The next morning began with paperwork.

A sentence nobody expected to be dangerous.

Unfortunately—

Seraphina had discovered paperwork.

And immediately weaponized it.

The common room contained:

Three maps.

Two notebooks.

One route plan.

Seven pages titled:

APPRENTICE EVALUATION DOCUMENT

Nobody had approved this.

Nobody had been consulted.

Reality simply suffered.

Rowan stared at the top page.

Then at Seraphina.

Then back at the page.

"I have a score."

"Yes."

"Why."

"Performance review."

"I never agreed to that."

"Neither did taxes."

"That sentence doesn’t even mean anything."

"It does spiritually."

Daren grabbed another page.

His expression changed immediately.

Then changed again.

Then became offended.

"Why is Atlas ranked above me?"

Atlas looked pleased.

The bear accepted success naturally.

Seraphina pointed at the paper.

"Reliability."

"He sleeps eighteen hours a day."

"Consistently."

Daren froze.

A devastating argument.

Kael silently continued preparing supplies.

A man focused on survival.

A man surrounded by lunatics.

A tragic existence.

Then Seraphina appeared beside him.

Instantly.

Without warning.

Like a financial ghost.

"Aina."

"No."

"I haven’t spoken."

"You were about to."

Fair.

Very fair.

She placed a document in front of him.

Kael immediately regretted opening it.

The title read:

PERSONAL SECRETARY PERFORMANCE REVIEW

Silence.

Pure silence.

"...What."

"You have excellent scores."

"Why does this exist."

"You deserve recognition."

That somehow made it worse.

Kael skimmed the page.

Several categories appeared.

Combat.

Logistics.

Patience.

Emotional Damage Sustained.

He stopped.

Looked up.

Looked back down.

Looked up again.

"Emotional damage sustained?"

"Highest score."

Daren immediately started laughing.

Rowan looked away.

The cowards.

Both of them.

Kael folded the paper.

Carefully.

Very carefully.

A sign of danger.

"Aina."

"Yes?"

"If we survive the next month..."

"Oh."

"...I’m burning this."

"That’s fair."

The conversation ended.

Mostly because Tax stole the document.

A natural conclusion.

Hours later—

The preparation phase actually became productive.

A shocking event.

A historic event.

A terrifying event.

Kael handled supplies.

Rowan handled route planning.

Daren handled travel equipment.

Atlas handled eating.

Tax handled absolutely nothing useful.

For once—

Things seemed organized.

Then Seraphina found a wagon.

Everything immediately collapsed.

The wagon stood near the market.

Old.

Large.

Practical.

Affordable.

The sort of wagon reasonable people purchased.

Seraphina hated it immediately.

"It’s ugly."

The merchant looked offended.

"It is a wagon."

"Exactly."

Kael felt a headache forming.

A familiar friend.

"No."

He said.

Immediately.

"I didn’t ask anything."

"No."

The merchant slowly backed away.

A survival instinct.

A wise one.

Unfortunately—

Seraphina was already circling the wagon.

Thinking.

A terrible sign.

"What if."

"No."

"What if."

"No."

"What if we redesign it?"

Daren laughed.

Rowan groaned.

Kael briefly considered walking into the ocean.

"It’s transportation."

"It can be stylish transportation."

"It carries supplies."

"It can carry supplies fashionably."

The argument lasted twenty minutes.

The wagon survived.

Barely.

Eventually—

Kael purchased it.

Before Seraphina could redesign civilization.

A narrow victory.

Later that afternoon—

The group returned to the inn.

Tired.

Hungry.

Productive.

A dangerous combination.

A letter waited for them.

Interesting.

Not because letters were unusual.

Seraphina sent enough letters to threaten the postal system.

This one was different.

The seal wasn’t familiar.

Kael opened it.

Read it once.

Then again.

Then became annoyed.

Which immediately got everyone’s attention.

"What happened?"

Rowan asked.

Kael handed over the paper.

Daren read first.

Then blinked.

Then read again.

"...You’ve got to be kidding."

Seraphina immediately grabbed it.

A terrible decision.

The letter contained only a few lines.

To the designer currently causing problems in the district.

You are invited.

Marianne Voss.

Tomorrow.

Silence.

The room paused.

Not because of fear.

Because everyone immediately understood what this meant.

Marianne.

Not an assistant.

Not a representative.

Not a messenger.

Marianne herself.

The first real rival.

Daren slowly looked up.

"Oh."

Rowan nodded.

"That’s important."

Kael agreed.

"Very."

Seraphina looked at the invitation.

Then at the ceiling.

Then at Atlas.

Then at Tax.

