Soren blinked against the sudden brightness as he and Alaric followed Raz onto the rooftop, the morning sun warm on his face. The flat expanse of weathered tiles stretched out before him.

A low parapet encircled the roof’s edge, its stone surface worn smooth by countless years of wind and rain.

Tightly packed buildings of brick and timber sprawled in all directions, their roofs a patchwork of slate and thatch. Winding streets snaked between them, already bustling with early morning activity.

Plumes of smoke rose from workshops and bakeries, carrying with them the scents of fresh bread, molten metal, and the ever-present hint of salt from the sea.

Raz produced two monoculars from within his robes, handing one each to Soren and Alaric. “Observe the marketplace. Focus on the grocer’s stall near the fountain.”

Soren raised the lens to his eye, adjusting the focus until the stall came into sharp relief.

“Tell me what you see.”

“The bloke’s got a big bushy moustache,” Alaric said. “And he’s wearing an apron.”

Raz sniffed. “Not just the obvious, but the details. The things most would overlook.”

Soren studied the man. “He favours his left leg slightly—an old injury, perhaps. His apron is stained with juice from the berries he’s arranging, but there’s an odd discolouration on his right sleeve that doesn’t match.” He paused, noting the man’s interactions with customers. “He’s friendly, smiles often, but there’s a tension in his shoulders. And he keeps glancing towards the alley behind his stall.”

“Good observations. Alaric, would you care to elaborate?”

“Er…he’s got a lot of apples? And…oh, he just shortchanged that old woman.”

“Look deeper. What else can you discern about him? His habits, his concerns?”

“Right, well…he seems to favour the customers on the left side of his stall. Keeps his back to the right side more often than not.”

“Better. Now, what might that tell you?”

“He’s…I don’t know. Maybe, he’s protecting something? Hiding something. Hard to say.”

“Very good. Always consider the motivations behind observed behaviours.”

Soren nodded. “It’s like with sculpting. You have to take it in the round, not just one aspect.”

“Indeed. Context is king.”

Alaric frowned. “Context? Who’s he?”

Soren lowered his monocular. “It’s the difference between calling someone an idiot with a smile on your face—”

“Or a knife in their hands,” Raz cut in.

Alaric nodded. “I get it. You can’t just look at a gust of wind and decide to change course. You have to consider everything—the way the clouds are stacking on the horizon, the sudden quiet of the gulls, how the swells are moving under the hull. A single dark cloud doesn’t mean a storm, but when the air gets heavy and the sunrises turn red, you know rough weather’s brewing.”

Raz gave a slight smile. “Precisely. Understanding the bigger picture—the context— leads to wiser decisions.” He gestured towards the market square. “Notice how the woman in the blue dress keeps adjusting her necklace. What might that tell you?”

Soren focused on the figure, watching as she touched the pendant at her throat. “She looks nervous about something.”

“Or it’s new, and she’s not used to wearing it yet,” Alaric said. “Just guessing though, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Raz said. “But watch how she interacts with others.”

Soren observed as the woman approached various stalls. With most vendors, she seemed relaxed, her gestures open. But when she neared the grocer’s stall, her posture stiffened. “She seems wary of the grocer.”

Alaric sniffed. “Still doesn’t tell us why though.”

“Keep watching,” Raz said. “Look for patterns. Remember, our main focus is the grocer.”

Soren found himself slipping into a sort of trance. The marketplace became a living puzzle, each person a piece with their own shape and purpose.

He watched as a wiry merchant haggled with a fishmonger, noting how the merchant’s left eye twitched each time he made a counteroffer. He observed a group of children playing near the fountain, their seemingly random movements revealing a complex game with unspoken rules.

But always, his attention returned to the grocer’s stall.

The man’s friendly demeanour never wavered, his bushy moustache bouncing as he laughed with customers.

Yet Soren began to notice the way the grocer’s eyes darted to the alley behind his stall every few minutes, the slight hesitation before he reached for certain crates of produce, the tension in his shoulders that never quite eased, even in quieter moments.

“What do you see now?” Raz asked.

Soren blinked, realising he’d been staring through the lens for Creation knew how long.

“The grocer’s not what he seems. There’s a pattern to his customers. Most are ordinary folk buying fruit and veg. But every so often, someone approaches. They carry themselves differently.”

