Blood made the annex smaller.

It was on the floorboards, on Naso’s sleeve, on Felix’s side, on Arthur’s hands, and in the cracks between wax tablets. One of the attackers groaned near the door with his face pressed against the wood. Another lay curled around his ruined knee. The thin one who had reached for the black box kept trying not to look at Marcus.

Smart man.

Marilla had stopped crying, which somehow felt worse. She sat behind the wool sacks with both hands over her mouth while Naso wrapped his cut arm with shaking fingers.

Crispus had not spoken since Milo said Brennus was dead.

That frightened Arthur more than the knives had.

Felix stood by the table, white-faced, leaning so hard on his stick that the wood bent.

"We get him back," he said again.

Arthur nodded.

The system gave him the same message, cold and clean.

New Objective:

Recover Pavo before second bell.

Estimated Time:

01:18:00.

Risk:

Interrogation.

Witness chain exposure.

Felix Crew morale collapse.

Arthur looked at the captured men on the floor.

They had one hour and eighteen minutes.

Maybe less.

Marcus wiped blood from the edge of his sword with a strip torn from one attacker’s tunic. "If we run blind, we bring back a corpse."

Felix turned on him. "Then we make one of them talk."

No one argued.

Marcus dragged the thin attacker upright by the back of his tunic and threw him onto a chair. The man’s broken ankle twisted when he landed. He screamed so loudly that Marilla flinched behind the sacks.

Arthur almost told Marcus to stop.

He did not.

The man had come for a child.

For once, mercy felt like a word other people used in clean rooms.

Felix limped forward. The attacker saw him and started breathing too fast.

"Name," Felix said.

The man swallowed. "I don’t—"

Felix hit him across the mouth with the head of his stick.

One blow.

Not wild. Not angry.

Precise.

The man’s lip split.

"Name."

"Sextus," the man gasped. "Sextus."

Crispus looked up at last. His eyes were empty. "He runs with the south quay men. Cheap hands. No loyalty unless paid in advance."

Sextus looked at Crispus and seemed to understand he had chosen the wrong room to survive in.

Arthur stepped closer. "Where did they take Pavo?"

Sextus spat blood onto the floor. "I don’t know."

Marcus reached for his broken ankle.

Sextus broke immediately.

"Old net house!" he shouted. "South quay. By the rotten pier. They took him there."

Felix’s fingers tightened around his stick. "Why?"

Sextus looked at him, then away.

Felix moved.

Arthur caught his arm. Barely.

"Why?" Arthur asked again.

Sextus’s voice came thin. "Statement. They need him to say Felix ordered the fire. That Gaius hid the grain tablets. That the copy was destroyed."

The room went still.

Pavo was not only a hostage.

He was a tool.

A living correction.

Arthur felt something ugly open inside him.

"Who ordered it?" he asked.

Sextus shook his head too fast. "I don’t know. I don’t know. We got paid through Rufus’s men."

"Red Rope," Felix said.

Sextus nodded.

"Who is at the net house?"

"Four. Maybe five. Hadrus is there."

Marcus looked at Crispus.

Crispus answered without being asked. "Hadrus. Breaks debts for warehouse men. Better with a knife than most rats."

"Good fighter?" Marcus asked.

"Bad man. Good enough."

Arthur looked at the system timer.

01:11:32.

They did not have time to be careful.

But they had time to be less stupid than their enemies.

He turned to the room.

"Marcus comes with me. Crispus too."

Crispus stood before Arthur finished.

Felix pushed away from the table. "I go."

"No."

Felix’s face darkened.

Arthur stepped closer. "If you fall, your crew breaks before we even reach him."

Felix stared at him.

For one moment, Arthur thought Felix would swing the stick at him.

Then the dock leader looked toward the door, where Duro should have been standing.

Duro was not there.

Pavo was gone.

Brennus was dead.

Felix’s crew had already taken too many holes.

Felix lowered his eyes first.

"I hold the annex," he said.

Arthur nodded. "You hold the annex."

Felix looked at the captured men. "And them?"

Marcus said, "Tie them."

Felix smiled without warmth. "I can do that."

Milo stood near the back wall, shaking but upright. Blood speckled his tunic and cheek. His eyes kept moving to the door, then to the floor, then to Arthur.

