for his gear. The slow ritual of tightening buckles and tugging armor into place felt heavier than usual. His shoulders ached.
He’d let himself get too comfortable the night before. The warmth of the hearth. The shape of their laughter. Their mugs had clinked like they’d been doing this for years.
Almost domestic.
He looked over at Silas. Even bleary-eyed, something felt wrong, too still, too contained. The boy was holding himself with that kind of care you didn’t learn unless you’d been broken once and taught to hide the seams.
“Are you hiding injuries, son?”
The words came out rougher than intended. Sharper. Like a ghost from an older version of himself had spoken first. Silas flinched. Not from the question. From the way it sounded. He closed his notebook slowly, thumb holding the page.
A tired half-smile pulled at his face.
“Just a scratch,” he said, “Hurts more to breathe in the cold than anything from yesterday.”
Silas didn’t look up right away. When he did, there was something honest in his eyes. “Didn’t want to make a fuss. We’re not exactly flush with resources.”
From the window, Lottie made a noise halfway between a scoff and a groan. She turned, walked over, and flopped onto the nearest bunk like the effort itself offended her. One arm draped across her eyes.
“You absolute plum,” she muttered, “We have a healer five minutes away. And Septimus still hoards bandages like some war-torn squirrel.”
She pointed vaguely toward the satchel in the corner.
Silas chuckled. “Fine. But no more of those boiled root compresses. I smelled like soup for two days.”
Lottie rolled to her feet with a dramatic sigh and crossed to the salve kit. She tossed Septimus a look. Equal parts knowing, and amused. Then knelt beside Silas.
“Sit still and quit whining,” she gently scolded. “I’ve patched up goats that squirmed less than you.”
Her hands worked with quiet certainty. The salve stung. She didn’t apologize. Pressed it in firm. Wrapped gauze with practiced speed.
Septimus nodded, satisfied. “You look slightly less terrible now.” He cinched the last strap on his armor and threw his coat over his shoulders. “We can sit around and burn through coin, or we can find out who’s hiring.”
Silas stood and adjusted his belt. His tone stayed dry. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I’m almost touched.”
Lottie popped her shoulder with a twist and pulled on her gloves one finger at a time.
“Alright then,” she said, “Let’s go find someone else’s problem before one of us makes a new one.”
The city waited behind that door. And hangover or not, the day had already begun.
The job board out front hadn’t changed much. Same warped wood, same rusted nailheads, same scraps fluttering in the wind. But the postings were new. Fresh ink. Folded edges still crisp. A few bore the seal of the port authority. Others looked scrawled in charcoal smeared by hastened hand, corners already curling.
Septimus scanned the fliers. One caught his eye.
Mill Trouble - Assistance Requested
The sawblade at North Yard has been running for over a day. Power’s been cut, crew won’t go near it. It’s still spinning. Heating up.
Help needed. Hazard pay guaranteed.
Another flyer, written in smaller script.
Lanternwork – Discreet Help Wanted
Looking for calm, capable hands to assist in testing Totemic lanterns recovered from flooded ruins. Must not fear the dark.
Payment negotiable.
He heard Silas approach behind him, boots soft on the stone. The young man read over his shoulder, hand resting near the hilt of his blade like the parchment might fight back.
“A sawblade with no power source…” Silas murmured. “Could be a mana loop. Or a broken ward. Maybe elemental. Maybe something worse.”
He nodded slightly toward the mill posting. “But we’d be close to the city if it goes bad.”
Lottie was still reading, but her eyes kept drifting back to the lantern job. Her fingers hovered near the flier like she expected it to buzz.
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” she said. Her smile was easy. “Not if it whispers back.”
Then, more seriously, “But the sawmill pays better. And if it’s Totem-touched, we might get a clearer sense of how Viremoor’s holding together.”
Septimus didn’t answer right away. He studied both postings, weighed the risks, the time. His hand lingered near the mill notice a second longer.
“We’ll check the sawmill,” he said finally.
Silas gave a short nod, quietly relieved. “More structure. Less floating lights that think.”