Raz cocked an eyebrow. “Differently, how?”

“They just seem, I don’t know. More purposeful, I guess.”

Raz nodded. “Go on.”

“When these people come, the grocer changes too. It’s subtle, but, it’s like his smile becomes fixed, like he’s holding a pose. He glances around more. No coin is exchanged. But the grocer hands a small package over.”

“Maybe they’re just friends?” Alaric said. “I’d always come to see you at the workshop.”

Soren shook his head. “No, it’s more than that. Look at how they leave. And the grocer always seems more relaxed after these exchanges, like a weight’s been lifted.” He turned to Raz. “He’s involved in something illicit, isn’t he? Probably smuggling. Those ‘special’ customers—they’re not there for fruit.”

“An astute deduction. What led you to that conclusion?”

“Did you see how he tensed when that city watchman walked by?”

Raz nodded, his expression neutral. “Go on.”

“It’s not just that. Watch the next ‘special’ customer. See how they approach?”

As if on cue, a well-dressed woman sauntered up to the stall.

“There.” Soren pointed. “She’s pretending to examine the apples, but she’s not even looking at the fruit.”

Alaric squinted through his own lens. “Yeah, I see it. She looks nervous.”

“Exactly, Now watch the grocer.”

The woman leaned in, whispering something. The grocer shifted.

“Did you catch that?” Soren asked. “The way he tapped his fingers on the crate? Three short, two long. It’s a code. It has to be.”

“Intriguing,” Raz said. “What else?”

“His sleeve.”

Alaric shook his head. “His sleeve?”

“The stain. It’s not from any fruit I’ve ever seen. Could be ink, maybe? For marking packages or keeping records.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Alaric frowned, focusing on the grocer. His eyes widened. “Wait a minute. Look at what he’s handing to that woman. It’s not fruit.”

Raz leaned in. “What do you see?”

Alaric squinted, his brow furrowing. “Hang on…wait. It’s some kind of fish”

“A fish?” A deep line set on Soren’s brow. “Why in the void would a greengrocer be selling fish?”

“Not just any fish.” Alaric gasped. “By Creation, that’s a dreameel. I’ve only seen one once, when I was out with the fishing fleet.”

“A dreameel?” Raz pushed out his bottom lip. “Tell us more, Alaric.”

Alaric lowered his monocular, his face grim. “They’re rare, and they secrete this inky substance. Touching it can send you into a living dream, apparently.”

Soren’s gaze snapped back to the grocer, zeroing in on his sleeve. “So that stain could be from the eel’s secretion.”

Alaric nodded. “That stuff stains like nothing else. And it explains why he’s so jumpy around the city watch.”

Raz looked between them. “So, what’s your conclusion?”

Soren took a deep breath. “The grocer is running a smuggling operation. Dreameels sold to Creation knows how many customers. The coded exchanges, the hidden transactions—it all fits.”

Alaric let out a low whistle. “A simple greengrocer, at the centre of a drug smuggling ring. Who would’ve thought?”

Raz raised a finger. “An excellent deduction, but there’s still a missing piece. What are we overlooking?”

Soren frowned, reviewing the evidence in his mind. He turned to Alaric. “Any ideas?”

“Nothing.”

Soren swept his gaze across the marketplace, his focus lingering on the alley. “We haven’t seen any money change hands between the customers and the grocer.”

Alaric scratched his chin. “Maybe that’s deliberate. If he’s not technically selling them, it’d be a lesser offense for the Magistrates, right?”

“True,” Raz said, “but it doesn’t explain the full picture. What do you suggest, Soren?”

“I think we should watch the alley more closely. I bet there’s more going on there than we’ve seen.”

After a few minutes of observation, a man emerged, making his way towards the grocer’s stall.

“There,” Soren said. “Did you see that? A flash of light from the alley, just for a moment.”

“Reflection off something metal, maybe?”

“It’s got to be an accomplice. Someone who handles the money, keeping it separate from the grocer and the goods.”

He watched as the customer approached the stall. This time, Soren noticed a subtle interaction he’d missed before. The customer tapped a specific pattern on the counter, which the grocer responded to with his own series of taps.

