“Failed the contract?”

  “Yeah. Camera flagged me before I even reached the target.”

  “Ouch. Back to Silver rank?”

  “Bronze, actually. Third failure this month.”

  — Overheard at the Guild

  The Guildmaster leaned back in his chair, a fond smile crossing his face. “Syntavelli is brilliant, absolutely brilliant. I’ve met her niece, your grandmother, a few times while we were busy building the world back.”

  He paused, studying Alice’s holographic image. “You have silver hair and deep eyes. Unmistakable.”

  Alice practically vibrated with excitement, her hands flailing in gestures I could barely track through the holocall. “That’s so nova! Like, actually preem! Grandma never talks about the old days, says it’s all ‘ancient history’ and ‘not relevant to modern operations’ but this is—” She was talking so fast the words blurred together. “Wait till I tell her I met someone who actually knows her! She’s gonna—”

  “Alice,” Cecilia’s voice came from off-camera.

  “Right, right, focusing!” Alice took a breath, then another face appeared in the holographic display as Cecilia leaned into frame beside her sister.

  “We’re twins,” Cecilia said simply, her tone much more measured than Alice’s excitement. “Apologies for my sister’s enthusiasm.”

  The Guildmaster’s smile widened, clearly amused. “No apology necessary. It’s refreshing, honestly.” He studied both of them through the holographic connection. “So. Dash mentioned you need a netrunner for an infiltration job. What exactly are we dealing with here?”

  Cecilia’s smile shifted instantly into her thinking face. Alice moved slightly to give her sister space, and I watched Cecilia’s tactical brain engage.

  “Aurelia Academy,” Cecilia said. “Administrative building, third floor, east wing. Isolated server cluster containing disciplinary records. We need specific files deleted—mine and Alice’s—along with all backup logs in the cache system. Separate facility, basement, west wing.”

  “No offsite backup?” he asked.

  “Offsite would be expensive, and they would rather spend the money on personal servants, so no.” She paused, her eyes tracking something on her own screen, probably pulling up notes or schematics.

  “Primary challenge is the biometric lock on the server room door. The secondary challenge is avoiding detection from Aurelia Guard patrols that rotate every fifteen minutes during events. The job needs to happen during the Bishop’s ball in three weeks—security will be spread thin covering the main cathedral and perimeter.”

  The Guildmaster nodded slowly, his fingers drumming against his desk. “Biometric locks are manageable with the right tools. Guard patrols are predictable if you have their rotation schedule.” He leaned forward slightly. “What about network security? Firewalls, intrusion detection, that sort of thing?”

  Cecilia’s expression darkened slightly. “Aurelia’s network security is... substantial. The disciplinary server cluster is air-gapped from the main network specifically to prevent remote access. That’s why we need someone physically present.”

  “And the cache backups?”

  “Distributed across three separate storage nodes in the west wing,” Cecilia said, her tone carrying the weight of someone who’d learned this the hard way. “All three need to be scrubbed in an hour, or the system reconstructs the deleted files and flags the modification.”

  The Guildmaster nodded and took a quill, then he started writing into a book. “You’ve mapped this out thoroughly.”

  Cecilia’s cheeks colored slightly, but she didn’t look away. “I have... prior experience with the system’s architecture.”

  “She tried to hack her grades,” Alice interjected helpfully, grinning at her sister’s embarrassment. “Got caught because she didn’t know about the cache!”

  The Guildmaster laughed. “Ah. So this is a personal investment in understanding the security flaws.” He turned his attention back to me. “And Dash here is your insertion vector? Walking in as a guest during the ball?”

  “That’s the plan,” I said, finding my voice. “Assuming we can find a netrunner who knows what they’re doing. And assuming I don’t completely brick the infiltration by standing in the wrong place or asking the wrong question.”

  The Guildmaster studied me for a long moment. “You’ll need more than just a netrunner. You’ll need proper credentials, someone to brief you on formal protocols, and...” He glanced at Alice and Cecilia’s holographic images. “Someone to vouch for your presence if security gets curious.”

  “I’m inviting him!” Alice said immediately.

  “We haven’t decided that yet,” Cecilia countered, her tone carrying the weight of an argument they’d apparently been having for a while.

  The Guildmaster’s smile returned, clearly entertained by their dynamic. “Well. This is certainly more interesting than the usual contract work that comes through here.” He turned to me. “Give me a few days to identify the right person for the job. Someone with experience in academic security systems, preferably someone who’s worked Aurelia’s architecture before.”

  “You can find someone like that?” I asked, hope creeping into my voice despite my best efforts to stay cautious.

