That afternoon, after their initial raid on the temple, Catherine snuck Ivarr into one of their unused warehouses, the one farthest from the dockyard. Apparently, the boy—rather, the man, as he insisted—had been sleeping in the forest ever since he arrived.

  She tossed him a blanket and a pillow and pointed toward a corner out of sight from the main aisle. “Stay there. Don’t make strange noises.”

  Ivarr stared at the warehouse as if it were a palace. “You have warehouses?”

  Catherine shrugged, already backing toward the door. “Well, it’s a dockyard, so yeah. They’re empty, though, so there’s plenty of space for you to roll around in. Anyway, try not to get caught.”

  She went straight home. Exhausted, she didn’t even bother eating. She waved a tired hello to her parents and brother, handed her mother the combat ring, and trudged to her room. Her father and mother exchanged looks, wondering what job she’d done that day to be so tired.

  The moment Catherine hit the bed, sleep took her. Barrel, just as spent, dropped onto his own cushion and passed out with a long, content sigh.

  The next morning, Catherine woke early again and headed straight for the kitchen.

  Her parents were already there. Her mother looked up from the table, eyes narrowing in exaggerated suspicion. “Is this actually my daughter?”

  Catherine smiled and shrugged one shoulder as she reached for food. “Just excited to earn money, I guess.”

  “Really?” Her mother’s amusement only grew. “And how much did you make yesterday, young lady? You were so tired you didn’t even bother telling us.”

  Catherine hesitated for half a heartbeat, just long enough to decide she wasn’t about to mention hidden temples and monsters.

  “Fifty coppers,” she said smoothly.

  Her mother hummed, clearly pleased. “Not bad.”

  Catherine sat with them long enough to eat breakfast, keeping her face calm and her tone casual. Afterward, she stood and stretched as if she had a long workday ahead.

  “I’ll pack myself lunch,” she said, already moving toward the pantry. “If I start early, I can finish quick.”

  “Don’t push yourself too hard,” her father said, watching her with quiet scrutiny.

  “I won’t,” Catherine replied, a little too quickly.

  She tucked the food away and headed out.

  She didn’t go looking for work, of course. She went straight to the warehouse.

  When Catherine slipped inside, the dockyard air followed her in, briny and cold. The place was quiet except for distant gulls and the faint creak of wood settling.

  Inside the building, Ivarr was already awake. He sat against a crate with a book open in his lap, reading like he’d slept in warehouses his whole life. He didn’t even glance up until Catherine approached.

  “Here,” she said, tossing him the wrapped food.

  His eyes widened slightly as he caught it. “You brought me breakfast?”

  “Don’t make it weird,” Catherine muttered. “Can’t have my accomplice starving.”

  Ivarr huffed a laugh, but his gratitude was real. “Thank you.”

  Catherine nodded at the book. “What are you reading?”

  “My spellbook,” Ivarr replied, patting it with pride. “Trying to learn more before we continue the raid.”

  He offered it to her like it was something sacred. Catherine took it, flipped a few pages, and immediately began scanning the text.

  Ivarr leaned in. “So… what do you think?”

  “It’s… old,” Catherine said, eyes narrowing. “Can you read these?”

  “I guess,” Ivarr said, as if it were obvious.

  Catherine chose a short line, pointed at it, and looked up. “Say that.”

  Ivarr cleared his throat. His expression turned serious, dramatically serious, and then he spoke.

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  He said it wrong. Not a little wrong. The kind of wrong that made the phrase collapse into nonsense.

  Catherine stared at him for a moment. “No,” she said flatly. “Again.”

  He tried again, and it was still wrong.

  Catherine exhaled through her nose, pinching the bridge of it like she already had a headache. “If you can’t chant properly, you’re going to get us killed in that place.”

  Ivarr opened his mouth, probably to protest, then hesitated, his pride warring with the truth.

  “I’ll teach you,” Catherine finally said.

  Ivarr blinked, then his whole face lit up. “You will?”

  “Don’t get excited,” Catherine warned, though she was already reaching for the book again. “It’s just reading. And enunciation.”

  “You’re really good at reading old texts,” Ivarr said, watching her with renewed interest.

  “My father was strict about it,” Catherine replied, turning a page. “Something about our family being proud scholars.”

  “I see,” Ivarr said, then tilted his head in curiosity. “Where in Ljosheim did your family come from, by the way? I know most people living south were from Eldgard, but your names sound different.”

  Catherine paused, only for a few seconds, but it was enough. “You know about the eastern continent?”

  “Of course,” Ivarr simply replied.

  Her eyes stayed on the page. “Vindavellir.”

  “Oh, nice place, I heard,” Ivarr said, impressed. “Wide grasslands. Cool air year-round. Which kingdom?”

  Catherine chuckled, deliberately light. “Never been there myself. My family’s lived here for generations.”

  Ivarr leaned back, thoughtful, clearly enjoying himself now. “Let me guess.”

  Catherine didn’t answer, which he took as permission.

