The morning of the Council's arrival was cold and clear. Marron stood in the center of Marcus Vell's kitchen, her back to the Wanderer's Food Cart. The tools inside were quiet, but she could feel their focused energy—a low hum of readiness. Lucy, in her jar on the counter, glowed a steady, attentive blue.
Aldric sat at a small table, a fresh page open in his ledger. "They'll be here at noon," he said, not looking up from his pen. "Three members. They want to see everything. The cooking, the records, the Crock's autonomy clause in action."
"I know," Marron said. She ran a hand over the cool marble of the counter. The stakes were simple: pass this evaluation, keep her tools. Fail, lose everything.
Marcus entered, carrying a wooden crate. "The ingredients you requested. Fresh river slime, wild chanterelles, and the sea-salt from the eastern dunes." He set the crate down. "The Council respects results. Show them the tools as partners, not just power."