Lottie shrugged, flipping her wild hair back. “Fine. But if it turns out to be a twitchy foreman with an old enchantment, I’m picking the next one.”
The road sloped northward, cobbles giving way to gravel. The scent of cut pine thickening with each step. Lumberyards stretched along the edge of the city, piled high with fresh logs and sawdust.
The North Yard itself loomed ahead. Slumped roof patched with tar, its outer walls damp with morning haze. A low, droning hum came from within, mechanical, rhythmic, off.
A man stepped out from the covered walkway as they approached. His shirt was rolled to the elbows, sweat streaking down his temples despite the chill. “You’re the ones who took the job?”
Septimus nodded.
“Good,” the man said, rubbing the back of his neck. “We shut everything down. Power’s been cut. Nobody’s inside. That damn blade hasn’t stopped spinning since yesterday. I’ve had crew walk out. Others won’t step near it.”
He gestured to a narrow plank path leading into the mill’s interior. “I don’t know what’s doing it. But I know it isn’t right.”
Septimus adjusted the straps on his shield and looked toward Silas. “Thoughts?”
Silas narrowed his eyes, listening. The hum vibrated faintly through the ground beneath their boots. He stepped forward and let his cloak fall back as he knelt beside the outer wall.
“There’s residue,” he said softly, “Not elemental. Something aberrant.”
He raised a hand, hovering it over the floorboards as if feeling for heat that wasn’t there. “It’s like a scar. Something dragged across the world and left a trace.”
His eyes followed the sound toward the slowly turning blade, its movement unnatural against the stillness of the room. “It’s not mechanical. Not fire. Not air. It’s the kind of thing that lingers after people like me leave.”
He stood, brushing his palms clean. “Not dangerous yet. But it’s not natural.”
Septimus frowned. “Then find the source. You know infusions better than I do.”
Silas gave a faint, humorless smile, “Alright. Let’s see if this shadow still has a tether.”
He stepped onto the platform, one hand steady against the frame as he pressed his palm to the turning column. For a moment, he stood still. Breathing shallow, shoulders tight. Then he drew in sharply through his teeth.
“It’s tethered,” he said, “Not from a crystal. Manual casting. Someone laced this into the structure. It's decaying, but it’s holding.”
He opened his eyes, voice steadier now. “Motion. Memory. Someone tied this machine to a moment. Maybe a death.”
He pointed toward the center axle. Faint ash smudges stained the grooves between the gears. “It wasn’t an accident.”
Septimus moved inside without a word, letting his senses guide him. The scent of old wood and iron soaked the air. Shadows clung to the corners. Sawdust drifted with every breath. Toward the back of the mill, half-hidden beneath a crate, something caught his boot.
He crouched, pulled it free.
A leather strap. Scorched, brittle, and wrist-sized. Next to it, a small rusted blade, not shaped for woodwork. There was a smear on its edge. Not blood. Thicker. Almost like sap. He looked up. On the beam above, burned into the wood, was a crude glyph. Not from any Church doctrine. But not random either. A tether.
Silas stepped beside him, eyes sharp.
“It’s not for power,” he said, “It’s for binding. Holding something still. A soul, maybe. Or something trying to leave.”
Lottie wandered beneath the rafters, squinting. She raised a hand and exhaled, sending a burst of air upward. Dust lifted, scattered, settled again. She didn’t speak. But her gaze lingered on the dark above the glyph. Long enough to make Septimus uneasy.
Silas stood beneath the glyph, fingers hovering just below the charred wood. The air around it felt thinner somehow. Pulled back.
“If I can unravel it,” he said softly, “the Spark, if that’s what it is, might be released. Maybe peacefully. Maybe not.”
He didn’t look up. Just stared at the burned lines like they might twitch under his gaze. “If they were bound here against their will… they won’t be grateful.”
Finally, he turned to Septimus and Lottie. “But if I don’t try, the mill keeps feeding off them. Whoever they are, they’ll stay here. Caught in the teeth. That’s not how anything should end.”
He reached toward the glyph. His fingertips darkened, shadows curling in slow threads. A ripple ran from the wood up his arm. Not thick like mana. Thinner. Like memory. Like the absence of something that used to be there.
