Mox’s hand curled into a tight fist, her knuckles going pale. She held it like that for a moment before releasing it with a sharp exhale. Her gaze stayed fixed ahead, her jaw tense, and I didn’t need to guess how she felt. Anger, not sadness. The kind of anger that simmers just under the surface, quiet but sharp.

I didn’t say anything. No awkward attempt to lighten the mood or some hollow reassurance. People like Mox didn’t need that. I stayed where I was, silent and steady, waiting for her to move. We still had weapons to deliver, and while the stat boosts I’d been getting helped with the weight, it didn’t make them light.

With a sigh, Mox started walking again. Her steps were steady, but I could tell she hadn’t fully let it go. Her eyes stayed forward, her face calm, but there was still a weight in her movements, something unresolved.

“The higher-ups really hate us,” she muttered, her voice low but clear.

“Seems that way,” I replied.

“They say that when Nu’tar was taken by the elves, only the humans fought back. The other races joined the elves.”

“Sounds like propaganda.”

“Exactly,” she said, her pace quickening just a bit. “We all fought, we all suffered. But that little lie gives the Queen and her family all the justification they need to keep us down.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah, forget about that racist bastard,” she said with a shake of her head. “So, dinner with the Queen, huh? Lucky guy.”

“Lucky?” I shot her a glance. “Sure. Lucky.”

She let out a short laugh, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. “Not excited? Anyone else would jump at that offer.”

“I guess I’m not ‘anyone.’”

Her eyes lingered on me for a second longer, her gaze sharp like she was trying to see past my face. She gave a small nod, lips curling into a faint smirk. “Yeah. You’re definitely not.”

I didn’t bother asking what she meant by that. People always loved to act cryptic like it gave them more depth. I stayed quiet, keeping my eyes on the path ahead. If she wanted to explain herself, she would. But she didn’t. Instead, she picked up the pace, her boots clapping steadily on the stone. I caught her side-eyeing me once before she moved ahead.

With her walking faster, I adjusted my grip on the weapons, the weight of the shields pressing awkwardly into my forearm. It didn’t help that I’d skipped breakfast. My stomach grumbled just thinking about it.

We rounded a corner, and I shifted my hold again, lifting the shields higher so the edge wouldn’t dig into my wrist. Mox didn’t slow down, so I had to double-time it just to keep pace.

“Hey, how much further is this place?” I asked, trying to steady my breathing.

“Few more minutes,” she replied without looking back. “Tired already?”

“Just hungry,” I muttered. “Skipped breakfast.”

“Why?” She asked. “You’ve got the best chef in Kinowa cooking for you. Some say he’s better than the Queen’s own.”

“Didn’t know ‘moustache man’ was famous,” I said, adjusting the shield in my grip.

She snickered, shaking her head. “Killora. That’s his name. But yeah, 'moustache man' works too.”

“Why’s a chef that good working in the boys’ dorm instead of the Queen’s kitchen?”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Mox pulled the map from her back pocket, eyes scanning it for a second. “His stepmother was an elf,” she said, refolding the paper and tucking it away.

“Ah.” I nodded slowly, the pieces clicking into place. “So no chance he’d ever get near the palace kitchen.”

“None.” She glanced at me with a half-smile.

Her pace picked up again, and I followed, shifting my grip on the weapons once more. My arms were getting sore, and I could feel the slight burn in my biceps.

“Anyways,” Mox said, her tone lighter now, “we’re close. Few more minutes, tops.”

“Hmm.”

Her eyes drifted toward me, brow raised, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You grunt a lot, you know that?”

“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. “Just don’t have much to say, I guess.”

“Oh, really?” Her grin widened, eyes narrowing with mischief. “Never would’ve guessed.”

“Hmm…” I muttered again, and this time I heard her snicker under her breath.

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Mox double-checked the map, turning it slightly before folding it back into her pocket. She knocked firmly on the door, her knuckles tapping out a steady rhythm. I set the weapons down with a heavy thud, letting out a long breath as I leaned my back against the wall. My legs gave in, and I slid down until I was sitting on the ground, forearms resting on my knees.

We were in front of a two-story house with barred windows, each one sealed shut with thick black curtains. The door looked sturdier than most—not the usual wood found in the nearby houses. It wasn’t quite metal either, something in between. Probably a material I wasn’t familiar with.

A glance behind me revealed a small shop down the alley, maybe ten meters away. Looked like a clothing store, with racks of folded garments just visible past the open doorway. The alley itself was cramped, barely wide enough for a cart to squeeze through. Trees lined the sides, their branches stretching far enough to brush against some of the house's second-story windows. Shadows shifted with the swaying of the branches, making the place feel a little more eerie than it needed to be.

Mox rubbed her arms, eyes darting around. "Weird place," she muttered, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at the barred windows. "Kinda creepy, not gonna lie."

"It is," I agreed, letting my head rest against the wall. “Where did you pick this job?”

Her gaze stayed on the house for a moment longer before shifting to me. "Where else? The Guild, of course," she said, her tone defensive, like I’d accused her of something. "Simple delivery. Grab some stuff from Birillo’s blacksmith shop, bring it here. That’s it.”

I tilted my head toward the pile of weapons. "What’s this person need all these for?”

“Don’t know,” she said with a shrug, knocking on the door again, louder this time. “Didn’t ask. Pay was good, so I took it.”

“Could be a dangerous guy,” I muttered, watching the shadows shift behind the curtains.

“Don’t be paranoid. It’s just a delivery.”

Before I could reply, the door creaked open an inch, just enough for a pair of eyes to peek through. We both froze, our eyes locked on the small gap. It was pitch black inside, no lantern light, no glow from a hearth. Nothing. The stranger’s gaze shifted to the weapons on the ground, lingering for a moment before snapping back to us.

Then, without a word, the door shut with a soft thunk.

I turned my eyes to Mox, brow raised in silent question. She tilted her head, equally confused.

I looked down as a folded piece of paper slipped out from under the door, landing by Mox’s boot. Her brows furrowed as she bent down to pick it up, flipping it open with a flick of her thumb. She read it silently at first, eyes narrowing.

I got up and walked toward her, leaned over her shoulder, my eyes scanning the message. “I’m scared of Noxiveras. Please go.” I read aloud, my voice as flat as my expression.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, crumpling the paper into a tight ball. With a sharp snap of her wrist, she hurled it at the door. It bounced off with a hollow thud and landed at her feet. “Bastard,” she growled, her wings twitching slightly beneath her cloak. “Absolute bastard.”

“Looks like we’re done here.”

“Yeah,” Mox muttered, giving the crumpled ball of paper a kick down the alley. “Let’s get out of here.”

We turned away from the house, the echo of our footsteps filling the narrow alley. Her jaw was tight, and her eyes stayed forward, but I could tell the whole thing had gotten under her skin.

"So," I started, glancing her way, "when am I getting that bow?"

She glanced at me, her eyes still sharp with frustration, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “How about right now?” she said, flicking her head in the direction of the main street. “Come on.”

Without waiting for me to answer, she strode ahead, her pace brisk. I followed close behind, stepping over the fallen paper ball as we left the alley behind.

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