The inn we holed up in smelled faintly of salt, spilled ale, and last night's fish stew. Cozy enough, if you ignored the noise from the tavern floor. Lyra leaned against the window frame, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as she tracked every shadow that passed by the glass.
"You shouldn't have engaged him," she said finally.
"I didn't engage him," I replied, fiddling with a scrap of conductive alloy I'd picked up at the market. "He engaged me. Big difference."
"You smiled."
"I smile a lot."
"You don't."
I sighed. She was right—I rarely smiled. Which made it worse.
Before I could argue further, a firm knock echoed from the door. Not the hesitant kind of a servant or drunk, but three sharp, even raps. Lyra's hand went instantly to her blade. Mine went to the bracer on my wrist.
"Open up," came that deep voice, steady as the tide. "It's Captain Veynar."
Lyra shot me a look that said absolutely not. I answered with one that said absolutely yes.
Moments later, the man himself stepped inside. He looked even more imposing in the cramped room—broad shoulders filling the space, gold-threaded coat swaying as he shut the door behind him. His eyes swept the clutter of metal scraps and quartz shards scattered on the table, lingering briefly on my hands as I tried (and failed) to hide the evidence of tinkering.
"You work fast," he said, tone almost admiring.
"I get bored easily," I muttered.
He chuckled. "Then boredom is your weapon. I like that."
We sat. Lyra stayed standing, which was her way of saying she trusted him about as far as she could throw him. The captain wasted no time.
"I've seen men like you before. Innovators. Makers. Dreamers who can see something in a pile of junk that others miss." His gaze sharpened. "The difference is… most of them died before they could profit."
I swallowed. "…comforting."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I don't want you dead. I want you funded. You have ideas. I have ships. Together, we can sell tools, weapons, and wonders across every coast."
Lyra's voice cut through the air, cold as steel. "And when those wonders make us targets?"
Veynar smiled. "Then I'll ensure those targets regret the attempt."
For a moment, the weight of his words sank in. Part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity—I was just an electrician-turned-adventurer-turned-inventor with a bad habit of blowing things up. And now a sea captain was offering me a trade empire?
But another part of me—the reckless part—was already sketching ideas of mana-charged railguns mounted on ship decks, shock nets for sea beasts, and enchanted circuits that could power entire vessels.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "And if I say no?"
"Then," the captain said smoothly, rising to his feet, "you'll find the rival merchants you crossed today waiting outside your door tomorrow. I won't stop them. And your charming satchel," his eyes flicked to my waist, "will draw more attention than you can hide forever."
Lyra bristled, ready to draw steel, but I raised a hand. The threat wasn't empty. He was right.
"Fine," I said, exhaling. "Partnership. Tentatively. But no railguns on day one."
Veynar grinned, extending a hand like he'd just won the jackpot. "Tentative is all I need. Welcome aboard."
As soon as the door shut behind him, Lyra rounded on me. "You're insane."
"Insane," I corrected, picking up the alloy rod again, "or brilliant. Sometimes they look the same."
She groaned, dropping into a chair. "If we die on a ship because you tried to electrify the sails, I'll haunt you."
"…Can ghosts conduct electricity?" I asked absently, scribbling diagrams on the back of a receipt.
Her groan got louder.
And just like that, our adventure began—not with monsters or assassins, but with ink on invisible contracts and the gleam of opportunity hiding teeth beneath a smile.