His jaw clenched. “I can do it. But if it gets loud in here, I’ll need you both to make sure I walk out.”
Septimus nodded. Slow. Certain. “I’ve got your back. Don’t you worry.”
Silas nodded in return. No flourish, no tension. Just trust. He set a ladder, climbed, and pressed his palm to the glyph. Fingers splayed. Breath slowing. A pool of shadow gathered beneath his hand. Not conjured. Not summoned. Drawn.
Like pulling poison from a wound.
The room bent inward. The sawmill groaned. Then it cracked. Dry wood and old wards breaking in unison. A rush followed. Soot and pressure collapsing inward in a silent scream.
Septimus felt it in his ribs more than his ears. The echo of mana leaving the room. Then silence. The sawblade stopped mid-turn. Chains stilled. The hum that had soaked the air like smoke vanished all at once. Only breath, wood and stillness remained.
Silas stumbled back. Lottie caught him with a grunt before he hit the floor. One arm braced across his chest.
He exhaled, unsteady. Then gave a hoarse, quiet laugh. “It’s... quiet now.”
Where the glyph had burned, the beam was scorched. But something faint remained. No bigger than a coin. Pale and softly glowing.
The last echo of someone’s mana.
Septimus climbed the ladder and pulled it loose. Turned it over in his fingers. It felt warm. Not from heat, but from what lingered.
“This looks like proof enough,” he said. “Let’s go tell the foreman.”
The man was waiting just outside. Perched on a stump like he was half-expected the building to wake up and try again. His pipe hung from his teeth, smoke trailing down instead of up. When he saw them, Silas pale, Lottie steadying him, and Septimus walking like he’d settled something. He stood.
“Well,” he muttered, watching the doorway. “I’ll be damned. It’s quiet in there.”
Septimus stepped forward and held out the fragment. The foreman turned it slow, eyes catching the light like the past had finally tapped him on the shoulder.
“You pulled this out?” he asked.
“Saw one like it years back. Figured it was part of the blade catch. So it was Totemic interference.”
He weighed the shard in his palm for a long moment, then looked at them, really looked. Silas, pale and steady. Lottie, arms crossed, watching the mill like it still might whisper. Septimus, silent and unmoved.
“You saved my crew a week of lost wages. Maybe more, if someone’d gotten curious and mangled themselves.”
He stepped back to the shed behind him. Opened a rusted coffer. He returned with a cloth-wrapped roll of coins. Handed it off without ceremony.
“Fifteen Rudys. As promised.”
Septimus didn’t pocket the bundle right away. His eyes lingered on the mill. Then back to the fragment in the man’s hand.
“That wasn’t interference,” he said, “That was intention. Someone did this on purpose.”
The foreman’s face stiffened.
Septimus didn't raise his voice.
“Keep a closer eye on your mill,” he said, “Someone lashed the remnant of some poor soul’s mana into that machine. Not by accident. And not to let them go.”
The foreman said nothing. Just stood there, the weight of it starting to settle. Then Septimus turned and walked. Behind him, the fragment stayed in the man’s hand, catching the morning light like it might burn through.
They walked in silence for a while. Boots crunching grit and sawdust. The mill shrank behind them. Quiet now, but not still.
Silas exhaled. Long and steady. Color returned to his face, slow as a sunrise. His coat stirred in the breeze, shoulders loosening one notch at a time. Septimus glanced over, then turned to Lottie with a wry look.
“Well. That was less taxing than I expected,” he said, “And we made good coin. We can go play with lanterns now, if you’d like.”
Lottie flashed a crooked grin. One eyebrow raised like she’d been waiting for those exact words.
“You sure you don’t want to roll around in more sawdust, big guy? Might build character.”
She twirled a loose thread from her sleeve. Mimed tugging a lantern string. “But yes. Let’s go chase lights. Again.”
Her eyes flicked toward the ground, then back up. Something thoughtful passing that smile. “Who knows. Maybe this time they’ll ask us to dance instead of asking us to lay them to rest.”
