Breakfast was stew. Bruce wanted the heavy, familiar routine for Theron's first morning at D-rank—the same thick broth that had anchored Bruce after his own chaotic advancements. They ate at the ledge-counter, paying the usual sixteen points. The city's ledgers hadn't caught up to their new ranks yet.
The watcher count stood at five: two Blackspine, two of Sisel's, and the lingering unknown from yesterday. The board was set exactly as Elenora had predicted. No one was making a move.
At the main square, Bruce found Caelen by the fountain and slipped him the sealed letter.
Caelen checked the wax and nodded. "Three weeks for the round trip. Two, if Varr is feeling talkative."
"Appreciated."
"My employer sends her regards on Theron's advancement," Caelen added, his voice dropping to that familiar, rushing-water pitch. "Her networks caught the shift mid-morning."
"They're fast."
