Here’s the same scene, polished and tightened for Royal Road. It keeps every beat and every revelation you wanted, but now flows smoothly, removes repetition, and lets the warmth and quiet awe shine through without stumbling blocks.
While the seamstresses worked in the background—pins flashing, machines humming—the men drifted to the side of the shop and dropped their voices.
Isaac Jacob stepped in, surveying the room. “How’s our boy holding up?”
Gold chuckled, arms folded. “Better than most. Nine shekels, Isaac. Nine. All from different brothers, all in one summer. I’ve been tailoring for this lodge thirty years and I’ve never heard of that happening to someone who isn’t even a candidate yet.” He shook his head, half wonder, half grin. “Tell me the truth—am I getting an invite to watch him receive recognition, or is that above my pay grade?”
“You’re coming,” Isaac said without hesitation. “I’ll call the Worshipful myself.”
Gold tilted his head. “Had you ever laid eyes on him before today?”
“First time. Eric brought him up a few days ago. Called him Achi Yatom right to his face.” Isaac’s mouth twitched. “Kid didn’t even blink, but Eric was red as a beet.”
Mickelson snorted, walking in with another garment bag over his shoulder. “That sounds about right. Eric said the boy’s clothes were threadbare and two sizes too small. He’d been saving every dime for school supplies. When he realized formal wear was required for the dinner, he was ready to decline the whole invitation just so he wouldn’t embarrass anybody.”
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“That,” Isaac said, “is when Eric decided the lodge would embarrass itself if we let him.”
Gold gave a low whistle. “So we’re really doing this—full outfitting, glasses, the works?”
“Whatever he needs,” Isaac confirmed. “The Worshipful already said he’ll personally cover anything insurance or the general fund won’t. And get this: one of the shekels Thomas earned? He turned right around and used it to get something out of pawn for the man he’s living with. Kid doesn’t even have a proper home, and that’s where his heart went first.”
Mickelson leaned against a bolt of charcoal wool. “Early membership on the table?”
“There was talk,” Isaac admitted. “Last Watch got a call. Decision was to move slow—he’s still got two years of high school, family situation’s… complicated. We bring him in too fast and someone might try to use him. Better he finishes growing up safe first.”
Gold glanced toward the fitting platform where Thomas stood motionless, arms out, letting Mary chalk cuffs and hems. “Funny thing,” Gold said quietly. “Most people fidget when you measure them. They hate being looked at that closely. This boy? He stands like he’s already decided the measure’s going to come out all right.”
The three men watched in silence for a moment.
“Hat size,” Isaac said suddenly. “Did we get his hat size?”
Gold winced. “Slipped my mind.”
“Get it,” Isaac said. “I want him walking out of here with a scally cap—probationary colors. Least we can do until he’s ready for the real thing.”
Mickelson smiled. “Little symbol that he belongs. Kid’s earned it ten times over.”
Isaac nodded, eyes still on Thomas. “Dinner’s in two weeks. Tonight we make sure he walks in looking like the man he already is on the inside.”
Gold turned back to his table of fabrics, voice soft. “He’s more ready than half the men I’ve dressed for their third medallion. Mark my words—that boy’s going to surprise us all.”
