But then her mind snagged on something sharp.
"I still have one problem," she admitted. "Meadowbrook. A dwarf named Dori and I are the only chefs there, and Balen agreed to swap with me for a bit. If he's still gone, then the town doesn't have anyone to defend them, or even feed them, if trouble comes again."
Halloway's brows drew together. "Still gone?" He leaned back in his chair. "What do you mean? Balen checked in at the guild this morning."
Marron blinked, stunned. "That can't be right. Balen was why I could even visit. I needed to make money to repair Meadowbrook's buildings. Ask Charity—she'll tell you."
At Halloway's signal, an aide hurried off. A few tense minutes later, Charity entered, ledger in hand. She flipped it open with brisk efficiency.
"Balen filed for three weeks of leave to cover Meadowbrook," she confirmed, tapping the record with her quill. "We applied at the same time, Guildmaster. My leave just ended sooner."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to flatten Marron like a sheet of paper.
Halloway's expression hardened into a grim line. "That leaves only one option left."
Marron's breath hitched.
"A mimic has entered the guild."
Her mind struggled to wrap around the words. She'd heard of mimics, of course—monsters that took the form of chests, barrels, doors—but a person?
Charity caught her puzzled look and leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "There's a chance for mimics to drop by after a dungeon's been sighted."
Marron froze as her memory flared—the Whetvale Daily headline, bold and black: Adventurers Claim Newest Dungeon Goes 6 Levels Deep. Her blood chilled.
"A monster's impersonating Balen?" she whispered, horrified. The thought of his easy laugh and warm presence turned hollow, false, monstrous.
"If the attendance sheets are to be believed, then...yes. They take more than just lives."
Across the desk, Guildmaster Halloway's hand slipped beneath the polished oak, fingers pressing against something hidden. A lever? A rune? Marron couldn't tell, but the room's air grew taut with quiet readiness.
"They sneak in," Charity continued, "and steal our recipes, our tools. Anything precious to us—before they kill."
+
The door creaked open without warning. Marron jumped, heart in her throat, before realizing it was the guild receptionist. She had entered so quietly it was as if the air itself had carried her in.
Lucy instinctively slithered into Marron's lap, tendrils patting her shoulder in reassurance. Marron wrapped her arms around the slime, needing the comfort as much as Lucy gave it.
"A mimic decided tto transform into Balen," Halloway said, his calm voice edged with command. "Which contests did he join?"
The receptionist didn't flinch, already flipping through her clipboard. "Three weeks ago, during the Tiny Cup. Held in…" Her finger stilled. "…Brookhaven."
Marron's stomach lurched. That name—Brookhaven. The same town Mokko had suggested visiting weeks ago. The same town she had skipped, because Kael had intercepted her cart.
Her skin prickled cold as the weight of what that single choice might mean settled over her.
+
Guildmaster Halloway's eyes darkened. "Ask one of the thieves from the Adventurer's Guild, and tell Lorelei it's urgent."
The receptionist nodded once, then vanished through the door like water slipping through cracks. "Will do, Guildmaster."
Marron clutched Lucy tighter against her chest, the slime's tendrils patting her comfortingly. Her thoughts whirled. Brookhaven. A mimic infiltrating a contest. She'd been right on the edge of stepping into that place.
Two hours later, the door banged open again—this time not with stealth, but with the ragged weight of survival. A thief staggered into the office, scratches scoring his arms, cloak torn nearly to ribbons. His face was pale, and his voice came out as a snarl.
"Never call for me again," he spat, throwing a damp, half-crumpled newspaper onto Halloway's desk. "Especially not to steal from a Mimic town."
Marron's blood froze.
The thief swayed, catching himself on the doorframe, eyes burning with fury. "Lady Lorelei will call for extermination before sundown. Brookhaven's gone. The whole town's been completely swallowed by a dungeon."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Marron's chest ached with the thought of what could have happened—what almost did happen—if she had chosen Brookhaven that day.
Relief warred with guilt in her gut, and neither feeling gave her peace. I lived because I was busy. That's it. If I'd said yes to Mokko…
Across the desk, Guildmaster Halloway looked older than she had ever seen him. His posture sagged, his broad shoulders heavy beneath the fine guild cloak. He wasn't just tired—he was crushed.
Finally, he exhaled through his nose and looked at the receptionist, who had reappeared silently by the door. "Write to Balen. Tell him not to return to the guild until the mimic has stopped impersonating him."
The receptionist bowed quickly, quill already scratching. Marron hugged Lucy close, the slime's tendrils patting against her back.
Marron blinked, throat dry. "Why? Wouldn't—wouldn't him coming here help to prove he's the real one?"
Halloway shook his head, voice low and grave. "No. That's when they panic. When the true form walks in, mimics turn from thieves to killers. If Balen steps foot inside the guild now, he won't survive long enough to explain himself."
"So...what should we do?"
Guildmaster Halloway took a deep breath before he answered. "Well. If it talks to you--respond but do not talk about mimics. Don't let it know you know about them. And try to get as much information as you can."
Marron's stomach turned to ice. The laughter she had heard in the guild hall—so close to the real Balen's, but missing its warmth—rose in her memory.
She swallowed hard.
Halloway exhaled heavily, then leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. "Ironically… it may be a blessing that it chose him."
Marron blinked. "A blessing?"
"Yes." His gaze sharpened. "Because if it had stolen the face of a farmer, or a random adventurer, it could have melted into the city unnoticed. We would never find it. But by becoming Balen, it's tied itself to the Culinary Guild. It has to keep appearing, has to maintain the illusion, or risk exposure. That keeps it within reach."
A fragile thread of relief wound through Marron's fear. "So… that means you can trap it?"
Halloway nodded. "We must. Quickly. Mimics rarely linger with one face for long. They steal what they want—knowledge, recipes, artifacts—and then move on. If we wait, the creature will change again, and vanish."