We stand before the Embercrack gates, the arch rising above us. Even here, in the deepest rot of Maw Mine, Clan Embercrack’s home turf gleams with, fine stonework, each block etched with old runes and clan marks, banners hanging in the air. The gate is wide, imposing, guarded not by the bored rabble of the lower districts but by dwarfs, true brutes, faces set, arms thick, hands never far from the hafts of their hammers and those slab shields. They watch all who approach, eyes sharp, looking for threats, or weakness.

  I’m a live wire, muscles jumping under my tunic, tail twitching in wild arcs, every sense burning with the manic crackle of Embercrack tea. My paws can’t stay still, kneading the stone underfoot, ears swivelling to every clang of metal, every breath the guards take. My heart hammers in my chest, faster than theirs by double, and the Bond hums so tight it’s almost painful, every thought from Master slicing straight through my skull.

  We need to get in. The last district. The last hope, maybe, or just the last disappointment on a long, blood-soaked list. The others were easy, vigilante idiots, zealots and Black Fang butchers. But here ? This is where power collects, where the old ways dig their claws in and dare you to try your luck.

  Master stands beside me, the weight of all his cynicism pressing down on the stone. I can taste his plan before he speaks, the sense of calculation rolling off him measuring the guards, the gate, the risk. My body aches to move, to pounce, to do something, anything, but I keep it contained, barely, barely, barely contained. The tea is still crawling through my veins, making every light brighter, every sound sharper, every impulse harder to leash.

  The guards don’t even blink at us, not at first. Just another pair of drifters, maybe, though the sight of my collar, Master’s bearing, the way I twitch and circle him like a storm, those get their attention. Dwarfs don’t miss details, not in this city, not after what’s come crawling through these gates over the years.

  I flick my tail, eyes wide, grin twitching at the corners of my mouth, feeling a giggle bubble up just from the tension of it all. We’re at the edge, Master and me, and the world feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting to see if we’ll force our way through or be sent packing. I want to run, to climb the gates, to tear a hole straight through the stone, but I hold, tail curling around his leg, breath short, waiting for his next move.

  They spot us early, sizing up Master first, a stranger’s eyes. Their gaze flicks to me, pupils narrowing, taking in the collar, the twitch of my tail, my obvious jittering from the Embercrack tea. One gives a half-smirk, something between curiosity and condescension. No words at first, just the low rumble of a city that’s seen too many bad ideas walk up to too many gates.

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  Master’s stride never falters. He walks up as if he owns the stones themselves, that old neutrality fixed to his face. He doesn’t try to look harmless, he’s too tall, too sharp-edged, the kind of man who radiates danger in a way only the truly experienced ever do. He comes to a stop just out of hammer’s reach, lets his hands rest at his sides.

  The guard on the left grunts, stepping forward, voice thick as gravel. “District’s closed, stranger. No business inside unless it’s clan business. Turn around.”

  Master just looks him over, slow, appraising. He reaches into his coat, unhurried, as if the whole world is moving at half speed for him alone. He produces a pair of silver coins, letting the metal catch the lantern light, a flash in the gloom, sharp and clean.

  He holds one out to the first guard, meeting his gaze without a flicker. “You see me, and you see a problem. But silver fixes most problems, doesn’t it?”

  The dwarf’s face goes hard, then softer. His hand twitches, half wanting to refuse, half already curling in anticipation. Master’s voice doesn’t shift, still dry, still clinical, but with that edge that makes even the slowest brute listen. “You and your friend here, you can split it. Or not. There’s another for him.” He lifts the second coin, holding it out to the second guard.

  The first guard takes it, slow, fingers closing around the coin as if checking the weight, eyes flicking to his partner. The second dwarf is less subtle, he pockets the silver instantly, gives a short, barking laugh, then knocks his shield on the stone, a signal. The great wooden bar behind the gate is lifted with a grinding, ancient creak.

  “You’re a little late for trade, friend,” the second dwarf says, voice a little warmer now, as if silver is a passport in every tongue. “District’s not open for just anyone.”

  Master doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m not just anyone,” he replies, voice like ice. “And this is my business. I hear the clan likes to keep things orderly. I’m just here to keep the peace, my way.”

  The first guard snorts, eyes flicking to me again, lingering a little too long on my collar. “Clan keeps its own peace. Last time outsiders came in flashing coin, we found three bodies and a missing ledger.”

  Master just smiles, the barest curl of his mouth, not enough to be friendly, just enough to be dangerous. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not here for ledgers. Just passing through. Unless you’d rather have trouble? You don’t look like men who need trouble tonight.”

  The second dwarf gives a little shrug, hefting his hammer. “Silver’s silver. Your funeral if you step on the wrong toes.” He nods, jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Arch is open. Don’t cause problems. We’re not in the habit of asking questions we don’t want answered.”

  Master gives the smallest nod, just respect enough to be remembered, just distance enough not to be mistaken for a friend. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, stepping forward as the gate is pulled open, the creak echoing like a sigh across the stone.

  I slip in at his side, head low, ears pricked, every muscle singing with the buzz of tea and tension. My tail wraps around his ankle, silent warning to the guards, I’m no pet, not tonight. The dwarfs watch us pass, weighing every step, but silver’s spell holds.

  As the gates close behind us, I hear the first guard mutter to his partner, “Easy coin, that one. Hope he knows what he’s walking into.”

  The second answers, “No one does. Not in Embercrack.”

  The gate swings shut behind us with a slow, measured groan, final, deliberate.