Max had built an entire country, and somehow the first thing waiting for him the next morning was a broken chair.
It sat beside the Sanctuary hospital with one leg tied in place by a strip of cloth. Someone had propped a note against the seat asking whether the dungeon could repair it.
Max stopped long enough to read the note, then looked toward the carpenter's shop across the square. Its doors were open. Three finished chairs stood in the window.
"That one is not yours." Anna said, referring to the fact that the chairs origin did not originate in the dungeon.
"Everything in the Sanctuary is technically inside my dungeon."
"That does not make every loose chair leg your responsibility."
Max lifted the chair and carried it across the square. The carpenter accepted it with the long-suffering expression of someone who had already explained the same thing to several customers.
"Two dungeon coins if the joint only needs glue," the carpenter said. "Four if I have to replace the leg."
