The inn's common room buzzed with its usual noise—clattering mugs, laughter, the creak of chairs—but JP and Lyra sat tucked away at a small corner table, their packs resting against the wall.
JP stared at the crimson-sealed parchment like it might suddenly sprout teeth."'Recognition and answers,'" he muttered, flipping it back and forth. "That sounds less like a compliment and more like, 'please bring your head on a platter.'"
Lyra leaned back, arms crossed, her cloak slipping off one shoulder. "The guild isn't subtle. If they think you're dangerous, this is their way of deciding whether to leash you or… remove you."
"Comforting," JP said, deadpan. "Really puts a guy at ease."
She smirked. "You wanted adventure."
JP groaned, burying his face in his hands. I wanted steady paychecks and working lightbulbs, not high-stakes interrogations.
Later that night, in their shared rented room, Lyra sharpened her blade in silence while JP fiddled with his satchel. The sound of whetstone against steel blended with the faint clinks of glass and resin.
"You should rest," Lyra said without looking up.
"Can't," JP replied, hunched over a small board and an assortment of scavenged parts. "If I try to sleep, I'll just imagine thirty guild officials asking me why I smell like burning resin. Again."
She gave a faint hum of amusement. "Then what are you doing?"
JP grinned faintly. "Stress relief. By which I mean… making something stupidly dangerous that might accidentally blow my eyebrows off."
Lyra finally looked over—and blinked. "...Is that my spare bracer?"
"Technically, yes," JP said sheepishly. He held up the leather plate, now studded with tiny silver shards from the Alpha vein and faintly glowing with etched resin lines. "But now it's also a shock-bracer. It discharges if you twist your wrist just so. Great for parrying claws, or slapping someone who deserves it."
Lyra arched an eyebrow. "You're giving me a weaponized slap?"
JP shrugged. "Well, you already elbow me often enough. Might as well make it useful."
For the first time all evening, Lyra laughed. It was quiet, but genuine.
As the night deepened, JP finally put his tools away, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids. He stretched out on the bedroll, staring at the ceiling beams.
"Hey, Lyra?" he mumbled.
"Yes?"
"If tomorrow goes badly… do me a favor and don't let them bury me under paperwork."
She shook her head, tugging her cloak tighter. "Don't worry. If they bury you, it'll be under your own inventions."
JP snorted, eyes finally drifting shut. "...Fair enough."
And for a little while, in the quiet hum of their room, the shadow of the Summons felt just a bit less heavy.