The inn's common room had gone quiet by the time JP and Lyra returned from their glowcap run. Most patrons had already retired; only a few drunks lingered at the bar. JP yawned, rubbing his eyes. "See? Easy day. Mushrooms in the bag, coins in our pocket, no—"
"Don't finish that sentence," Lyra cut in, voice low.
JP frowned. "Why not?"
"Because the moment you say it, something will try to kill us."
He chuckled nervously, following her up the creaking stairs. But as he reached for the latch to their room, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Appraisal shimmered faintly, unbidden—not on the door, but on the air itself.
[Distortion: Poison Mist Residue]
His eyes widened. "Lyra—"
Too late. The window exploded inward, glass raining across the floor as a figure in black vaulted through, twin daggers gleaming in the dim light. Another slipped from the shadows of the hallway, blade aimed straight for JP's throat.
Adrenaline hit like a thunderclap. JP stumbled back, fumbling his satchel-belt, while Lyra was already moving—bow unslung, an arrow loosed in the blink of an eye. The first assassin ducked, the shot grazing his mask.
The second lunged for JP. He yelped, grabbing the only thing within reach—one of his glowcap bundles. With a desperate yank, he snapped it against the wall. The mushroom dust flared brilliantly, flooding the hallway with blue light. The assassin hissed, blinded for a moment.
Lyra didn't waste the opening. She slammed her boot into the attacker's chest, sending him sprawling down the stairs.
"Behind!" she barked.
JP spun as the window assassin closed in. His pulse pounded. He had no weapon but his knife—and the modified Pulse Stake strapped to his belt. His hand shot out, jamming it forward.
The stake crackled to life with a burst of mana, discharging straight into the assassin's chest. Sparks arced, the man convulsing before collapsing in a heap of smoke and twitching limbs.
JP stared at the stake, panting. "Holy crap, it actually worked."
"Don't celebrate yet," Lyra snapped, drawing another arrow. The stairwell assassin was already climbing back up, blood at the corner of his mask but eyes burning with murderous focus.
JP's mind raced. He flicked Appraisal at the man on instinct—
[Human Assassin – Lv. 18]Poison Dagger Arts. Shadow Step. Enhanced Agility.
"…Oh, that's bad," JP whispered.
The assassin lunged again, faster this time. Lyra blocked his strike, steel ringing against her dagger, but she grunted under the force. "JP!"
He didn't think—he just acted. With a snap of his fingers, his new belt-rig flared. A slime core dropped into his palm. He hurled it at the assassin's feet and kicked. The core burst, splattering sticky residue across the floor.
The man's foot slipped. Lyra seized the opening, twisting her blade and driving her elbow into his jaw. He crumpled, out cold.
For a moment, only the sound of their heavy breathing filled the room. Then JP managed a weak laugh. "So, uh… still think I jinxed us?"
Lyra shot him a sharp glare. "…Yes." But the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself.
They dragged the bodies inside, securing them before anyone else could notice. JP's hands still trembled as he wiped blood from his knife.
"Merchants," Lyra said grimly. "This was their message."
JP swallowed hard, his satchel heavy at his side. For the first time, he understood just how far his inventions—and his secrets—had pushed him into dangerous territory.