Priscilla slid from her ringhorn, hands trembling as she wiped blood from her spear. Her gaze flicked to the trees and anywhere but at Vaan.

  "I heard Father giving orders to Joy," she said, her voice low. "When I realized they were coming for you, I..." Her voice caught. "What he did to Garix was wrong."

  Vaan stared at her. “Why help us? What happens when your father finds out you crossed him?”

  She flinched but didn’t look away this time.

  “Because I’m not him,” she said. “And because I was supposed to be with them. Joy was meant to mentor me. Father’s plan was clear. Tie the Veldrane name to the strongest guild in the Reach. Influence. Power. Control. I was just… another blade to be pointed at someone.”

  Remy sat on a flat stone nearby, wrapping his bloodied forearm with a grimace. He hadn’t said a word until now.

  “If that’s true, you can’t go back,” he said, voice even. “Mercs don’t forget blood. You crossed the line. Only choice now is to pick a side.”

  He looked up, dark eyes steady. “Join the Adventurer’s Guild. At least someone’ll have your back.”

  Priscilla blinked, caught off guard, then shook her head.

  “You don’t understand. My father would never let them harm me.”

  Remy laughed.

  “You think blood means anything to men like that?” His voice was low, edged. “You think the Mercenary Guild’s a game? Something you join when it suits and leave when it stings? You spilled blood. That’s a debt they don’t forget.”

  She pursed her lips stubbornly reminding Vaan of Marianne’s tantrum. “He can’t! He needs me. I’m part of the plan.”

  “Yeah? Plans change.” Remy tossed the bloodied cloth aside.

  There was a long pause. The night wind stirred the dry grass around them.

  Priscilla's hands clenched at her sides. Her voice, when it came, was brittle.

  "If I do this… if I join you… there's no going back."

  "Exactly."

  She turned her eyes to Vaan. Something unreadable flickered in her expression.

  Then, slowly, deliberately, she nodded.

  "All right. I’ll join the adventurer guild."

  The wasteland night wrapped around them like a damp cloak as the trail led them deeper into the desolate expanse. The path twisted through uneven ground, narrowing as they veered off the main road. It was the kind of place few would stumble upon by accident. It was a secluded inn, hidden away in the folds of the wastelands, far from any known trade routes. Smoke curled lazily from its chimney, and a red lantern swung above the door, casting a suggestive glow.

  Remy smirked. “Place looks worse than it is,” he said, limping ahead. “We’re deep in the wastelands. Had to take this detour to shake off the trail. Those mercs are relentless. This inn’s hidden. Very few know about it, so it’s safe. They feed you, don’t water down the ale, and no one asks too many questions.”

  Inside, the innkeeper looked up from behind the counter, his scowl vanishing the moment he saw Remy.

  “Well, I’ll be,” the man said, cracking a grin. “You still breathing?”

  “Not for lack of tryin’ mate,” Remy replied, slapping a few silvers on the counter. “Lisa’s upstairs?”

  “You plannin’ to keep her busy all night?” he waggled his eyebrows.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Remy rolled his shoulder with a groan. “Damn right I am. Road’s been rough. Need some different kind of action.”

  “Don’t do anything, I wouldn’t do”, the innkeeper winked.

  “No promises. You’ll have ‘er back by breakfast. Might even do yeh a favor - she’ll be so worn out, you’ll get the week off.”

  The innkeeper barked a laugh. “Get outta here, you bastard. Try not to break my wife.” Remy gave a lazy wave and vanished without another word, clearly at ease in this place.

  Vaan stepped up next, already pulling out his coin pouch.

  “Fifty coppers for the common room,” the innkeeper said without looking, all warmth gone.

  Vaan muttered under his breath, hand hovering over the coins, when Priscilla stepped up beside him. The innkeeper looked up, and everything about him shifted. He straightened, eyes quickly flicking over her posture, her bearing, the fine trim of her cloak despite the road dust.

  “My lady,” he said with a cautious nod.

