Jason woke with the distinct sensation that his body had filed a complaint overnight.
Not pain pain had edges. This was dull, persistent, and everywhere. His limbs felt heavier than they should have, as if gravity had increased slightly while he slept and forgotten to reset itself in the morning.
He lay still and waited.
This had become a habit lately. Letting the body speak first. Ignoring it only made things worse.
When he finally sat up, the room didn't spin. That was good. He rolled his neck slowly, then his shoulders. The stiffness resisted, then eased. Manageable.
Downstairs, the inn was already active. Not busy active. The difference mattered. Busy meant noise without tension. Active meant people were doing things because they felt they needed to.
Mira glanced at him as he entered, her expression unreadable. "You're still walking," she said.
"So far," Jason replied.
She slid a bowl toward him, thicker stew this time. "Eat. You're not built to run on nothing."
Jason took it without arguing. He'd learned which battles were pointless.
As he ate, voices drifted in from the far table. Not loud enough to be a conversation meant to carry, but not quiet enough to be private either.
"…can't keep losing people like this."
"We're not losing them. They're choosing bad work."
"That's easy to say when it's not your cousin bleeding out."
Jason's spoon slowed.
A man he recognized vaguely someone who worked near the docks leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Guilds wouldn't take the contract," he said. "Too unstable. Too many unknowns."
"So what? We just leave it?"
"Or wait until someone with enough people and coin decides it's worth the risk."
Jason finished eating and stood. He didn't look at the speakers. He didn't need to. The same conversation happened every time something went wrong outside the walls.
Someone should do something.
Not me.
Outside, the city felt tighter again.
Jason walked toward the labor board out of habit, but he didn't expect to find anything different. The postings were familiar repairs, hauling, patrols. A new one had been added overnight, written in a firmer hand than most.
Assistance required — Outer Ring.
Short-term support.
Pay negotiable.
No guild seal. No names.
Jason frowned.
That usually meant two things: either someone couldn't afford to involve a guild, or someone didn't want the attention. Neither was reassuring.
He folded the posting and slipped it into his pocket anyway.
The outer ring greeted him with the same uneasy quiet as the day before. People moved aside when he passed, not out of fear, but recognition. They'd seen him carrying the boy. That kind of thing lingered longer than it should have.
Jason followed the directions scrawled on the back of the posting to a half-collapsed warehouse near the wall. The doors were open, light spilling out unevenly.
Inside, three people waited.
Two men and a woman. All locals. All tired.
"We didn't know if you'd come," the woman said as Jason stepped inside.
Jason glanced around. No weapons drawn. No obvious threats. "I haven't agreed yet."
One of the men nodded. "Fair."
They explained quickly. A storage route used by several outer-ring families had been compromised. Not monsters not directly. Structural collapse. Sinkholes forming unpredictably. People getting hurt. Supplies lost.
"We can't fix it ourselves," the woman said. "And the guilds say it's not worth their time."
Jason listened without interrupting.
This wasn't a rescue. It wasn't a single moment of danger. It was ongoing risk, the kind that demanded commitment.
"What are you offering?" he asked.
The men exchanged glances. "Coin," one said. "Not much. And… access. If you know others."
Jason almost laughed.
This was the problem with help. It was never just help. It came tangled in expectations, in obligations that didn't announce themselves upfront.
"I'll look," he said finally. "No promises."
They accepted that more easily than he expected.
Jason spent the afternoon inspecting the route. The damage was worse than described. The ground had shifted unevenly, stress fractures running deep beneath the stone. Fixing it properly would take time, materials, and coordination things the outer ring rarely had in abundance.
By the time he returned to the inn, his head ached from calculation.
Mira watched him from behind the counter. "You look like you found trouble," she said.
"Trouble found me," Jason replied.
She didn't press.
Upstairs, Jason sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the wall.
He thought about the route. About the families who relied on it. About the fact that fixing it would mean days of work, maybe weeks. No guarantee of success. No guarantee of safety.
He thought about the numbers.
After a long moment, he checked.
Condition: Stable
Recovery: Ongoing
No strain yet. No immediate warning.
Jason exhaled slowly.
He hadn't decided anything. Not yet.
But the shape of the choice was there now, hovering just out of reach.
And he knew from experience that once something like that took form, it didn't go away on its own.