Momen sat still after saying he'd do it. The words were a promise he couldn't take back. He was good at those now-promises that changed everything.
Kaelen leaned forward. "Good. The warehouse is on Tanner's Row, a private holding set back from the street. Look for the crossed mallet and hide sign. Stone building, two stories, high wall, iron gate."
Momen tried to fix the details in his head. Tanner's Row he knew from the smell.
"Two guards," Kaelen continued. "They patrol the perimeter. Their circuit takes about five minutes. They're Halvor's private men, paid enough to stay alert."
Five minutes was the window. Momen had stolen things before, but never timed himself against a patrol.
"The office is on the second floor," Kaelen said. "The window latch is faulty. You can lever it open with a thin piece of metal." He glanced at Momen's bundle.
Momen looked down at his roofing sheet.
"That's it?" Momen asked. His voice still sounded rough.
"That is what you need to know," Kaelen said. He didn't offer encouragement or warn about consequences. The task was just a thing that needed doing, like moving papers from one pile to another. "Do it tonight. The sooner you are settled here, the sooner you stop being a conspicuous problem."
He pulled out an iron key on a loop of twine and slid it over. "Room seven, top of the stairs, turn left."
Momen picked up the key. It was cold and heavier than it looked.
"Payment for the room," Kaelen said.
Momen set the key down and fumbled with the knots in his rag bundle. He dug into an inner pocket and pulled out three copper Solar Bits and one bent silver Half.
He put the three coppers on the desk.
Kaelen swept them into his palm and dropped them into a drawer. "The Half covers your first week," he said.
Momen rewrapped his bundle, his movements slow. He was buying a room with stolen money to do a theft for a man he'd met five minutes ago. This was what his vow had led him to. Not a training yard, not a gleaming sword. A spying job for a broker in a room that stank of ink.
He stood up, his body protesting again as he straightened his sore back.
"The curtain opens onto the common room," Kaelen said, already looking down at a paper on his desk as if Momen had ceased to exist. "Take the stairs in the far corner. Try not to draw attention."
Momen pushed through the heavy blue fabric, leaving the close, papery silence behind.
The common room hadn't changed much. The same haze of smoke, the same few men hunched at tables. One of them glanced up as Momen emerged, his gaze lingering just a second too long before turning back to his bowl. Momen kept his head down and walked toward the corner where a narrow staircase ascended into shadow.
The stairs creaked under his weight, each groan feeling louder than it probably was. The upper hallway was dim, lit by a single shuttered lantern hanging from a beam. The air smelled of old wood, damp wool, and something faintly sour-the accumulated scent of transient lives.
Door seven was just a plain plank of wood with a rusted iron number nailed to it. The key turned with a gritty scrape. Momen pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was smaller than his rooftop shack had been. It contained a narrow pallet on a wooden frame pushed against one wall, a three-legged stool, and a cracked ceramic basin sitting on the floor in the corner. There was no window. The walls were bare planks, unpainted and showing gaps where the light from the hallway leaked through. It was cleaner than anywhere he'd ever slept, though that wasn't saying much. The floor was swept, and the pallet had a thin, grey blanket folded at its foot.
He closed the door and the room became almost completely dark, save for those thin lines of light around the doorframe. The silence was different here too-muffled and indoor, without the distant sounds of the slums or the wind on his roof.
Momen set his bundle down on the stool and sat on the edge of the pallet. The straw stuffing crunched under him. He just sat there for a long time, listening to his own breathing.
He had a room inside the walls. It was a fact that should have meant something, but it just felt hollow. This wasn't achievement; it was a transaction. A hiding place purchased with his last coins and a promise of crime.
His mind kept circling back to the warehouse. Two guards on a five-minute circuit. A second-floor window. A green ledger.
It sounded simple when Kaelen said it. Too simple, honestly. In Momen's experience, nothing was ever that straightforward. Guards got thirsty and left their posts early sometimes, or they got bored and doubled back on their route randomly. Dogs could be tied up in yards, ones that didn't bark but just growled low in their throats until they lunged. Latches that were supposedly faulty could be stuck solid with rust or painted shut.
And then there was him.
He looked at his hands in the gloom. They were still caked with dried mud from the tunnel, black under the nails and in every crease. These were not a knight's hands. They were scavenger's hands, thief's hands.
*You made a vow,* a voice whispered in his head. It wasn't one of the colored ones yet, just his own tired thought sounding strangely distant.