Silas let out a low chuckle, pulling his collar tighter. Septimus sighed. Weary, but fond. There was no stopping her.
“I’m beginning to think you like chasing ghosts, Lottie.”
“Only the handsome ones,” she said, already heading down the street.
Septimus adjusted his coat and fell in beside them. “Let’s see if we can find who wanted discreet help.”
The smell of salt, pitch, and warm iron thickened as they moved through the docks. Tall-masted ships rocked at mooring, sails furled like folded wings. Crates thudded onto wagons. Dockhands barked names and numbers over the din.
This part of the city pulsed with motion, but never quite rose to urgency. Just hard, steady work. Beyond the trade lanes, the alleys narrowed. Here, the stone underfoot darkened with runoff.
Old sigils of merchant guilds and the Totemic Church still lingered on doorframes, faded and half-painted over. A small side door caught their eye. Tucked between two loading bays, nailed to the frame, was a familiar notice.
Lanternwork – Discreet Help Needed
The door was ajar. A soft blue-green glow flickered from within. Septimus pushed it open with care. The warehouse was dim and cool. Tarps hung from the rafters. Chains creaked gently above.
A cluster of Totemic lanterns were spaced across the floor. Each pulsing at their own different rhythm, like echoes cast from distinct wavelengths of mana. Kneeling beside one was a woman in a canvas coat, sleeves rolled to the elbow. She moved with precision. Adjusting tuning forks, sorting totem-shards, arranging etched glyphplates. She didn’t look up.
“If you’re here for coin, come quietly,” she said, “If you’re here for trouble, don’t bother.”
Septimus stepped inside, his tone level. “I’ll try to keep these two out of trouble. If the coin’s good.”
She let out a faint snort, half-sigh and half-laugh, then stood. Weather-tanned, sharp-eyed. Early thirties. Cropped black hair, a long burn scar trailing up one forearm. A string of cracked focus charms hung at her collarbone.
“Well. If you’ve got the patience of a toad and the eyesight of a hawk, I could use the help.”
She gestured to the lanterns. “Found them in a collapsed totem vault near Cragmere. The glow’s still active, but something’s wrong. A few flicker between elements. One started singing.”
She picked up a glyphplate, her hand trembling slightly. “I need to catalog what they’re doing. Stabilize what I can. Smash what I can’t. But I can’t run tests and watch my own back.”
She set the plate down and crossed her arms. “Pay’s ten Rudims each. Double if you don’t flinch when they scream.”
Lottie was already stepping closer, eyes wide with interest. One of the lanterns pulsed brighter as she neared.
Silas stayed back, eyes narrowed. Like he could already feel it reaching toward him.
The woman gave a single nod. “Name’s Corlen. If you’re in, I’ll show you what to watch for. If not… the door’s still open.”
Septimus watched Lottie approach the first lantern. He sighed through his nose.
“I’m afraid backing out ain’t possible anymore,” he said, “What’s the job?”
Corlen gave a curt nod, like she’d never expected them to walk. She gestured toward a heavy workbench where five lanterns hovered just above carved anchor stones. Each glowed with a different hue. Soft white, pale blue, gold, violet, and one with a pulsing red-orange center that dimmed and brightened like breath.
“Each of these was part of a containment lattice in the ruins. They’ve lost alignment. The vault collapse scrambled their attunement, like snapping tension on a web. What’s left is echo. Unstable. Some more than others.”
She pointed to the white lantern first. “That one’s fine. Stable light signature. Minimal aura bleed.”
Then to the gold. “This one’s fractured. Flickers between Light and Fire resonance. Burned my assistant’s corneas. He’s recovering.”
She motioned toward the soft blue glow. “Water-aspected, but it leaks. Ambient mana saturates the air. Makes humidity spike, then freeze. Useful in theory. Not in a warehouse.”
Her steel pointer tapped the violet one. “This one’s… off. No elemental reading. No response. But it moves when you don’t look at it. Might be Aberrant. Or void-aspected. We don’t know.”
