The st of the Royal Road's gilded bricks ended a mile outside Crossreach, thinning into older stone and then into packed earth scored by a hundred wagon ruts. The wheels compined as the carriages left the smooth certainty of the capital behind. Every jolt felt like a small, physical reminder that we were no longer under the Crown's direct shadow.

  Low hills and leafless trees. Crossreach rose out of it with no fanfare at all.

  It was a town built the way all practical pces were: clustered around the road, yered outward from inns and storehouses, with workshops and barns pressed in close. Roofs crowded together. Chimneys smoked unevenly. A stone watchtower stood near the gate, old and chipped, with no banner flying from it.

  The gates were open. They always were.

  Crossreach made its living on traffic.

  But the people watching us from either side of the road were not curious.

  They were afraid.

  Farmers paused mid-motion as wagons were unloaded. Shopkeepers stood too still in their doorways. Children were pulled back inside.

  Eyes followed the white carriages. The armor. The horses.

  Fearful ones.

  Assessing ones.

  Threaded among them were men who seemed not to belong to the town.

  They stood too close together, leaning in doorways without working. Watching us, with the idle confidence of people unconcerned about being noticed.

  Bandits did not wear signs.

  But they had a posture.

  I felt it in my spine before I named it.

  Etienne rode at the front of the convoy, his expression unreadable. Lumiere sat across from me inside the lead carriage, her hands folded neatly over her ledger, eyes fixed on the street through the window slit.

  "Something is wrong," she said softly.

  We'd crossed the boundary too cleanly. Not a single guard was there to stop us.

  We rolled straight through Crossreach, past warehouses with boarded upper windows, past taverns with too many men lingering outside, into a square where a dry fountain stood cracked and empty.

  This was Etienne's usual stopping pce. I remembered it from the game.

  Wayfarer's Rest.

  The long, low inn served caravans and nobility alike. Its sign still swung above the door. Its courtyard still held space for horses and wagons.

  But the windows were half shuttered. Eyes watched us through the narrow gaps.

  Etienne raised a hand. The convoy halted.

  Honor guards dismounted in tight, efficient lines. Doug and Dougs took up position without being told, shields forward.

  I stepped down from the carriage with Lumiere.

  The innkeeper emerged at st, wiping his hands on his apron with a nervous energy that did not match the polite smile on his face.

  "Your Grace," he said, bowing deeply. "You're here early."

  "By a few hours, old friend," Etienne replied. "Open the yard."

  The man hesitated.

  Etienne did not raise his voice. "Now."

  The innkeeper swallowed and gestured sharply. The courtyard gates were pulled open. Horses were led inside. The white carriages followed.

  As we passed through, the street closed behind us like a held breath.

  Lumiere leaned close. "We're being watched."

  "Yes," I said. "They're waiting to see what we do."

  Etienne turned toward the innkeeper as the st carriage rolled in. "Where are the patrols?"

  The man stared at the ground. "Not riding, Your Grace."

  "Why?"

  The innkeeper hesitated too long.

  Etienne's gaze hardened. "Speak."

  "They were called away," the innkeeper said quietly. "By Bishop Halbrecht's office. To assist with matters in the Duchy."

  "How many?" Etienne asked.

  "Most of them," the innkeeper whispered. "Any and all who wanted to be in the Bishop's good graces."

  The gates were barred behind us. Something cold settled beneath my ribs.

  Crossreach, once the safest stop between the capital and the Duchy, now felt like a box that had just been closed.

  And whatever was inside it with us was not going to stay quiet for long.

  Evelyn did not linger.

  The moment the horses were settled, she was already untying her cloak, eyes flicking toward the street beyond the inn walls like she was mapping exits.

  "Doug. Dougs." She jerked her chin toward the gate. "You're with me."

  Dougs tapped Doug. "Orders."

  Doug looked up. "We're headed somewhere, Guildmaster?"

  "The tavern," Evelyn said ftly. "A reward. For your hard work back at the camp."

  Dougs's shoulders loosened. "We get to drink on your dime?"

  She met my eyes for a brief moment. We nodded once to each other, then she turned away.

  Doug and Dougs followed her with earnest enthusiasm.