"The copy," Arthur said. "Can you find it?"

Milo nodded too quickly. "Drain stone. Fish sheds. Pavo looked there. I saw."

"You come with us."

"I know."

That answer had no joke in it.

Lupo tried to stand again.

Arthur pointed at him. "No."

"Everyone keeps saying that today."

"Because you keep trying to bleed on schedule."

Lupo glared but sat back down.

Naso clutched the black box with his good arm. "What do I do?"

"Stay with Marilla. Guard the box. If anyone official comes, Felix handles it. If anyone unofficial comes, hide."

Naso looked down at his daughter.

Marilla stared up at him.

Then she whispered, "Don’t let them take you."

Naso closed his eyes.

"I won’t."

Arthur hoped that was true.

The back door opened before anyone reached it.

Duro stepped in.

For a second, no one moved.

His head was bleeding. One eye was swollen. A hook had torn a line across his forearm, and the skin around it was already dark. His tunic was ripped down one side.

He looked at the captured attackers.

Then at Milo.

Then at Felix.

"They took Pavo," he said.

"We know," Felix answered.

Duro nodded once.

"I come."

Arthur looked at him. "Can you stand?"

Duro stared.

Arthur sighed. "Stupid question."

"Very."

Crisis Coordination I pulsed faintly.

Recognized units present.

Command clarity available.

Arthur took one breath.

"Then we move. No speeches. No shouting unless needed. First, the copy. Then Pavo."

Felix gripped his stick.

"Bring him back."

Arthur met his eyes.

"We will."

They left through the rear lane.

The fish sheds were worse in daylight.

At night, the place had been smell and shadow. In morning, it became detail. Broken baskets. Fish bones ground into mud. Blood smeared across stone. A rack knocked sideways. One red cord trampled near the wall.

Brennus lay beside the drainage channel.

Someone had rolled him onto his back after the fight. Maybe Milo. Maybe one of the attackers. His eyes were still open. His hand rested on the torn wick bundle as if even death had not convinced him to stop carrying it.

Crispus stopped.

No one rushed him.

The merchant crouched beside the body. For a long moment, he did nothing. Then he closed Brennus’s eyes with two fingers.

"You still owe me three denarii," Crispus said quietly.

His voice did not break.

That made it worse.

He untied a small piece of cord from Brennus’s wrist and stood.

Arthur looked away first.

Milo was already at the drainage stone. He knelt, fingers slipping in the muck, and pulled at the loose piece of rock. It stuck. Duro crouched beside him and lifted it with one hand.

Milo reached inside.

His hand came back wet and shaking.

The tablet was there.

Mud-streaked. Damp at the edge.

Intact.

Arthur took it carefully and tucked it beneath his tunic.

Blue light flickered.

Evidence Copy Recovered.

Witness Sacrifice Recorded:

Brennus.

Recognized Unit Action:

Pavo preserved evidence under duress.

Arthur looked toward the south quay.

Pavo had hidden the truth while being beaten.

Brennus had died holding a bundle that was already empty.

There was no clean way to carry that.

Marcus touched Arthur’s shoulder once.

Not comfort.

A reminder.

Move.

They moved.

The old net house crouched near the south quay like something the port had tried to forget.

Its roof sagged. Ropes hung from beams outside. Nets dried on hooks, gray and stiff with salt. The pier beside it was half-rotten, the water below dark and slow, slapping against stone with a sound like wet hands.

Crispus pointed with two fingers. "Main door. Side door. Rear hatch by the water."

"Guards?" Marcus asked.

"One front if they are lazy. Two if they are frightened."

Duro flexed his injured hand.

Marcus looked at him. "Not front."

Duro looked disappointed again.

Arthur crouched behind a stack of old baskets with Milo beside him. Through a gap in the wall, he saw one man at the front door and another smoking near the water side. Both looked bored.

That was good.

Bored men died surprised.

Arthur hated that thought.

He hated that it felt useful.

"Crispus," he whispered. "Nets?"

Crispus looked at the hanging ropes and nodded slowly. "Old pulley. Cut the lower tie and the whole mess drops."

"On the side guard?"

"If the gods are bored, yes."

"Milo, front guard. Get him to move."

Milo stared. "How?"

"Be yourself."

"Terrified?"

"Convincingly."

Milo nodded. "I can do terrified."