Last was the red-orange lantern. She didn’t touch it. “This one sings. Not out loud. But if you get too close, you feel it. Pressure, emotion, memory. I’ve heard voices near it that weren’t mine. I think it’s a fractured resonance... or worse. Maybe something that remembered too much.”
She stepped back.
“I’ll be taking notes. You three approach each in order. Document what you feel, not just what you see. If it shifts, call out. If it screams, cover your ears and step back. If it looks at you…”
Her mouth hung for a moment. Chose her words carefully. “If it looks at you, don’t look back.”
She handed Septimus a polished baton carved from bone. Etched notches ran along its shaft. “Use this to prod them if you need to. You’ll know if one reacts.” She gave a short nod. “Start with the white one.”
The white lantern hummed gently as Septimus approached. Its glow was steady. Soft. The air cooled, just enough to feel like shade on a summer day. No threat. No pull. Just a slow, calm rhythm.
Lottie murmured, arms crossed. “Like a lullaby in glass. You could fall asleep beside it.”
Silas tilted his head, feeling the aura. “Structured. Clean signature. Could be old Core design. This is what lanterns are supposed to feel like.”
Corlen scribbled furiously. “Good. Next.”
The gold lantern’s presence hit hard. As Septimus stepped close, a wave of dry heat rose to meet him, like a forge sighing against his skin. Not painful. But it prickled, sharp as sunburn. The light flickered. Bright gold one moment. Searing orange the next.
Between pulses, something stirred. A choral note. Clear and sudden. Cut short by silence. He wasn’t sure he’d heard it. His vision whited out at the edges.
Lottie hissed and turned away, shielding her face. “Too bright. By the Totems... it’s like fire pretending to be something it isn’t.”
Silas frowned. “Light and Fire. Both strong. They’re overlapping, not blending. Fighting.”
Corlen snapped her fingers. “Back off before it lashes again. Dual-aspect conflict. Logged. On to the next.”
Hoar frost crept towards Septimus’s boots before he even reached the blue lantern. His breath turned visible. Hung in the air like smoke before slipping away. The glow pulsed, soft and aquatic, but out of sync. Like tide against a broken shore. A single droplet formed in midair. It hovered. Froze. Then shattered on the ground like glass.
Lottie rubbed her arms. “It’s sad. Feels like it wants to help but doesn’t know how.”
Silas stepped close enough for frost to trace his palm. “Water-aspected, but the anchor’s warped. No containment seal. It’s leaking.”
Corlen nodded. “If this were in a stone room, it’d freeze itself into a coffin. Next.”
The violet lantern didn’t glow. It waited. The moment Septimus stepped near, the room changed. His boots made no sound. His breathing felt distant. Like hearing it from behind a door.
The lantern didn’t pulse. Didn’t flicker. It just existed, absolutely still. Watching.
Silas didn’t speak for a long time. When he did, his voice was quiet. “It’s not empty. It remembers something. And it’s waiting for us to do the same.”
Lottie stepped back. Shook her head. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”
Corlen’s hands twitched as she took notes. “Echo-null. That one came from the chamber closest to the Totem's vein. Don’t touch it.”
Then the final lantern. Red-orange. Breathing. Even before Septimus stepped close, something clenched inside him. Not sickness. Just something old. Something familiar that hadn’t earned a name in years.
The air shimmered. Not with heat. With pressure. The glow pulsed. A hum began beneath perception. Not sound. Not quite.
He stepped closer. And something inside him cracked.
The room was gone. A café. Low ceilings. A copper kettle rattling on the counter. The world shook. Plaster fell from the walls. Septimus looked down. His hands were small. There was screaming. A chair crashed. He turned toward the door—
Darkness.
He stumbled back into the present, balance faltering.
Lottie grabbed his arm.
“We’re done,” she said.
Her voice was sharp. Protective. “This one’s breathing. And I don’t think it’s alone in there.”
Silas didn’t move. His eyes locked on the lantern. Jaw tight.
Corlen exhaled slow through her nose. Rattled, but steady.
“You’re all still standing,” she said. “That’s more than most.”
She set her notes aside. Didn’t look at the glow.
“You’ve earned your cut. I’ll finish the entries. Log your impressions.”