“The tapping must confirm the payment’s been made.”

Alaric nodded. “I think you’re right.”

The grocer handed over a small package.

Raz clapped his hands together. “Excellent work, both of you. You’ve unravelled a complex operation layer by layer. This is the level of observation and deduction that sets true contractors apart.”

Alaric let out a low whistle. “Who knew there’d be so much going on in a simple marketplace? Makes you wonder what else is happening right under our noses.”

“Indeed,” Raz said. “The world is full of secrets, initiates. Your job is to uncover them, and when necessary, to use that knowledge. Remember, information is often the deadliest weapon a contractor possesses.”

As they prepared to leave the rooftop, Soren cast one last glance at the marketplace below.

“What should we do about the grocer?” Soren asked.

Raz stopped and turned to him. “It’s not really my concern. And nor should it be yours.”

“My father always said justice is all of our concerns.”

Raz shrugged. “A naïve perspective, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “My father was a good man. He didn’t do anything—”

“Again, that is not my concern.”

Alaric glanced between them. “Everything alright?”

“Quite,” Raz said. “I simply need to discuss something with Soren in private. Why don’t you head back to your quarters? We’ll join you shortly.”

Once Alaric had departed, Raz turned to Soren, his expression unreadable. “You showed remarkable aptitude today, Soren. Your ability to synthesise information, to see patterns where others might not is a rare gift.”

Soren shifted under Raz’s intense gaze. “Thank you, sir. I’m just trying my best to learn.”

“Indeed.” Raz stroked his chin. “Tell me, have you given any more thought to why you were chosen for the Threshing?”

Soren’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure. You said our talents had been uncovered, but…”

“But you don’t know what those talents might be. Consider today’s lesson. The ease with which you grasped concepts that take most apprentices weeks to master.”

“What are you saying?”

Raz’s eyes glinted. “I’m saying, Soren, that you may possess abilities beyond the ordinary. Abilities the Guild finds extremely valuable.”

Soren’s mind raced. “But what does that mean for me? For my training?”

“It means.” Raz placed a hand on Soren’s shoulder. “That your path may diverge from Alaric’s sooner than you might expect. The Guild has plans for you, Soren.”

Soren’s throat tightened. The thought of leaving Alaric behind, of facing this new world alone, sent a spike of fear through him. “We wouldn’t have recognised the dreameels without him.”

“A minor detail.” Raz’s grip tightened. “The time is coming, Soren. You would do well to prepare yourself.”

The evening shadows lengthened across the room as Soren sat cross-legged on his bed, sketchbook balanced on his knees. The events of the day played through his mind as his charcoal swept across the page, bringing to life the scenes they’d witnessed from the rooftop.

He paused, studying the half-finished portrait of the grocer taking shape before him. The man’s bushy moustache and friendly smile were there, but something was missing.

Soren frowned and glanced over at Alaric. “What exactly do dreameels look like? Up close, I mean?”

Alaric looked up from the text he’d been poring over. “Why’s that?”

Soren shrugged, gesturing to his sketch. “I’m trying to draw what we saw today, but I didn’t get a look at one. Thought it might help to add it to the composition.”

Alaric set his book down and sat beside Soren on the bed. He peered at the sketch. “You’ve got the grocer down, I’ll give you that. As for the dreameel...” He closed his eyes for a moment. “They’re not like normal eels, that’s for sure. Longer, for one thing, and thinner. About half the length of your arm, but no thicker than your thumb at the widest part.”

Soren’s charcoal hovered over the page as he listened.

“The head is narrow, almost arrow-shaped. And the eyes…Creation, the eyes are something else. Big and round, taking up most of the head, and they seem to glow faintly in the dark. A sort of pale blue.”

As Alaric spoke, Soren’s hand moved across the paper, quick, sure strokes forming the eel’s sinuous body.

“Its skin’s not scaly like most fish. It’s smooth, almost velvety looking, and it shimmers. Not like fish scales catching the light, but more…well, more like the surface of a soap bubble, you know? All swirling colours that never quite settle.”

Soren nodded, his charcoal dancing across the page as he tried to capture the qualities Alaric described.

“And then there are the patterns. Swirling all along its body. They’re faint. But when the eel is agitated, or when it’s secreting, the patterns light up. It’s like watching lightning shoot across its skin.”