Then back at the letter.

Her response surprised everyone.

"...Neat."

Silence.

"What."

Kael asked.

"Neat."

"That’s your reaction?"

"Yes."

The room stared.

Because everyone had expected:

A speech.

A dramatic declaration.

A villainess monologue.

A challenge.

Something.

Instead—

Neat.

Seraphina shrugged.

"Either she wants to fight."

A pause.

"Or she wants to talk."

Another pause.

"Both sound entertaining."

Daren slowly lowered his head.

"That’s not a normal reaction."

"Neither am I."

A devastating counterattack.

Outside—

The city continued moving.

Merchants traded.

Carriages rolled through crowded streets.

Designers argued.

Customers gossiped.

And for the first time since arriving—

Two separate roads had appeared.

One led toward Golden Nest.

The other led toward Marianne Voss.

For once—

Even Seraphina couldn’t chase both simultaneously.

A horrifying discovery.

The invitation remained on the table.

Nobody touched it.

Not because they feared it.

Because everyone was waiting for Seraphina to do something ridiculous.

A reasonable expectation.

A historically accurate expectation.

Instead—

She stole Daren’s bread.

Daren looked horrified.

"GIVE THAT BACK."

"No."

"THAT’S MY BREAD."

"It belongs to the collective now."

"There is no collective."

"There is if I have your bread."

An unfortunately effective argument.

Rowan watched the exchange.

Then looked toward Kael.

"How long have you lived like this?"

Kael stared into the distance.

"Years."

Rowan suddenly understood many things.

None of them pleasant.

The evening passed surprisingly quietly afterward.

Not peaceful.

Quiet.

Different.

Everyone had something to think about.

The invitation.

The road.

The apprentice nonsense.

The future.

Even Seraphina.

Which became obvious when she wasn’t talking.

Eventually—

Daren pointed at her.

"Why are you thinking?"

"What a rude question."

"It wasn’t."

"It felt rude."

Daren ignored her.

A survival skill.

"What’s in your head?"

Seraphina looked toward the ceiling.

Then answered honestly.

"Time."

That surprised everyone.

Not because of the answer.

Because she gave one.

"You hate planning."

Kael said.

"I do."

"And you’re thinking about time?"

"Yes."

Silence settled briefly.

Then she sat forward.

"If we leave now..."

Her finger tapped the table.

"Golden Nest."

Another tap.

"Road investigation."

Another.

"Valemont nonsense."

Rowan looked offended.

"Valemont nonsense?"

"That’s what I’m calling it."

Another tap.

"Then kingdom."

A pause.

"Then fashion district explodes without me."

A dramatic statement.

Yet not entirely wrong.

The room considered that.

Because this was the first time someone had said it aloud.

The city wasn’t waiting anymore.

The apprentices.

The merchants.

The district.

The customers.

Those things continued moving whether Seraphina stood there or not.

An uncomfortable realization.

Especially for someone who had spent most of her life reacting to events.

Now events were reacting to her.

The distinction mattered.

Daren suddenly frowned.

"Wait."

"What."

"If you leave..."

His eyes widened.

"The apprentices will start doing things by themselves."

Silence.

Everyone froze.

A horrifying possibility.

Seraphina looked genuinely alarmed.

"They’ll make decisions."

"Yes."

"Without supervision."

"Yes."

"They’ll interpret my advice."

"Yes."

The room became quiet.

Atlas opened one eye.

Even the bear sensed danger.

Seraphina stood.

Immediately.

"No."

Daren pointed.

"See?"

"NO."

A second point.

"Exactly."

The fashion empire had encountered its first true enemy.

Management.

Hours later—

The inn had mostly emptied.

Atlas slept beneath a table.

Tax had disappeared.

Which worried nobody.

Because worrying required energy.

And Tax would return eventually.

Usually with stolen property.

Sometimes with information.

Occasionally both.

Kael stood near the window.

Reviewing routes again.

Not because he needed to.

Because thinking helped.

The token remained in his pocket.

Golden Nest remained annoying.

A remarkable achievement.

Considering it was only a name.

Footsteps approached.

Not Seraphina.

Rowan.

The merchant stopped beside him.

Neither spoke immediately.

The city lights stretched beyond the glass.

People moved.

Shops closed.

Lanterns flickered.

Normal.

Comfortably normal.

"You know."

Rowan finally said.

"That’s usually a dangerous opening."

"Probably."

A rare smile appeared.

Then faded.

"When I first met her..."

Kael already knew who he meant.

"I thought she was insane."

"That’s because she is."

Fair.

Very fair.

Rowan laughed quietly.