She turned from the lanterns. Too fast to be casual. “Go get drunk. Or rest. Or whatever it is people like you do after brushing against the world’s unfinished echoes.”
Her voice dropped. “That wasn’t a Totem echo. That was a sealed memory. A heartbeat caught in glass.”
The door shut behind them with a heavy thud. Outside, the city hadn’t changed. Docks still bustled. Crates still clattered onto carts. Somewhere, gulls shrieked over a half-loaded ship.
The world moved on like nothing had shifted. But Septimus felt off-balance. The light was too bright. Or the ground was too still.
Something in his ribs hadn’t stopped humming since the red-orange glow wrapped itself around his lungs. He adjusted his coat. Loosened it. Tightened it again.
No difference.
Lottie walked beside him, quiet for once. Her gaze flicked toward him twice. Not probing. Not soft. Just... watching. She didn’t say a word.
Silas brought up the rear, hands in his coat pockets, eyes low. His voice, when it came, was quiet and toneless. “Some things don’t belong in glass.”
Septimus didn’t look back. He flexed his fingers once. Like shaking off dust that wasn’t there.
“We did the job,” he said. Not harsh. Just final.
Lottie didn’t push. She just nodded and kept walking. Her hand brushing lightly against Septimus’s for a moment. No squeeze, no hold. Just contact. A grounding line.
They walked on. And though none of them spoke it aloud, each of them left the warehouse feeling like something had seen them on the way out. The dock creaked behind them as the sound of distant harbor bells echoed through the mist. Somewhere out on the tide, ropes groaned and sails flapped like tired wings.
They had more iron coins in their pockets and a sharper sense that some people were building things they didn’t fully understand.
The lanterns in that warehouse hadn’t just been salvage. They’d been messages, or warnings.
Septimus finally felt his footing return. He exhaled through his nose, low and dry. “Bah... I’m sure an Inquisitor would have a field day in that shack.”
Silas chuckled, quiet, but knowing. “Yeah. First they’d purge the lanterns. Then the workers. Then probably us for standing too close.”
He rolled his eyes, voice dipping into something darker. “The Church likes answers simple and quiet. That? That was neither.”
Lottie flicked her hair over her shoulder. Sharp, effortless. Septimus watched without meaning to. Some part of him always did. That same part leaned in when she spoke.
“If they cared about truth, they wouldn’t lock half of it behind robes and rites. They’d ask us what we saw.”
She said it with her chin up. “Besides, I’m already on one Church watchlist. Might as well make the next one interesting.”
Septimus knew this game. Knew the price of speaking too plainly. Knew how fast power turned truth into threat. He spotted a restaurant down the lane. Cooked meat, hot oil, warm light through a cracked window.
“I declare the only squat I’m doin’ is diddly,” he said. “Let’s make merry.”
Lottie lit up like a lantern that didn’t whisper secrets in your ear. “Now that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. I want something grilled, greasy, and smothered in totem-blessed spice.”
Silas gave a small smile. Genuine, if a little worn. “Long as they’ve got strong tea, or something close to it, I’m in.”
The trio followed the scent of roasting meat and simmered spice, boots tapping the stone path with the ease of those no longer being chased. Tucked behind the docks sat a low-built eatery with fogged windows and smoke curling from a bent chimney.
A sign over the door read The Emberpot, painted in warm reds, chipped around the edges.
Inside, the air was thick with salt and char. The kind of place where you could feel the heat of the stove before you reached the table. A kind-faced woman with burn-scarred arms greeted them with a nod, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted apron.
“You look like you’ve done a hard thing today,” she said. “Sit. You want the Set Meal or the Surprise?”
Lottie was already halfway into her seat. “Surprise me!”
Septimus eased into the bench with a groan, his voice low. “Cook me up something that’ll make me miss my momma more than I already do.”
Lottie paused at that, for just for a moment, before settling again. She didn’t speak, but the way she looked at him wasn’t lost on anyone.
The cook laughed, full and fond. “Then you’ll be having the smoked marrow stew with skillet bread and root mash. That’s what my mother made when we scraped through the worst winters. You sit tight, honey.”
