Meanwhile, three streets away from the alley, the three adventurers from the Silver Breeze Guild were walking in tight formation down the main street with the specific speed of people trying not to look like they were fleeing.

"What the hell was that?" the muscular one said, in a low voice.

"Nothing," the blond one in the center replied, with the specific tone of someone convincing themselves. "A minor situation. Not worth it."

"I thought you said the alley was empty."

"The alley was empty an hour ago."

"An hour is a long time, Tomas."

"Both of you shut up," said the one with the minor Seal, looking back. "Someone’s following us."

The three stopped. They turned around.

Behind them, about fifteen meters back, two men dressed in good-quality civilian clothes were walking in a straight line toward them without hiding the fact that they were following.

They weren’t running.

They had no visible weapons.

But their pace, the coordination of their positions, the specific way one stayed slightly behind the other to cover different angles—everything about them said exactly what their profession was.

"Those aren’t from the Guild," said the one with the minor Seal.

"No."

"Who are they?"

"I have no idea."

Tomas took an instinctive step back.

The two men approached. The one slightly ahead raised an open hand in a peaceful gesture.

"Gentlemen," he said, with a polite voice completely devoid of any polite intent. "Good evening. Apologies for the interruption. We were wondering if we could ask you a few brief questions."

"About what?" Tomas asked.

"About a young Hunter we’re looking for. Dark hair. Used equipment. Probably carrying a large wooden box. We have information he was in this area within the last hour."

The three adventurers exchanged glances.

The glances lasted exactly half a second. Which was exactly the time it took the two men to confirm everything they needed to confirm.

"Excellent," the one in front said, in the same polite voice. "Where exactly did you see him?"

"Look, we don’t..." Tomas started.

"Gentlemen." The man’s voice didn’t rise, but it changed texture. It went from polite to clinical—like an instrument that no longer needed to simulate warmth.

"I’m going to explain the situation to save time. We work for a merchant in this city whose merchandise was misplaced. The merchandise is very valuable. My employer is willing to pay well for recent, accurate, verifiable information. He’s also willing to remember the specific names of people who chose not to cooperate. If you’ve seen the young Hunter, if you have information about the box, now is the time to speak."

Silence.

"He was in an alley," said the one with the minor Seal, before Tomas could stop him. "Three streets from here. Weavers’ Street, the second alley on the left. He was with a girl. Young. Green hair. Probably an elf."

Tomas closed his eyes.

"Detailed," said the man in front. "The box?"

"Yes. Large box. Wooden. Just as you described."

"How long ago?"

"Ten. Fifteen minutes at most."

"Were they alone?"

"Yes."

"Anything else relevant?"

"The Hunter is..."

The one with the minor Seal hesitated.

"The Hunter is what?" the man asked.

"He’s strange."

"Specify."

"When he entered the alley. The way he stood. The way he spoke. He wasn’t aggressive. But we backed off because something about him said that backing off was the smart decision. I’m not sure what it was. But backing off was the right call."

The man in front was still for a second.

"Interesting."

He pulled a small pouch from his belt. Handed three silver coins to each of the three adventurers.

"Cooperation appreciated. A professional recommendation, if I may. Leave this area of Greywall for the rest of the day. Leave the entire commercial district if you have somewhere to go. The information you just gave me is going to generate movement in these streets in the next few minutes, and you don’t want to be nearby when it starts."

"Understood," Tomas said, already pocketing the coins.

"Good day, gentlemen."

The two men turned and started walking back toward the commercial district with the same measured pace as before, while the one in front pulled a small communication crystal from his jacket’s inner pocket and began speaking in a low voice to whoever was on the other end.

The three adventurers stood in the street.

Tomas looked at his companions.

"This is bad."

"Yes."

"We just sold out someone who probably didn’t deserve to be sold out."

"Yes."

"But we had to say something. He wasn’t going to let us go without information."

"Probably."

"And three silver coins each isn’t nothing."

"True."

Pause.

"So why do I feel bad?"

"Because you suspect the Hunter was right about us," said the one with the minor Seal. "And now we just confirmed he was right."

Tomas didn’t respond.

The three kept walking.

And as they did, somewhere on Five Anvils Street, Larian received the confirmation through the crystal, noted the information in a small notebook, and began coordinating the movements of the four search teams he already had on alert throughout the commercial district.

---

In the alley, Liaraen finished the last piece of bread.

She wiped her hands on the cloth already wrapped around her feet—a pragmatic gesture that would probably have scandalized her tutor if she were still alive—and looked at Nathan.

"What’s the plan, Hunter?"

"In order, the immediate problems are: shelter for tonight. Brenwick is going to initiate an active search as soon as he confirms the package didn’t arrive, if he hasn’t already. The adventurers I turned away might come back with reinforcements or superiors. And we need to think beyond tonight, because tomorrow this only gets more complicated."

"Mira, at the guild."

"Mira is procedural law, same as the Temple. She can’t help me without evidence."

"And the clothing vendor who recognized your Seal?"

"Berran." Nathan considered it. "Berran warned me not to get involved in deep theological matters. Bringing you to his stall would be exactly that. But he’s also the only person in this city who probably knows who to contact to resolve this unofficially."

"Why don’t you decide already?"

"Because if I’m wrong about him, I don’t have a Plan B."

"And if you don’t decide, you don’t have a Plan A."

"Fair point."

Nathan stood up from the ground. Brushed the dust off his pants. Began packing the remaining food into the cloth bundle.

Soul Sense, at that moment, did something it hadn’t done in the last two hours.

It started reporting movement.

Multiple.

Coordinated.

In the streets adjacent to the alley.

Different directions but all converging toward the same general point.

Distances varying between one hundred and three hundred meters, depending on the specific team.

Four groups.

Twelve humans total, counting with the detection tool at maximum.

Approaching in an encirclement pattern.

*Shit.*

Nathan went very still for a second.

"Liaraen."

"Yes?"

"Stand up. Slowly. We’re leaving this alley in about ten seconds."

"What happened?"

"Four teams. Active search. Coming this way."

Liaraen stood up from the edge of the box without asking additional questions. Adjusted the cloth on her feet. Moved next to Nathan with the specific speed of someone who understands that explanations are a luxury for situations where there’s time.

"The box?"

"We leave it."

"Won’t it follow us as evidence?"

"If we carry it, we’re instantly identifiable by silhouette. The box stays. What matters is getting you out."

"Agreed."

"Do you know how to run?"

"I’m an elf, Hunter."

"Right. Sorry."

"Accepted."

Nathan handed the food package to Liaraen, freeing both his hands for whatever he might need to do. He took one last look at Soul Sense. Four groups. The closest at seventy meters. The farthest at two hundred.

There was a coverage pattern that left a margin of approximately fifty seconds before all four ends closed in.

Fifty seconds to leave the alley, cross two side streets, and disappear into the least monitored area of the district before the encirclement completed.

"Follow me," Nathan said. "Don’t look back. Don’t run until I run. If we get separated, go to the used equipment market. Ask for Berran. Tell him you’re from me and you need immediate shelter. Repeat that back to me."

"Berran. Used equipment market. Immediate shelter."

"Go."

Nathan left the alley with the measured speed of someone clearly not fleeing—which was the first step of the plan—and Liaraen followed with the specific naturalness of someone who had learned in four to six days in a box that the time for protest had passed and the time to move had arrived.

Behind them, at the alley entrance, the footsteps of the first team began to sound at thirty meters.

And the night in Greywall began to get complicated for everyone involved.