Then looked toward the common room.

Toward the scattered papers.

The notebooks.

The plans.

The ridiculous apprentice rankings.

The evidence of someone building something.

"I understand why you’re still here."

Kael didn’t answer immediately.

Because that question had never really had one answer.

Bodyguard.

Friend.

Responsibility.

Habit.

Trust.

Too many reasons.

Eventually—

He settled on the simplest one.

"She makes life interesting."

Rowan laughed.

A genuine laugh.

"Interesting."

Kael immediately pointed.

"Don’t start using her vocabulary."

"Too late."

A terrible fate.

Across the room—

Seraphina suddenly looked up.

"I heard that."

Neither of them asked how.

Because nobody wanted the answer.

The night continued.

Tomorrow—

Marianne Voss.

After that—

The road.

And somewhere between those two things—

Seraphina still intended to recruit apprentices.

A goal somehow more frightening than monsters.

Morning arrived.

Unfortunately.

Seraphina had gone to sleep at an unreasonable hour.

Which meant she woke up at an unreasonable hour.

Specifically—

Late.

Very late.

A disaster.

A catastrophe.

A violation of professional fashion standards.

She exploded down the stairs.

Half dressed.

Holding a shoe.

Missing the other shoe.

"WHY DID NOBODY WAKE ME?"

Kael looked up from breakfast.

"You threatened everyone."

A pause.

"Fair."

She immediately continued searching for the second shoe.

Tax dropped it from the ceiling.

Nobody asked.

Experience.

The group left shortly afterward.

Atlas remained behind.

The innkeeper had offered food.

Atlas had accepted.

Without hesitation.

A powerful negotiator.

The Fashion District looked different today.

Less crowded.

Less noisy.

More focused.

People worked.

Observed.

Waited.

Word had spread.

Marianne Voss had invited someone.

That alone was news.

The boutique appeared exactly as expected.

Elegant.

Expensive.

Terrifying.

The sort of place where touching anything accidentally cost money.

Daren immediately placed both hands behind his back.

A survival instinct.

A wise one.

An assistant greeted them.

"Miss Voss is waiting."

Interesting.

No delay.

No games.

No dramatic entrance.

Even more interesting.

The assistant led them through several rooms.

Design displays.

Fabric collections.

Sketch archives.

Rowan slowed slightly.

Even he looked impressed.

Which said a lot.

Eventually—

They reached a private studio.

Marianne Voss sat alone.

No audience.

No judges.

No assistants.

Just Marianne.

And tea.

The woman glanced up.

Studied Seraphina.

Then smiled slightly.

Not warm.

Not hostile.

Professional.

"You’re shorter than I expected."

Silence.

Daren looked away immediately.

Kael pinched the bridge of his nose.

Because there was absolutely no chance Seraphina would let that go.

"You’re older than I expected."

The battle had begun.

Marianne laughed.

Actually laughed.

Interesting.

Very few people laughed when Seraphina attacked them verbally.

Most became confused.

Or offended.

Or both.

Marianne gestured toward a chair.

"Sit."

Seraphina sat.

Immediately.

Then stole a biscuit.

Marianne noticed.

Said nothing.

A dangerous woman.

Several moments passed.

Neither spoke.

Both observed.

Like duelists.

Except the weapons were fashion.

Which somehow felt more dangerous.

Finally—

Marianne poured tea.

Then asked the question.

"Why fashion?"

No introduction.

No small talk.

No nonsense.

Straight to the point.

The room grew quieter.

Because the answer mattered.

Not just to Marianne.

To everyone.

Even Seraphina.

For once—

She didn’t answer immediately.

No joke.

No dramatic speech.

No villainess declaration.

She turned the teacup slowly.

Thinking.

Actually thinking.

Then—

She shrugged.

"I got tired of looking at ugly clothes."

Silence.

Pure silence.

Daren nearly fell out of his chair.

Kael closed his eyes.

Rowan looked disappointed.

Marianne stared.

Then laughed again.

Harder this time.

Because somehow—

That answer felt completely honest.

And honesty was rare.

Especially in fashion.

Marianne placed her cup down.

"Good."

That got everyone’s attention.

The woman leaned back.

"Most designers lie."

Interesting.

"They talk about art."

A pause.

"They talk about legacy."

Another.

"They talk about beauty."

Her eyes settled on Seraphina.

"But usually?"

A faint smile appeared.

"They just want to fix something that annoys them."

For the first time—

Seraphina looked genuinely surprised.

Because somebody understood immediately.

No explanation required.

No justification required.

Just understanding.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

Because rivals were manageable.

People who understood you?

Much harder.