She pointed them toward a table near the hearth, then vanished into the haze and clang of the kitchen. Soon, rich scents filled the room. Pepper, char, and slow-boiled onions curled through the air. A pan slapped the stovetop. Somewhere in the back, someone sang off-key.
Lottie leaned forward, chin in her hands, eyes sparkling.
“This place is too warm and too good,” she said. “I don’t trust it.” Then, grinning. “But I’m gonna let it trick me anyway.”
Silas didn’t look up. His eyes were fixed on the fire. “I used to think I’d never be allowed to sit at tables like this.”
No one answered. No one needed to.
When the food arrived, it was heavier than anything they’d earned in weeks. Piled high, steaming, and soul-soaked.
Septimus dug in, chewing slowly, eyes half-lidded in quiet reflection. But he broke the silence a moment later, voice gravel-low but warm. “We’re gonna change our image, Silas. Folks’ll be lining up to have us sit at their marble tables, eating with their fine cutlery.”
Silas snorted mid-bite, almost choking. “If we ever eat with fine cutlery, you’re gonna need a suit. And I’m gonna need to figure out what side the fork goes on.”
Lottie raised her mug and winked. “And I’ll need to find a dress that doesn’t double as sleepwear or bandages.”
She took a sip, then softened. “We are changing things, you know. Maybe not the world just yet. But our little corner of it’s lookin’ brighter.”
And for a moment, it was.
The stew, the warmth, the ache in their bones dulled by food and company. Septimus could feel it. Beneath the grime, beneath the heavy coat and the weeks of surviving, something new. Not a legacy. But something closer. Trust.
He glanced into the fire, then leaned back, cracking a knuckle before speaking again. “I can clean up real nice, just so you know. Had to once. Got in way over my head. I was sittin’ in borrowed clothes worth more than all the coin I’d ever held. Magistrate thought I was some up-and-coming Watchman, going on and on about how we were gonna clean the gutters of the city, fix it all. And there I was, nodding along, playin’ the part.”
He took a long swig from his drink, throat bobbed. “Took him two days to realize I cleared out his entire safe.”
Silas blinked, then burst into laughter. A full, open sound that filled the room.
Lottie slapped the table, wide-eyed.
“You absolute bastard!” she wheezed. “Tell me you at least left him a note!”
Silas wiped his mouth, still grinning. “That’s... impressive. Morally gray, sure, but, what did you do after that? Run? Hide?”
There was something behind the amusement now. Admiration, maybe, or curiosity. The kind of respect born from surviving in clever ways.
Lottie twirled her spoon. “See? You do clean up nice. You’re just too damn smart for anyone’s good.” She paused, raised a brow. “Especially Magistrates.”
The table hummed with something dangerous and alive.
Septimus took another bite. “I saw a fraction of a fraction of that coin,” he said, “Back then, the chief handled all the money. I just had a way with words… and the muscle to back them.”
Lottie tilted her head. Less teasing now.
“So you weren’t the one counting the coin, just the one collecting it.”
She stirred the last of her drink. A small smirk curved at her lips. “Well. Now you’ve got a crew where you get to call the shots. Not a chief in sight.”
Silas leaned forward, voice quieter again. “You never struck me as the type to follow. Or take orders for long.”
Septimus could feel it in both of them. No judgment. Just the sound of puzzle pieces shifting, reshaping the man in front of them. This wasn’t about glorifying what he’d done. It was about what he was doing now, and who was still walking beside him.
Lottie raised her cup. “Here’s to more coin in your hands next time,” she said. “No middlemen. Just us.”
Septimus nodded, swirling his drink absently. “You know… I don’t much like leading either. But I suppose I’ve come to marching to my own beat.”
He reflected for a moment longer. “I dunno. I just don’t wanna lose my heart when it comes to working together.”
Lottie leaned in and gently tapped her cup against his.
“Then don’t lead,” she said. “Just walk first.”
Her elbow nudged his arm, easy and familiar. “That’s all you’ve been doin’ anyway. Walkin’ ahead, makin’ sure the road’s good for the rest of us. And when it’s not, you swing first. That ain’t leadership, that’s just care.”
