A wide stone landing ran along the water’s edge, offering a perfect view of the busy docks below. The salty breeze carried the distant shouts of sailors and the creaking of old hulls, creating a nearly peaceful atmosphere—until a burst of laughter cut through it.

“Seriously, Ed? A cape?” Lyra managed between giggles, pointing at the small flourish of fabric draped across Edric’s shoulder. “Trying to look heroic, are we? Because it’s definitely not working.”

Edric tugged nervously at the cape’s collar. “Laugh it up,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Meanwhile, we still don’t have a clue which ship or crew belongs to Rhyden. How are we supposed to spot one shady deal among all these vessels?”

He swept his arm across the pier, frustration clear in his voice. “I don’t see any sign that says ‘Criminal Activity This Way.’

Suddenly, a gruff voice rang out behind them. “Oi! Move aside—my lads have crates to haul and you’re blocking the way!” A hardened man in a wrinkled uniform glared, an insignia on his chest marking him as a port official. “If you’ve no business here, clear off.”

Lyra’s face darkened in instinctive defiance. But Edric placed a steadying hand on her arm. “Sure thing—we’re moving,” he called back as he urged Lyra to follow him out of the man’s earshot.

She turned on him, confused. “Why are we walking away? We could’ve—”

“The last thing we need is suspicion,” Edric muttered, releasing a quiet sigh. “The guy’s overstepping, but that doesn’t matter. We can’t afford them watching us.”

She pursed her lips, reluctantly giving in. “You’re probably right. But how do we keep an eye on the shipments now?”

His answering grin was quick and conspiratorial. “Who says we can’t? We’ll just need a better vantage point.”

They headed for a small tavern just off the dockside street. Outside, worn-out cargo haulers slumped on benches, tankards in hand. Inside, the place was dimly lit with mismatched chairs, stained tables, and a permanent smell of salt and ale—almost like the Ripple all over again. Lyra ordered tea, then followed Edric up a narrow flight of stairs.

“Not bad,” she said, settling into a chair near the large window that overlooked the docks. “I approve.”

“Hey, this is almost like a date—”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Don’t embarrass yourself,” Lyra cut him off. Edric’s face turned red as he made a strangled sound that was part cough, part gulp.

Creaking footsteps on the stairs made both of them tense. Edric glanced at Lyra, half expecting trouble—until the familiar shopkeeper appeared, tray in hand.

“Your tea is ready!” she announced. Easing over, she set two steaming cups on the table before retreating back downstairs.

Lyra studied Edric’s reaction. “Getting cold feet?” her tone more sincere than usual. She stirred her tea deliberately. The gentle clink of her spoon against the porcelain filled the brief silence.

“No,” he answered too fast. His voice faltered, betraying his nerves. “I’m just…a little anxious. This is the first time we’ve tackled something this big.” His gaze traveled back to the bustling harbor, where crates and barrels were steadily hauled off the ships.

“It’s the first time we’ve done anything like this”, he said softly. “Wish I had a more useful spell—something besides this party trick.”

“That’s the price of studying under a charlatan,” Lyra mused, taking a careful sip of her tea. “But I get it. A new Flaw is about the last thing either of us needs right now.”

Flaws are the unavoidable price of practicing magic: each person is born with a strictly limited capacity for spells, and every incantation, no matter how small, carries its own imperfection. Over time, this imperfection steadily worsens until it reaches a plateau, where the Flaw matures into a permanent limitation.

She offered him a small, supportive smile. “Still, your mimicry spell can help.”

Edric’s blank look told her how much faith he really had in it. “Sometimes,” she conceded with a half-smile. “Fine—it’s mostly a novelty.”

“At least you’ve got wind magic,” he pointed out, raising his cup to sip. He immediately winced and pulled back, tongue burning. “Ow!”

“Stir first, genius.”

Edric set the cup on the table, blowing gingerly on the surface. “Got it,” he muttered through a slightly scalded tongue. “But seriously, how do we pinpoint anything shady from all this?” He gestured to the window as workers shuffled crates along the walkways.

They stayed by the window for hours as cargo was loaded and unloaded. Nothing looked particularly suspicious.

“This is exhausting,” Edric sighed. “We can’t just sit here all day and night hoping something falls into our laps.”

“In hindsight, it was a flimsy plan,” Lyra admitted, just as tired of staring at crates. By the time the sun began to sink, the beverage house was closing.

“Let’s cut our losses,” Edric said. Together, they slipped downstairs, startling the staff who’d assumed they’d left already.

Once outside, they started for their usual boarding house. As they passed through the wharf district’s exit, Lyra paused at a notice nailed to a wooden pillar.

“Need a job? Councilman Rhyden wants you,’” she read aloud. Edric peered over her shoulder.

“No elves, dwarfs, or otherwise,” he added, reading the smaller print at the bottom. “Humans only.”

Lyra’s mouth twisted wryly. “I guess that’s a job for you, then.” Her slightly pointed ears were just visible through her dark hair—enough to explain why she was disqualified.

Edric stepped closer and tore the notice from the pillar. He held the important piece in his hand, an unspoken question passing between them.

“This is perfect!”