  Lumiere watched them go. "Drinking, at this hour?" she chided softly.

  "No," I said. "Gathering information."

  Her eyes widened, then she nodded, understanding quickly.

  She turned back to Etienne. "On that note, I would like to visit the chapel tomorrow."

  Etienne did not hesitate. "No, Lumiere."

  Her brows knit, not in offense, but concern. "Your Grace..."

  "This town is not stable," he said. "You saw the street. You heard the innkeeper. Crossreach is no longer safe."

  "And that is precisely why I should go," Lumiere replied gently. "If this involves the Church, then I may be able to help."

  Etienne shook his head. "We leave at first light. We continue to the Duchy without dey. You can write to Crossreach where it's safe."

  Lumiere looked to me. Etienne followed her gaze.

  I had not realized how much weight had shifted until it nded squarely in my p.

  "What should we do, sister?"

  Part of me wanted to agree with Etienne.

  Keep moving. Do not get boxed in. Do not give these bandits a chance to try something.

  "This pce is dangerous," I said slowly. "That much is certain."

  Etienne nodded, as if that settled it.

  But the feeling wouldn't go away.

  Crossreach.The empty patrols.The pulled padins.

  It had a shape. A pattern.

  Lumiere's css advancement quest.

  I swallowed. This specific development wasn't one I recognized, but her sub-quests always manifested as small crises. Local ones bound to the Church.

  "But if this is being done in the Church's name," I said, "then Lumiere needs to see it."

  Etienne turned toward me. "Can I ask why? You just said it was dangerous."

  I opened my mouth, then closed it. Lumiere watched me, brow furrowed.

  I had said it before.

  Once, in weakness. In a moment of yearning so sharp I had needed someone to stand with me inside it.

  My past. Another whisper buried in the ashes of the Forest.

  Seraphine had listened. Rocher had listened too, back when he still remembered.

  Lumiere was different.

  Telling her would not be sharing a secret. It would be ciming authorship of every moment we'd shared together. Rewriting the meaning of every choice she had made since we met.

  I was not ready.

  I racked my brain for an alternative.

  "Is the Duchy truly as safe as you believe?" I asked.

  Etienne raised an eyebrow.

  "An order to pull padins should have triggered a report. Why is it then you haven't heard about it?"

  "The road has been compromised. I..." He stopped, then reconsidered.

  "Someone is controlling what reaches you. If Halbrecht is pnning something, it will follow us to the Duchy regardless. It's better that we understand it here, where his reach is limited."

  Silence stretched.

  Lumiere inclined her head, as if acknowledging a suspicion already formed.

  Etienne exhaled. "At present, that remains specution. The threat here is real. And the specter of danger in the Duchy is all the more reason we should confront the Bishop directly."

  I winced. He wasn't wrong.

  The courtyard gate creaked.

  Rocher stepped inside, tugging off his gloves, hair wind-tangled, cheeks faintly flushed.

  "Sorry," he said. "Friedrich decided the hitching post was his mortal enemy. What did I miss?"

  Etienne turned to him. "Perhaps you can help. Surely, as a man, you understand the instinct to protect those who cannot fight."

  Lumiere's eyes flicked to Etienne, cool.

  Rocher blinked. "What?"

  "The Saintess and Miss Cire wish to remain here," Etienne said. "I believe that is unwise."

  Rocher looked at Lumiere. Then at me.

  "What do you think?" he asked.

  I hesitated. "I think if we leave now, we will regret it."

  He nodded without hesitation. "Then we stay."

  Etienne frowned. "You don't intend to ask why?"

  Rocher shrugged. "I don't need to. Cire wants to help these people. That's reason enough for me."

  Lumiere hid a smile. Relief washed through me before I forced it down.

  It was uncanny how easily he did that. I couldn't afford to grow compcent here.

  Etienne studied him for a long moment, then sighed.

  "It seems I am the only one inclined toward caution," he said. "Very well. If we are to face this danger, then we do so with purpose."

  His gaze returned to me.

  "We stay. But no unnecessary risks."

  Rocher slung an arm around my shoulder. "I'm afraid that is a promise this one cannot make."

  My cheeks heated. I wrenched free, indignant, but unable to deny it.