  “I’m a fixer, Dash. Finding the right specialist for jobs is literally what I do.” He paused. “But I need to be clear about something. This kind of work isn’t cheap. Aurelia’s security is top-tier, and anyone skilled enough to bypass it will charge accordingly.”

  I felt my stomach sink. “How much are we talking?”

  The Guildmaster considered. “For a clean job? No traces, no flags, complete scrub of the records and backups?” He glanced at the holographic display where Alice and Cecilia waited. “Probably fifteen to twenty thousand credits, minimum. Could go higher depending on the netrunner’s assessment of the actual difficulty once they see the full scope.”

  I heard Alice make a small noise, but Cecilia’s expression didn’t change. “That’s within the acceptable range,” Cecilia said calmly.

  “You have that kind of money?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

  Alice grinned through the holocall. “Dash, we’re Lunaris heirs. Twenty thousand is like...” She paused, clearly trying to find an appropriate comparison. “Like buying really nice fireproof boots? Not nothing, but not gonna brick our accounts either.”

  “You’d burn the boots again,” Cecilia whispered, but their mic picked it up anyway.

  “Though Mother would notice twenty thousand credits disappearing without explanation,” Cecilia added quietly. “We’d need to route it through intermediary accounts.”

  The Guildmaster waved his hand dismissively. “That’s your concern, not mine. I just facilitate the connection and take my percentage. You handle your own financial logistics.” He looked at me. “My cut is standard: fifteen percent of the total contract value. The netrunner gets their fee, I get mine, everyone’s happy.”

  I did quick math in my head. Mrs. Chen had been right; you need math all the time. Fifteen percent of twenty thousand was three thousand credits.

  Just for making an introduction.

  The Guildmaster seemed to read my expression. “Welcome to the gray market, Dash.”

  Alice turned to look directly at the camera. “Dash, you also need to be paid.”

  I winced, glancing at the Guildmaster. He just nodded, as if this was exactly what he’d expected. I let out a long sigh. “Alice, Cecilia... I’m sick. There’s some... Uh, how do I describe it?”

  “Parasite in your soul,” the Guildmaster added helpfully.

  “Yeah.” I looked down at my hands, then back at the holographic display. “If you can get me in touch with a psionic, I’d be more than happy. I’ll get the money for treatment somehow, but I need the introduction.”

  Alice’s eyes widened. “We need to—”

  “We can do it, Dash,” Cecilia interrupted with a firm tone. “You don’t need to do the job for us. I’ll get the connection, no strings attached.”

  “Yes!” Alice nodded eagerly. “We’re friends!”

  I smiled at both of them, warmth spreading through my chest despite the ache from bug bites. “Yes, we’re friends. That’s why I’ll help you.”

  The Guildmaster laughed; it sounded like genuine pleasure. “I’m so glad the younger generation is so sweet instead of us old-timers being so... bitter.”

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  “Deal!” Alice grinned, raising her hand as if to shake on it through the holographic connection.

  Cecilia was already moving, pulling Alice back slightly. “We need to go; Alice needs to finish her assignment.”

  “Right, right!” Alice waved at the camera. “Dash, we’ll message you! Guildmaster person, thank you for helping! This is so preem!”

  “Take care of him,” Cecilia said, looking directly at the Guildmaster with an intensity that suggested a threat despite the polite words.

  The Guildmaster inclined his head. “I intend to.”

  “Bye Dash!” Alice called out one more time.

  The connection ended, their holographic faces winking out of existence and leaving me alone in the office with the Guildmaster and the floating orbs of light.

  Silence settled over the room, broken only by the distant sound of tavern noise filtering up from below. The Guildmaster studied me for a long moment. “You’ve made good friends, Dash.”

  “I know,” I whispered.

  “They remind me of...” He paused, his expression turning distant. “Well. People I used to know. Before things got complicated.” He shook his head, as if physically clearing away memories. “But that’s ancient history, and you have more immediate concerns.”

  I nodded, processing everything that had just happened.

  “Oh my, I’m so forgetful these days.” The Guildmaster turned around and pulled another book from the shelves behind him, this one bound in dark leather with silver clasps. “We need to make you a proper adventurer.”

  I glanced down at my hide armor, then around the office. “I’m surprised the twins haven’t questioned our... clothes.”

  “You clearly haven’t been to some of the parties the upper class can throw,” the Guildmaster said with a knowing smile. “Fantasy aesthetics are practically mainstream among the corpo elite. They probably thought we were at some themed establishment.”

  “I have not...” I trailed off, then decided to just ask. “Why all of this?” I motioned around me.

  He looked up from the book, his pale blue eyes meeting mine. “You don’t like the Guild?”

