“We walk from here lad. Leave that, no good to us now. It’s a good walk but shouldn’t take us too long. No flexing those new muscles of yours either. The Ministry has eyes everywhere even this far away from the town. We just need to get in, meet Desa and get this young lad out of here.”

I nodded my confirmation, and started walking to the town. I was looking forward to talking to someone, anyone else. Trendil could hold a half decent conversation, but after so long with only him to talk to, I relished the opportunity to hear someone else's voice.

We approached the city gates under the cover of the early evening, the air crisp with the lingering chill of winter. Elvensham loomed before us, its towering spires glinting in the fading sunlight like jagged teeth. The guards at the gate were clad in the Ministry’s black-and-silver uniforms, their presence commanding but detached, as though they had long since grown numb to the lives they governed.

Trendil pulled his hood low over his face, motioning for me to do the same. “Keep your head down and say nothing unless spoken to,” he muttered. “We don’t need trouble before we even step inside.”

The line of travelers shuffled forward slowly, carts laden with goods creaking under their weight. A merchant ahead argued with a guard over a tax he claimed to have already paid. The guard’s expression remained stony, and the exchange ended with the merchant begrudgingly handing over a small pouch of coin. The tension in the air was palpable, as if the city itself was holding its breath.

When it was our turn, the guard’s eyes flicked over us briefly. “State your business.”

“Trade,” Trendil replied smoothly, his tone calm and measured. The guard lingered on him for a moment before nodding and waving us through.

Inside, the grandeur of Elvensham’s outer walls gave way to something far less polished. The main streets were wide, paved with cobblestones, and flanked by buildings that leaned precariously under the weight of time. Tapestries bearing the Ministry’s sigil hung from posts, their once-bright colors dulled by soot and grime. The further we moved into the city, the more it changed. The central market buzzed with activity—merchants shouted their wares, children darted between stalls, and the smell of roasted chestnuts mixed with the acrid stench of coal fires.

But as we pushed deeper, the vibrancy faded. The streets narrowed, the cobblestones gave way to packed dirt, and the buildings seemed to sag under the weight of despair. The people here moved quickly, heads down, avoiding eye contact. The Ministry’s presence was less overt but still felt, like a shadow that clung to every corner.

Our destination was a nondescript building near the edge of the district. The inn’s facade was weathered, its sign swinging on rusted chains. A single lantern flickered by the door, casting a dim light that barely reached the ground. A man sat on a stool outside, his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the street with the practiced vigilance of someone who had seen trouble before.

Trendil approached him without hesitation. “We’re here to see Desa.”

The man’s gaze shifted to me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought he might refuse us entry, but then he grunted, stepping aside to reveal a door hidden behind a heavy curtain. Trendil nodded to him and gestured for me to follow.

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The contrast beyond the door was stark. Where the outside was cold and dim, the room we entered was warm and welcoming. A fire crackled in the hearth, its glow dancing on the walls. The scent of spiced wine filled the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation. The people here were different too—smiling, laughing, their faces lit with a kind of defiance I hadn’t seen elsewhere in the city. It was a sanctuary, hidden in plain sight.

Trendil led me to a table in the corner, his movements unhurried. I glanced around, taking in the scene. This was more than just an inn; it was a refuge for those who didn’t fit into the Ministry’s rigid order. And if Desa was anything like the place she ran, I had a feeling our meeting would be anything but ordinary.

Desa nodded to the man who had downed his drink in one swift gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and disappeared behind the bar, then motioned for Trendil to follow. We made our way to a table in the far corner of the room, away from the dim light of the main area. I followed closely, sitting down beside them.

“Don’t mind him, lass,” Trendil said with a casual wave. “He’s... well, he’s my nephew. Let’s call him that for now.”

Desa’s sharp eyes immediately turned on me, sizing me up from head to toe. Her gaze was intense, cold, and it felt like she was trying to peel back layers of my skin just by looking. I met her stare, studying her in return. She was small, with jet-black hair pulled tightly into a tail that fell down her back. Her eyes were wide, almost predatory, and there was a coldness in them that made me uneasy. Her face was unblemished, save for a fading bruise on her left temple—evidence of some recent trouble. She wore a painted dress, its colors faded by time, but it still clung to her figure in a way that showed off her curves. Underneath, though, I could see the edges of a leather tunic—practical, hardened, and likely meant for protection. I couldn’t help but wonder how tight it must have been to allow her dress to still show her shape.

“Had a good look, have we, cousin?” Desa snapped, her voice cutting through my thoughts.

I blinked, caught off guard. Before I could respond, Desa turned her attention back to Trendil, her demeanor shifting from sharp to tense. “Is he the one you’ve been looking for? What about Dashan? You can’t just leave him, not now.”

Trendil waved off her concerns, his tone calm but firm. “Young Ragan might just be the one, you’re right about that. But I’m not leaving Dashan behind. Who do you take me for?”

At that, Desa’s shoulders relaxed, and she let out a long, relieved breath. “Good, good. The poor lad is scared out of his wits. He really needs a friend right now.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Trendil replied smoothly. “We’ll have him safely out of the city by morning. Now, where is he? I wouldn’t mind meeting someone you thought could meet my criteria.”

Desa hesitated, biting her lip before speaking. Her tough exterior cracked for a moment, and she seemed younger, more vulnerable than before. “Well, that’s the thing, Uncle Trendil…” Her voice softened, losing its edge. “I don’t have him anymore. He... flipped during the night. Ran off. I’ve got people out looking for him now, but we could really use your help.”

Trendil’s face darkened, his easy smile fading as the situation became clearer. “Flipped? Where?”

“Bendal—remember him? He’s out by the eastern gate, keeping an eye out. If Dashan tries to slip out of the city, that’s his best shot. Benson over there can show you the way.” She nodded toward a burly man at the end of the bar, who grunted in acknowledgment.

Trendil sighed and nodded. “Alright. We’ll help track him down. But we need to move fast. The Ministry won’t give him a second chance if they find him first.”

Desa’s eyes softened again. “Thank you, Uncle Trendil. I knew I could count on you.”