  Priscilla’s reply was cool but polite. “Two guests, one room. We’ll manage.”

  The innkeeper gave a stiff nod, silently handing over the key without further comment. As they turned to leave, the door creaked open to a narrow hallway that led further into the inn.

  Vaan raised an eyebrow as they made their way toward the back.

  “You’ve got that ‘noble walks into a common room and everyone gets nervous’ thing down,” he muttered.

  She gave a faint, amused shrug. “Force of habit.”

  He sighed. “I was about to pay fifty coppers for a straw mattress and damp sheets.”

  Priscilla touched his wrist before he could stash his pouch. “No point paying for two. The place is shady. We’ll be safer together. And it’s normal for adventurers to share rooms… it’s just practical.”

  He hesitated. She offered a small, sheepish smile.

  “Unless you’re scared I snore like a spoiled noble?”

  “No. Just didn’t expect you to volunteer for bunking with a smith’s son.”

  Priscilla's expression softened; her voice steady. "I’d trust a smith’s son over a noble any day."

  She turned toward the room at the far end of the hall, glancing back once to make sure Vaan was following. Without a word, he followed her through the door, the floor creaking softly beneath their feet.

  Vaan lay on the cot, staring at the beams above. The room smelled of old straw, sweat, and the faint trace of pipe smoke. Priscilla had drifted off across the room, curled on her side, the soft rise and fall of her breath steady.

  Strange girl. Vaan couldn’t understand it. How could she share a room with a stranger—the son of the man her father had murdered in cold blood? And that too in this whorehouse that Remy had them stay! And here she was sleeping carefree? After all that action?!

  It didn’t add up.

  She’d arrived just in time. Not a moment late. Not stumbling into a fight already underway. No! She was prepared. Mounted on Sturdyhorns. The ringhorn had been in the stables when Vaan had saddled his own. So had the Ironback, the mercenary's mount, also from Watch’s stable. Which meant she and the mercenaries must have left almost immediately after Vaan exited the gates, following his trail.

  Then there was the fight.

  She hadn’t killed either of the mercs. Not the bruiser. Not the duelist. Despite charging the bruiser with a war-grade ringhorn, spear poised for the kill, she hesitated. Sure, he was higher level than they were, but it had seemed too convenient. He’d been a perfect target. And yet, she hadn’t struck the fatal blow. Perhaps she was too kind to kill? Vaan had assumed it was just noble-born softness.

  Unlikely.

  She was level 4. She’d gained that class the same week he had. Vaan, too, had reached level 4, but only after the brutal hunt outside the village. How had she gotten there so quickly without ambition?

  Her quick acceptance of Remy’s offer to join the Adventurer’s Guild had seemed too eager.

  And why did Joy leave the fight anyways? Did Remy injure her badly? Well, Remy was injured too. Why would Joy leave just after Priscilla’s arrival? She was just a level 4 like him. Not enough to change the flow of the battle, surely?

  Vaan frowned.

  Now that he thought back to Garix’s death. She had been there, shocked, regretful. But she had also walked calmly behind Erik afterwards. Hadn’t she?

  Something was off about her.

  Vaan’s eyes flicked toward her coinpurse, resting innocuously on the table beside her. His breath slowed as he crept closer, careful not to disturb her. She lay still, her rhythmic breathing the only sound in the room, and he made sure every movement was deliberate and soft. He reached out, fingers brushing lightly against the leather, trying not to make a sound.

  His heart thudded in his chest, but he forced himself to steady his hand. Slowly, carefully, he began to open the purse. Inside, near the bottom, a wrapped coin caught his eye. He unwrapped it with practiced ease, a rush of tension coiling in his stomach.

  There it was! An identical coin to his own, the sword piercing downward through a coiled serpent, its fangs bared. No circle with spokes. No wheel like his. Mercenary Guild?

  He froze, his fingers still wrapped around the coin, his pulse hammering in his ears.

  "Find what you were looking for?"