  “No, no!” I raised my hands defensively, then realized I’d said the wrong thing. “I mean—! I mean, I do like the aesthetics, but...” I gestured vaguely at the impossibly dimensional space, the fantasy tavern existing in the middle of New Clearwater District. “You got the System roped into this too?”

  The Guildmaster’s expression softened, becoming almost wistful. “I accepted a system quest and won. Part of the reward was choosing what I wanted.” He set the book down on his desk, his fingers tracing the silver clasps absently. “I asked for my own dimension, one I could design however I wanted.”

  He glanced out the window again, toward those impossible mountains under the purple sky.

  “I came up with... this.” His voice was fond. “A refuge from the problems of the city. Every adventurer here is more than capable of taking care of themselves, so we’re at peace. No corporate politics, no power plays, no one trying to climb over corpses to reach the next rung.”

  I looked around the office. “It’s not just aesthetic. It’s... escape.”

  “Exactly.” He turned back to me, his smile sad. “We fought so hard during the apocalypse, Dash. Fought to save humanity, to build something better. And when it was over, when the Fortune 15 seized power and turned survival into profit margins...” He shook his head. “Some of us couldn’t stomach it. So we found our own corners. Our own ways to remember what we were fighting for.”

  “A tavern where people can just... be adventurers,” I mumbled.

  “Without the weight of the world crushing them,” he agreed. “Without corporate oversight or profit quotas or any of the machinery that grinds people down.” He picked up the book again, holding it out to me. “Which brings us back to you.”

  I took the book, feeling its weight. The leather was warm under my fingers, and the silver clasps gleamed in the light from the floating orbs.

  “What is this?”

  “Your registration,” the Guildmaster said. “If you’re going to work as an adventurer, and that’s what fixer work really is, just dressed up in modern terminology, you need to be properly registered with the Guild.”

  I opened the book carefully. The pages inside were blank, but as I watched, text appeared in a flowing script that definitely wasn’t printed or digital.

  [Guild Registration: Dash Kallum]

  [Class: ???]

  [Rank: Bronze]

  [Contracts Completed: 0]

  “Class?” I looked up at him.

  “What you specialize in,” the Guildmaster explained. “Most people gravitate toward what they’re good at. Combat, support, technical work, infiltration. The Guild doesn’t restrict you, but having a designation helps us match you with appropriate contracts.”

  I stared at the blank space after “Class,” my mind going through everything I was terrible at. Fighting? Only with an overpowered sword doing all the work. Magic? Still learning. Social infiltration? I’d just agreed to infiltrate a ball I had no idea how to navigate.

  “What if I don’t know what I’m good at?” I asked.

  “Then we leave it blank for now. You’ll figure it out as you take jobs. The Guild adapts to its members, not the other way around.” He gestured to the book. “Touch your hand to the page. It’ll bind the registration to you.”

  I hesitated, immediately suspicious of magical contracts that bound things to people. “What exactly am I agreeing to?”

  “Smart question.” The Guildmaster nodded approvingly. “You’re agreeing to follow Guild rules while in this space. No fighting other members without mutual consent, no bringing corporate conflicts through the door, no compromising other adventurers’ operations. Standard stuff to keep this place neutral ground.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. The Guild isn’t a corporation, Dash. There are no hidden clauses, no fine print designed to trap you. You’re free to leave anytime, take whatever jobs you want, refuse whatever you don’t. I take my percentage for facilitating connections, but you’re not indentured to anyone.”

  I looked down at the blank page, then pressed my palm against it. The silver script flared, warm against my skin, and I felt something settle into place.

  The Guildmaster put the registration book away carefully, then pulled another volume from the shelves. This one was larger, bound in worn brown leather that looked like it had been handled thousands of times.

  He flipped through pages, scanning content I couldn’t see from my position, and then his face lit up.

  “Ah. Perfect.” He looked up at me with satisfaction. “Normally you’d come to the Guild Board downstairs and look over offered jobs yourself, or I’d call you when something appropriate comes up. This is my call.”

  He pressed his palm flat against an open page.

  The book glowed softly, golden light seeping between his fingers, and a yellowed page, actual parchment, not synth-paper, began to materialize from the top down. It looked like watching an ancient printer work, except the mechanism was pure magic, ink appearing in flowing script as the page formed itself from nothing.

  “What is it?” I asked, leaning forward to get a better look.

  Instead of answering, he pulled the completed page free with a soft tearing sound and handed it to me.

  The parchment was warm under my fingers, the ink still slightly wet to the touch. I read:

  [Infiltration: Cassette Nightclub]

  Estimated Difficulty: F

  Description: Client needs operative to infiltrate the second floor of Cassette Night Club and plug the provided datajack into any console. Datajack is at the drop-point across the street from the club. Payment on successful insertion.