"Duro waits until the net drops. Marcus and I go inside. Crispus follows. No killing if we need someone to talk."

Duro looked at the net house.

Then at Arthur.

"No promise."

Fair enough.

Milo went first.

He stumbled into the open yard as if chased, waving both hands.

"Fire!" he shouted.

The front guard turned. "What?"

"Fire near the west sheds!"

The guard cursed. "Again?"

That small word told Arthur more than he wanted to know.

Again.

The guard stepped away from the door.

At the same moment, Crispus cut the lower rope.

The net pile collapsed.

Not elegantly.

It came down in a heavy gray wave and swallowed the side guard from shoulder to knee. The man shouted once before Duro reached him. Duro punched him through the net. The shout stopped.

Marcus moved.

Arthur followed.

The front guard had just realized Milo was lying when Marcus struck him behind the ear with the hilt of his sword. The man folded into the dirt. Milo stared at him.

"Alive?" Milo whispered.

"Enough," Marcus said.

Inside, the net house smelled of salt rot, old rope, sweat, and blood.

Arthur heard Pavo before he saw him.

A wet, broken cough.

Then a voice.

"Say it."

A crack.

Pavo cried out.

Arthur’s whole body tightened.

Marcus caught his arm before he rushed forward.

"Command," Marcus whispered.

Arthur forced himself to look.

The main room was wide and low, divided by hanging nets and support beams. Pavo was tied to a post near the back, wrists above his head, feet barely steady beneath him. His face was swollen. Blood ran from his nose and down his chin. One eye was nearly shut.

A man stood in front of him holding a strip of wet rope.

Another sat at a table with a wax tablet and stylus.

Hadrus had to be the one with the rope.

He was not large, but he looked hard in the way knives looked hard. Narrow shoulders, short beard, scar across the cheek. His right hand held the rope. His left rested near a knife on the table.

"Again," Hadrus said.

The seated man read from the tablet. "Felix ordered the fire."

Pavo’s lips moved.

No sound.

Hadrus struck him across the ribs.

Pavo choked.

"Say it."

Pavo spat blood onto the floor.

Hadrus sighed. "Boy, I am trying to let you live."

Pavo lifted his head a little.

"Bad effort," he whispered.

Hadrus smiled.

Arthur almost moved.

Marcus’s grip tightened.

"Command."

Arthur swallowed the rage.

Crisis Coordination I flared.

Recognized units in field:

Marcus Varro.

Duro.

Titus Marcellus Crispus Network: Crispus, Milo.

Limited range stable.

Command efficiency increased.

Arthur raised three fingers.

Duro moved left.

Crispus took the hanging net rope near the doorway.

Milo slid along the wall toward the post where Pavo was tied.

Marcus went straight.

Hadrus heard him at the last step.

He turned fast.

Too fast.

Marcus’s first strike met empty air. Hadrus drew the knife and came in low. Marcus twisted, but the blade cut across his forearm. Not deep. Enough to bleed.

The seated scribe stood, knocking over the tablet.

"Duro!" Arthur shouted.

Duro hit him from the side.

The scribe slammed into a hanging net and went down tangled, screaming before anything had properly hurt him.

Two more men came from the rear hatch.

"Crispus, net!"

Crispus pulled the rope.

The hanging net dropped between the attackers and the room. One hacked at it with a knife. The other tried to push through. Duro grabbed the net from the opposite side and pulled. Both men fell forward into the mesh.

Milo reached Pavo.

His hands shook so badly he dropped the small knife.

Pavo looked at him through one good eye.

"Slow," he rasped.

Milo laughed once, nearly sobbing, and picked up the knife again.

Hadrus pressed Marcus hard. He was quick, dirty, good in close space. He cut at the arm, not the body. Forced Marcus to turn. Used the hanging nets to block the sword’s full swing.

Arthur saw the problem.

Marcus was the better fighter.

The room was the worse weapon.

"Hadrus knows the nets!" Arthur shouted. "Marcus, low!"

Marcus dropped his weight as Hadrus cut high. The knife caught in hanging cord for half a second.

Half a second was enough.

Marcus drove his shoulder into Hadrus’s chest and smashed him into a support post. The whole frame shook.

Hadrus kept the knife.

Of course he did.

One of the men tangled in the net tore free and charged Arthur.