  “Cruvenaz? Baldoraim?” he said, testing the names like spells. “Wait—no. Mezentius!”

  Catherine looked up sharply. “How do you even know those kingdoms?”

  “I read a lot in my spare time,” Ivarr said, completely unbothered. “Come on. Am I right?”

  “Well,” Catherine said, returning her gaze to the book, “close. But no.”

  Ivarr snapped his fingers, eyes bright. “The name. The clothes. The attitude. Ah! Cervolna!”

  Catherine closed his book with a crisp thump and stood.

  Ivarr blinked up at her. “What?”

  “How about,” Catherine said, voice sweet as honey and sharp underneath, “we do something else.”

  Ivarr squinted, realizing he’d hit something he wasn’t supposed to. “Aren’t we going back to the temple?”

  Catherine shook her head. “Not today.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t want my parents getting suspicious,” she said, cutting him off. “If I keep borrowing my mom’s combat rings… and if I keep coming home exhausted without a single copper to show for it—”

  Ivarr frowned. “Then what will we do today?”

  Catherine slung her satchel higher on her shoulder. “We’re going to a Forgemaster.”

  Ivarr tilted his head. “Why?”

  “We’re getting our own combat rings,” Catherine said simply. “So I don’t have to keep borrowing my mom’s.” She glanced back at him. “And so you can stop almost getting us killed.”

  Ivarr’s eyes lit up again. “My own… combat ring?”

  Catherine nodded, and Ivarr began jumping like a child who’d just received the most expensive toy ever built. After calming down, he finished his breakfast and joined Catherine and Barrel on their way to the Forgemaster.

  Catherine kept glancing sideways at him as they walked—at his pale face, the sharp red of his eyes, the way his presence felt off in the clean morning air. “Aren’t people going to stare?” she muttered.

  “They won’t,” Ivarr said, tugging his cloak a little higher. “It stops them from noticing what I am.”

  Catherine frowned. “That’s… convenient.”

  “It is,” he replied with a hint of smugness, “so relax.”

  To Catherine’s surprise, he was right. Dockworkers passed them without a second glance. A pair of women carrying baskets stepped aside only because of Barrel, not because of the pale, red-eyed boy at Catherine’s shoulder. No one questioned why she was walking with him at all.

  “That’s disturbing,” Catherine mumbled.

  Ivarr smiled like it was a compliment.

  It didn’t take long to reach the Forgemaster’s workshop, and luckily, he was already there, sleeves rolled, hair a mess, the scent of soot and hot metal clinging to everything.

  He looked up as Catherine entered and wiped his hands on a rag. “Morning, Miss Catherine. What can I do for you?”

  Catherine stepped forward, trying to sound casual. “I need two combat rings.”

  The Forgemaster’s brows lifted. “Your own combat ring, Miss Catherine?”

  “Yes,” Catherine said, then lowered her voice a fraction. “But keep it a secret from my parents. I don’t want them getting the wrong idea about why I’m asking for one.”

  His expression softened with understanding. The Forgemaster nodded once and turned toward the back. “I see. All right.”

  Catherine’s fingers brushed the strap of her satchel instinctively, already thinking of the pearl. She could buy this, even if she didn’t want questions.

  While the master disappeared into the stockroom, Catherine glanced around the shop, pretending not to look too interested in everything that could be sold. Ivarr wandered a step behind her, eyes flicking over the tools with open curiosity.

  Catherine’s hand hovered over her satchel again. If he asks for coin…

  The Forgemaster came back with a mild frown. “Bad news. I don’t have the right crystal to forge your rings.”

  Catherine frowned. “Crystal?”

  “The one the spells get engraved into. I’m out of the proper type.”

  Catherine’s shoulders sagged a little. “So… when can you—?”

  “Come back tomorrow,” he said. “After I finish my work for the day, I’ll go gather what I need.”

  Catherine paused, then her eyes sharpened, not with disappointment, but with opportunity. “I can gather them,” she said quickly.

  The Forgemaster hesitated. “Miss Catherine—”

  “I’ll bring you enough for the rings,” Catherine continued, already leaning into the deal, “and extra for future work. In exchange… you craft me the two combat rings for free.”

  Ivarr’s head snapped toward her. Catherine didn’t look at him. She kept her gaze on the Forgemaster like she was negotiating cargo prices.

  The man studied her for a long moment, then chuckled under his breath. “That sounds like a fair deal…”

  Catherine held his stare, unblinking, until finally he nodded. “Deal.”

  He extended his hand. Catherine took it, and they shook.

  The moment their hands parted, Catherine’s bracelet flared. Letters of light spilled into the air in front of her, neat and bright as always.

  Another task to be completed. Gather crystals for the Forgemaster.

  Coins to be earned… none. You are to receive two combat rings for free.

  You’re a ruthless haggler!

  Catherine stared at the last line. Then she released a slow, exasperated breath and, without thinking, raised her voice at her own wrist.

  “I’m not a ruthless!”