  Payment: ￠350

  Time Limit: Midnight tonight

  I stared at it, my brain trying to process what I was reading.

  “Eh... what?”

  The Guildmaster leaned back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. “You need training for your mission. I usually don’t take contracts from TFN, but this one is straightforward and should be easy for you.”

  I blinked, reading it again to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood. “It’s only three hundred fifty credits.”

  “For a ten-minute job,” he said. “And you’ll get that full amount. Unlike corpos, we show it price after all fees, so what you see is what you earn, also guild points.”

  I looked up at him. “Midnight tonight? That’s in...” I checked my holoband. “Four hours?”

  “Plenty of time,” the Guildmaster said easily. “Cassette is in New Clearwater, a few stations from here. You pick up the datajack from the drop-point, walk into the club like any other patron, take the stairs to the second floor, find an empty console, plug it in, leave. Simple infiltration practice.”

  “What’s TFN?” I asked, catching the acronym.

  “The Fixer Network,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of distaste. “All established fixers have access to it. I don’t love working with them, especially the unproven upstarts, but their credits are good and their contracts are usually straightforward.”

  I studied the parchment again. F-rank difficulty. Three hundred fifty credits for plugging something into a computer. It sounded almost too easy. “What’s the catch?” I asked.

  The Guildmaster’s smile widened, and he looked at the book. “The client says the catch is that Cassette is a corporate-owned establishment. Security exists, but it’s mostly focused on preventing fights and theft, not infiltration. Second floor is technically restricted to VIP guests, but the client claims the barriers are social, not physical. If you look like you belong, no one will question you.”

  “And if I don’t look like I belong?”

  “Then security escorts you out and you fail the contract,” he said with a shrug. “No real consequences beyond losing the payment and taking a hit to your Guild rating. But that’s why this is good practice: low stakes, straightforward objective, chance to learn how to move through a space without drawing attention.”

  I looked down at my hide armor, then back at him. “I’m going to need my actual clothes back.”

  “The aesthetic changes when you leave the Guild,” he said. “Step outside, everything reverts.”

  I glanced at the parchment one more time. Midnight deadline. Three hours to get there, pick up a datajack, walk into a Cassette nightclub, plug something into a console, and leave. Training for the Aurelia infiltration, except with much lower stakes.

  “What happens if I refuse?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” the Guildmaster said, then paused, his expression becoming more serious. “But let me be clear about something, Dash. I’m a fixer. I find jobs for people who can do them, and I take my cut. I’m not running a charity.”

  He leaned forward, his pale blue eyes holding mine with an intensity that made me sit straighter.

  “That loan I mentioned for your treatment? It’ll have strings attached. Interest, repayment terms, collateral if necessary. I’ll be fair about it—fairer than any corpo bank would be—but you’ll owe me, and I’ll expect that debt honored.”

  I nodded slowly, my throat tight.

  “The Guild is friendly,” he continued, gesturing vaguely at the tavern below us. “Everyone here works hard, takes jobs, earns their keep. The only difference between us and the corporate world is that I treat people fairly. I don’t skim extra percentages, I don’t change terms mid-contract, I don’t throw people into situations they can’t handle just to maximize profit.”

  He stood, walking back toward the window.

  “But I still make decisions. I still choose who gets which contracts. And people still fail. Some adventurers are...” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Over their heads. They take jobs they shouldn’t, get hurt, sometimes worse. I try to prevent that, but I can’t save everyone from their own ambition.”

  I felt the weight of what he was saying settle over me like the rain outside.

  “And one more thing,” the Guildmaster added, turning back to face me. “I want to stay away from corporate nonsense. You’re free to come here, use the Guild, take contracts. But if you bring heat—if corpos start sniffing around because of something you did—you won’t be let in. The Guild stays neutral ground. That’s non-negotiable.”

  He walked back to his desk. “I’m saying all this now because I like you, Dash. You remind me of your great-grandfather, and that means something to me. But sentiment only goes so far. This is still business, and you need to understand what you’re getting into.”

  “I understand,” I said, and I did. He wasn’t trying to scare me off; he was being honest about the reality of working in the gray market.

  No safety nets, no corporate HR policies, just fair treatment and the expectation that you’d hold up your end.

  “Good.” The Guildmaster’s smile returned. “So. The contract. You’re free to decline it, but I offered it because I think it would be good experience. Your choice.”

  If I couldn’t handle walking into a nightclub and plugging in a datajack without getting caught, how was I supposed to navigate an academy ball and delete files from secured systems?

  “I’ll do it,” I said.

  TODAY’S CHAPTER IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY The Guild

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