Arthur stepped back, too slow.

The man hit him in the chest and drove him into the wall. The impact took the air from his lungs. A fist struck his face. Light flashed behind his eyes.

Arthur tried to raise his bad arm.

Pain folded it.

The man grinned and grabbed his throat.

Not again.

Arthur clawed at his wrist. The man lifted a short blade.

No tactical overlay.

No miracle.

Just command.

Arthur forced his eyes sideways.

Duro was tangled with one attacker.

Marcus locked with Hadrus.

Crispus had the loose rope.

"Milo!" Arthur choked.

Milo looked up from Pavo’s bindings.

"Down!"

Milo dropped.

Arthur kicked the man’s knee. Weak. Useless.

But it shifted him.

"Crispus, pull!"

Crispus yanked the loose rope with both hands. A weighted drying hook swung from the ceiling and smashed into the attacker’s shoulder. The blade fell. Arthur drove his forehead into the man’s nose.

It hurt Arthur almost as much.

The man staggered.

Duro arrived and finished the matter by throwing him into a pile of wooden floats.

Milo cut the last rope.

Pavo fell.

Milo caught him badly. They both went down.

"Pavo!" Arthur staggered toward them.

Pavo was awake.

Barely.

His first words were not about pain.

"Copy?"

Arthur crouched beside him. "You saved it."

Pavo closed his good eye.

"Good."

Then he passed out.

A shout came from the rear hatch.

The scribe.

He had freed himself enough to crawl toward the back door with a wax tablet clutched in one hand.

Crispus saw him.

Something changed in his face.

He moved before Arthur could speak.

The scribe tried to stand.

Crispus caught him by the hair and drove him face-first into the table. Once. Twice. The tablet dropped. The scribe cried out.

Crispus grabbed the man’s head again.

Arthur saw it.

Not interrogation.

Not capture.

Killing.

"Brennus," Crispus said softly.

The scribe whimpered.

Arthur stepped forward. "Alive."

Crispus did not look at him.

Arthur’s voice hardened. "Crispus. Alive."

For one second, Arthur thought the man would ignore him.

Then Crispus slammed the scribe’s head into the table one last time and let go.

The man slid to the floor, breathing.

Crispus picked up the tablet.

His hands shook.

Arthur took it from him carefully.

The words were rough, written in haste.

Statement draft:

Felix ordered fire.

Gaius Valerius concealed grain tablets.

Copy destroyed in dock violence.

Witness Pavo confirms.

Below it, in a different hand, was a shorter note.

Break the boy before the annona man reaches Ostia.

Arthur read it twice.

The room seemed to narrow.

Marcus had Hadrus pinned against the post now, one arm twisted behind his back, knife on the floor. Hadrus still smiled through blood.

"You are late," Hadrus said. "He is coming anyway."

Arthur looked at him.

"Who?"

Hadrus spat red onto the floor.

"Ask Celsus."

Marcus twisted his arm higher.

Hadrus hissed, but did not answer.

Blue light flickered.

Objective Complete:

Recover Pavo before second bell.

Witness Chain Preserved.

Felix Crew Morale:

Damaged but intact.

Crisis Coordination I:

Field Rescue Application recorded.

Arthur looked down at Pavo, limp in Milo’s arms.

Damaged but intact.

That was a cruel way to describe people.

Another line appeared.

Regional Actor Incoming.

Annona Representative:

Estimated Arrival — Before Nightfall.

Allegiance:

Unknown.

Arthur folded the captured tablet and tucked it beneath his tunic beside the copied grain count.

"Take Hadrus," he said.

Marcus looked at him.

"Alive."

Marcus nodded once.

Duro lifted Pavo as gently as a man his size could manage. Milo walked beside him, one hand on Pavo’s arm as if afraid he would vanish again. Crispus paused near the doorway and looked back at the scribe bleeding on the floor.

Arthur thought he might say something.

He did not.

They left through the side door.

Outside, the second bell began to ring.

The sound rolled over the south quay, over the rotten pier, over the fish sheds where Brennus lay dead, over the annex where Felix waited, and over the port that still pretended morning had rules.

Arthur looked at Pavo’s blood on Duro’s tunic and understood one thing.

Whoever was coming from the annona office would not find an investigation.

He would find a battlefield.