The Guild didn't wait long. By the next morning, while JP was still debating whether to test how many cabbages he could stuff into his new belt bag, a sharp rap sounded on his inn door.
"Adventurer JP. Adventurer Lyra." The voice was clipped, official. "By order of the Guild, you are assigned a handler for your… safety."
JP muttered, "Safety, right. More like babysitter."
Lyra smirked as she buckled her cloak. "Try not to mouth off before breakfast."
When they opened the door, a tall figure stood framed in the hallway — a man in partial plate, a longsword strapped neatly across his back, and a guild insignia polished so brightly it practically glared. His hair was trimmed to regulation length, his jaw set like a wall.
"Name's Garron," he said in a voice that sounded like stone grinding. "I'll be accompanying you. The Guild believes the assassination attempt was tied to merchant interference, and until further notice, you are considered high-risk assets."
"Assets?" JP whispered to Lyra. "Like copper wiring, but less flexible."
Garron's eyes flicked toward him. "Did you say something?"
"Nope. Love being an asset. My favorite thing."
The three of them moved through the city together, and JP felt the stares. Villagers weren't used to seeing adventurers shadowed by a uniformed Guild officer. It drew attention — exactly the opposite of what he wanted.
At the market stalls, Garron's scrutiny never wavered. When JP picked up a strange ore to Appraise, Garron leaned close. "You seem… unusually interested in raw materials. Hobby?"
JP stammered. "Uh. Yeah. Rocks are neat. Real… rocky."
Lyra pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.
Later, while eating at a tavern, Garron laid it out bluntly. "Your inventions are a problem. The Guild respects contribution, but innovation attracts knives in the dark. My job is to keep those knives from finding you. Your job is not to make mine harder."
JP raised his hands. "So no more building weird lamps?"
"Yes," Garron said. Then paused. "Well. No. Lamps are fine. Just… nothing that causes explosions."
JP's eyes lit up in mock innocence. "Define 'explosions.'"
Garron groaned. Lyra chuckled into her mug.
But beneath the humor, JP felt the tension coil tighter. The Guild wasn't just watching. They were controlling, steering. With Garron attached to their shadow, every move had weight.
And in the back of his mind, JP knew: if merchants had already sent assassins once, it was only a matter of time before they tried again.