Soren’s hand moved faster now, adding intricate details to the eel’s form. He paused only to switch to a softer charcoal, using it to add depth and shading to the creature’s undulating body.

The dreameel seemed to writhe on the page.

Alaric whistled. “That’s exactly it. It’s like you’ve pulled the image straight out of my head.”

Soren sat back, studying his work with a critical eye. “I’ve not quite captured that shimmering quality you described.”

“Are you joking?” Alaric shook his head. “It looks like it could slither right off the page. I’ve seen the real thing up close, remember? Trust me, this is what it looks like.”

Soren closed the sketchbook, setting it aside.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened with Raz after I left? I thought you were this close to shoving him off the roof.”

Soren sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Bet he gave you a right earful, huh?”

“Not exactly. Things…I don’t know. I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”

Alaric settled back against the wall, his eyes fixed on Soren. “Well, that was clear as dishwater.”

Soren took a deep breath. “Raz…he thinks I have some kind of special talent. Something the Guild is particularly interested in.”

Alaric snorted. “Well, yeah. Anyone could see you picked things up faster today. You spotted things I missed entirely.”

“Raz said it might mean our training takes different paths. Eventually.”

After a long silence, Alaric nodded. “Different paths. What’s that supposed to mean?”

Soren spread his hands. “I don’t know, exactly. He said I should be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

“I don’t know. Changes, I guess.”

Alaric got up and started pacing the room. His footsteps echoed in the confined space. “You don’t really hear about assassin duos, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

Alaric stopped. “Don’t you see? The Guild won’t want us working as a pair. It’s solo work, isn’t it?”

“But we’re stronger together. I told him that you were the one who figured out the eel stuff.”

“How come he didn’t take me aside to offer his little pearls of wisdom, huh?”

“Believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do.”

Alaric whirled on him. “Don’t you? Because it sounds like you’re being groomed for something special. Maybe you’ll be too important for the likes of me soon enough.”

Soren recoiled, stunned by the bitterness in Alaric’s voice. “How can you say that? After everything we’ve been through?”

Alaric sagged against the wall. “I’m sorry.” He looked up at Soren, his eyes glistening. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just…what am I supposed to do if they take you away?”

Soren stood, crossing the room to grip Alaric’s shoulders. “Listen to me. No matter what happens, no matter where they send us, we’re in this together. You hear me? Together.”

Alaric met his gaze. After a long moment, he nodded, some of the tension easing from his frame. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

Soren stepped back, his brow furrowing. “Wait a minute. Something doesn’t add up here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Why would Raz tell me this in private? Why try to separate us?” Soren’s brow furrowed. “What if…what if this is just another test?”

Alaric straightened. “You think he’s trying to drive a wedge between us?”

Soren nodded. “It’s exactly the kind of mind game the Guild would play. They’ve been breaking us down physically and mentally since day one. Why stop now?”

“Damn.” Alaric puffed out a breath. “We’re playing right into their hands, aren’t we?”

“We can’t let them manipulate us like this. We’ve survived this far because we’ve had each other’s backs. Why would they want to change that?”

Alaric rubbed his chin. “You’re right. They’re testing our loyalty, our resolve.”

“Exactly. They want to see if we’ll turn on each other at the first sign of favouritism or separation.”

Alaric grinned. “But we’re smarter than that.”

“We can’t let doubts and paranoia become weapons they use against us. We have to be tougher than that.”

“And who says contractors have to work alone anyway? We come as a pair. We support each other, fill in each other’s gaps.”

“Right! Think about today. I spotted the patterns, but you knew about the dreameels. Together, we solved the puzzle faster than either of us could have alone.”

Alaric’s eyes lit up. “We’re more than the sum of our parts. That’s got to be valuable to the Guild.”

“Exactly. They must have seen that potential in us from the beginning. Why else would they keep us together through the Threshing and beyond?”

“They wouldn’t waste resources training us together if they didn’t see value in our partnership.”

Soren gripped Alaric’s shoulder. “So we stick together. No matter what they throw at us, no matter what mind games they play. We’re a team.”

Alaric nodded, clasping Soren’s arm. “A team. To the bitter end.”