Silas shifted in his chair, quiet for a moment, then nodded once. “That sounds right. I follow because I trust you to keep walking. Not because you bark orders.”
The hearth crackled softly behind them. A breeze rolled through the street outside, faint gulls, distant carts, the world trying to catch its breath.
Lottie grinned, lifting her mug again. “Besides, you’ve got too much heart to lose it. You just hide it under all that scowling and gruff charm.”
Septimus raised a brow, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Gruff charm, huh? That why you’re stickin’ around?”
Lottie leaned back, arms folding on the table as she leaned in to meet him. “Well, that and you haven’t run off screaming yet when I start kicking up dust and thunder.”
She tapped her fingers lightly against her mug. Then looked at him, not just teasing now, but seeing. “And maybe I like watching the big tough guy get all flustered when people are nice to him.”
Something in his chest knocked once, quiet, but clear. Septimus held her gaze a little longer than he meant to. He didn’t look away.
From behind his drink, Silas muttered just loud enough to be heard. “I stay because she’s scarier than you.”
Without looking, Lottie flicked a peanut across the table. It bounced off Silas’s coat. “Exactly.”
Septimus chuckled, the sound low and warm.
“We gotta keep trainin’,” he said. “I’d love to see a real firestorm one day. Controlled by you.”
Lottie’s eyes lit up, the grin stretching wide across her face. “Now that’s the dream, huh? A tempest you can dance through. Wind howlin’, fire cracklin’, and not a damn thing in the world that can stop it.”
She tapped her chest near the collarbone, where soot and sun had long left their mark. “I’ll get there. You’ll see it too. Hell, you might be the one standin’ dead center in it, laughin’ like a maniac while I turn the sky inside out.”
Septimus smiled, quieter now. “I wouldn’t stand anywhere else.”
Silas raised an eyebrow and murmured, deadpan. “Let’s just make sure we’re not downwind when that happens.”
Lottie winked and raised her mug again. “To future infernos.”
Septimus lifted his too, their fingers brushing briefly at the rim. Not held, just felt. Enough.
When the meal was done, Septimus stood and dropped a few coins on the table. He gave the cook a faint grin. “Thanks for the meal. Food so good it got me all sentimental.”
The cook looked him over, one brow raised, and gave a knowing nod as she wiped her hands on a grease-stained towel. “That’s how you know it’s workin’. World’s hard. Stomachs don’t gotta be.”
She nodded at the three of them. “Come back if you want stew that don’t taste like regret.”
Lottie let out a soft laugh, shouldering her satchel. But as she passed Septimus, she slowed just a half-step. Her eyes flicked toward him. Not teasing, not pitying, just... watching. Quiet, sharp, and full of something unspoken.
He’d been different since the lanterns. Or maybe since long before that. She didn’t ask. Not yet. But she was picking up every crumb he didn’t know he’d left behind.
Silas tucked away the cloth-wrapped leftovers the cook had handed him, a faint, grateful nod his only parting.
The night air hit like a cool cloth after fire. Mist clung to the cobblestones, and Viremoor’s lanterns flickered against the damp, their reflections dancing in the puddles.
Septimus stretched with a quiet groan. “I’m beat. About ready to turn in. How about you two?”
Lottie lifted her arms high overhead, bones popping, the soft jingle of her anklet cutting through the hush. “Mmmh, yeah. I could curl up just about anywhere right now… even a barstool. But a bed sounds nicer.”
Silas, trailing behind, blinked like he hadn’t realized how tired he was until his legs started slowing down. “Yeah. Bed sounds good. I’ve had enough weird lanterns and bandits for one week.”
They drifted through the sleepy streets of Viremoor, the weight of the day easing with every step. Bottles clinked in alleyways. River gulls murmured over the docks. The city breathed, slow and low, and for once, it felt like there was time to breathe with it. The food stayed with them, sure, but so did the way Lottie smiled without armor, and the way Silas had laughed like it surprised him.
Another day. Another sack of coin. And maybe, just maybe, something worth holding onto.