He had. To rise from the filth and become a knight. To claim honor.
This wasn't that.
But what was *that*, exactly? He had no idea how to even begin that path anymore, especially now with Brann's corpse cooling in some alley and guards probably already poking through his abandoned shack for clues about who crushed their pet enforcer into paste.
This theft was survival now-a direct trade for papers that said he could exist here without being arrested on sight and for a roof that wasn't his own leaking hovel. It was a step sideways at best, maybe even a step down into something murkier.
*If you get caught,* another thought followed, *they won't send you back to the slums.* They'd drag him before a magistrate inside these clean walls where the law worked differently-faster and with more finality.
He lay back on the pallet, staring up at the dark ceiling beams he couldn't see.
The fatigue from his Magic Sickness was always there, a cold weight in his bones making every thought feel sluggish.
Today it was worse.
Adrenaline had carried him through the tunnel and into Kaelen's room.
Now that he'd stopped moving again, exhaustion washed over him in thick waves.
His limbs felt heavy as stone.
Even breathing seemed to take more effort than it should have.
His chest hurt where Brann had kicked him.
His ribs were probably just bruised.
Probably.
He'd cracked one before when he fell off a roof three years ago.
That ache had been deeper.
This one would heal.
Assuming he lived through tonight.
He closed his eyes.
The darkness behind his lids wasn't peaceful though.
It swirled with fragmented images-Brann's sneering face dissolving into red mist again.
The fountain spraying clean water.
Thos's polished vambrace glinting in the sun.
The ledger book bound in green leather.
It waited for him on some desk.
A stupid book.
Why would Kaelen want it so badly?
What could possibly be written inside that was worth this risk?
Moneylender stuff probably.
Debts owed or payments collected.
Information about people who had crossed Guild Master Halvor.
Names and numbers that gave Kaelen power over someone else.
It was all just more filth traded back and forth by people who lived inside walls.
Different filth than what he'd known maybe.
Cleaner smelling maybe.
But still filth.
He dozed fitfully through the afternoon, slipping in and out of half-dreams of narrow tunnels.
As dusk approached faint grey light no longer bled around the doorframe.
The hallway lantern must have been lit again casting an orange glow through those same cracks.
Night was coming.
Time to move.
He sat up again rubbing his face with gritty hands which only ground more dirt into his skin but what did it matter really when you were about to go crawl through another drainage tunnel anyway might as well be camouflaged again honestly though maybe not with sewer filth this time maybe just stay in shadows keep quiet don't be seen at all that's better approach obviously yes okay think clearly now think like you're hunting for scraps in an alley full of stray dogs who bite first ask questions later.
He unwrapped his metal sheet from its rag binding leaving behind everything else he owned which wasn't much just some spare rags and his drinking cup carved from an old gourd all useless now anyway he wasn't coming back here if he failed so no point carrying sentimental junk sentimental what a stupid word for trash you were too weak to throw away because you had nothing else fine leave it all here then if you don't return maybe Kaelen will sell it for half a copper bit laughable honestly moving on now time to go steal something important enough to buy your new life apparently let's get this over with already standing up legs stiff head fuzzy but clear enough clear enough to walk at least hopefully good enough okay go now quietly open door step into hallway nobody there good take stairs down slowly avoid creaking spots maybe they don't exist every step seems loud anyway hold breath until reaching bottom turn into common room keep walking don't look at anyone just go straight for front door push it open step outside into cool evening air of Tanner's Row breathe shallowly because air here stinks of curing hides and chemicals different stink than slums though more industrial less decay still awful though but familiar awful fine okay which way left or right think Kaelen said set back from street look for sign mallet and hide right okay start walking now keep to walls use shadows like you always do you're good at this part at least this part you know how to do just pretend you belong here even though you smell like mud and look like death warmed over nobody will look twice they never do they see what they expect to see just another piece of human debris drifting through their city ignore him he'll be gone soon enough yes exactly gone soon enough one way or another let's find this warehouse get this book then maybe then maybe you can start figuring out what becoming a knight actually looks like after you've already become a thief first obviously priorities change when you're running for your life priorities are very simple don't get caught don't get killed retrieve item survive another day that's it that's all there is right now keep moving feet don't stop don't hesitate just move through dimly lit unfamiliar streets with scavenger's caution every shadow could hide something every corner could reveal a guard patrol every sound could mean someone following just keep moving toward the job ahead one step at a time into deepening night