The market square buzzed with life as afternoon sun washed over Rothenburg's cobblestones. Merchants haggled, children darted between stalls, and the air hung thick with spice and livestock. Norn moved through it all like a ghost – present but untouchable, eyes constantly scanning for threats.

  Three days had passed since the twins had interrupted his carefully constructed routine. Three days of watching them from corners, learning their patterns. The girl – Karima – was straightforward enough: all blunt force and fierce loyalty. But the boy was slippery as an eel, leaving chaos in his wake.

  Norn's fingers brushed the hilt of his dagger, an unconscious habit when his thoughts darkened.

  "Just passing through," he reminded himself. "Their problems aren't mine."

  Yet he found himself tracking them anyway, drawn to their strange dance of disaster and survival. So different from his own methods, yet somehow familiar in ways he couldn't name.

  Koen was there now, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. His threadbare shirt and mismatched boots didn't match the confidence in his stride. He moved like someone who owned the world – or at least believed he could talk his way into possessing it. The twin paused at a fruit vendor's stall, grinning at the old woman who scowled back at him.

  "Bold to show his face after what happened the other day," Norn thought, recalling how the boy had nearly started a brawl between two merchants with a few well-placed whispers. His so-called performance.

  Norn shifted positions, moving behind a cart loaded with furs. Watching. Always watching. The weight of the emerald pendant fragment pressed against his chest beneath his shirt – a constant reminder of failure. Of the girl. Of promises broken.

  Across the square, Karima appeared, her cropped blonde hair catching sunlight as she strode purposefully toward her brother. Unlike Koen's fluid movements, she walked like she was daring the world to get in her way. When she reached him, she cuffed him lightly on the back of the head, mouth moving in what Norn assumed was a well-practiced lecture.

  The normalcy of it made something twist in Norn's chest. A memory: his mother's gentle scolding, his father's quiet laugh.

  He pushed it away.

  "Focus," he reminded himself.

  But he'd focused too much on the twins. Hadn't noticed the man approaching until a shadow fell across him.

  "You been in Rothenburg long, stranger?" The voice belonged to a barrel-chested man with a silver badge pinned to his leather vest. The village headsman.

  Norn straightened, face neutral. "Few weeks."

  "Heard you took care of some trouble on the western road." The headsman's eyes were shrewd, measuring. "Clean work. Maybe too clean."

  Norn said nothing. Waited.

  The headsman leaned closer. "We appreciate the help, but folk are starting to talk. They say you kill like you've had practice. Lots of it."

  A muscle twitched in Norn's jaw. The Ashmark beneath his sleeve seemed to pulse with heat, though he knew it was just his imagination.

  Before he could respond, commotion erupted at the fruit stall. Koen was backing away, hands raised in mock surrender, while the vendor shouted accusations of theft. Karima stepped between them, hands on hips, voice rising above the crowd.

  The headsman sighed, attention diverted. "Those two again. Never learn."

  He moved toward the disturbance, leaving Norn momentarily forgotten.

  Norn didn't wait. He slipped away through the crowd, threading between bodies with practiced silence. He needed to be gone before the headsman remembered their conversation. Before questions led to discoveries he couldn't afford.

  The small room at the inn had become his temporary shelter. It wasn't safe – nowhere truly was – but it offered walls and a door he could barricade. The floorboards creaked beneath his boots as he entered, automatically scanning for signs of intrusion.

  Everything looked untouched. But something felt wrong.

  His pack lay where he'd left it by the bed. The chair remained wedged beneath the door handle. The single window was still latched from inside. But the air smelled... different. Like someone else had breathed it.

  Norn's dagger appeared in his hand without conscious thought.

  Slowly, he moved to his pack and knelt beside it. The leather straps were precisely as he'd left them – but the tension was wrong. He flipped it open, fingers quickly sifting through his meager possessions.

  His breath caught.

  The emerald fragment was gone.

  Not just the pendant – anyone might take that for its value – but the worn map he'd been tracking for two years. The one marked with Holy Veil sightings. With possible locations where the girl might have been taken.

  Heat rushed through his veins. Not panic – something colder, more focused. The blade doesn't judge.

  He knew exactly who had taken it.

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  The tavern door slammed open beneath Norn's hand, conversation stuttering into silence as patrons turned toward the intrusion. His eyes swept the room, fixing immediately on a messy blonde head in the far corner.

  Koen lounged at a table, feet propped up, tossing something small and green into the air and catching it. The pendant fragment. He was making a show of it, grinning as his sister rolled her eyes beside him.

  Norn crossed the space in nine steps, each one deliberate as a knife stroke.

  The boy saw him coming. His grin widened, but something flickered behind his amber eyes – a calculation. He kept tossing the pendant, even as Norn's shadow fell across him.

  "Interesting piece," Koen said, catching the green shard midair. "Didn't take you for a jewelry man, Ashmark."

  The name hit like a physical blow. Norn's hand shot out, grabbing Koen's wrist mid-toss. The pendant dropped onto the table with a dull clink.

  "How do you know that name?" Norn's voice was deadly quiet.

  Karima tensed beside her brother, hand sliding toward the knuckle-duster at her belt. "Let him go."

  But Koen just laughed, seemingly unconcerned by the fingers digging into his wrist. "The map was more interesting than the pretty rock. Holy Veil, huh? You chasing cultists or running from them?"

  Norn's grip tightened. The tavern had gone utterly silent, observers holding collective breath.

  "Don't make the mistake of thinking I won't break your arm," Norn said, each word precise as a scalpel cut.

  Koen tilted his head, still smiling despite the pain he must have been feeling. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I don't have friends here."

  As if on cue, chairs scraped back around the tavern. Several men stood, hands moving to weapons.

  "This little shit's been stealing from half the village," Karima said, not moving from her seat, "but he's our little shit. So how about you take your trinket and we forget this happened?"

  Norn didn't look away from Koen's face. "The map."

  "Now that," Koen replied, smile never faltering, "might cost you. Information's valuable, especially about cult movements. Especially when they're looking for someone."

  Something cold slithered down Norn's spine. "What do you know about that?"

  "Enough to make a deal." Koen glanced meaningfully at his trapped wrist. "If you're interested in civilized conversation."

  For three heartbeats, Norn considered simply breaking the boy's arm. Taking what was his. Leaving Rothenburg and its complications behind.

  The Ashmark throbbed beneath his sleeve, hungry for violence.

  Instead, he released Koen's wrist, stepping back. The tension in the room eased fractionally as several men returned to their seats.

  Koen rubbed his wrist, smile dimming to something more calculating. "Smart choice."

  Norn said nothing, just stood waiting, face unreadable.

  Karima glanced between them, then shoved her brother's shoulder. "Give him back his map, you idiot."

  "Not yet," Koen said, still watching Norn. "First, he tells us why he's hunting the Holy Veil. Then we decide if we help or hinder."

  "Help or hinder WHAT?" Karima demanded, exasperated. "Stop dragging us into other people's problems!"

  But Koen continued, unphased by his sister's protest. "The Holy Veil passed through here three months ago. Taking 'donations' and recruiting faithful. They mentioned a special healer traveling with them. A girl they called the Radiant One."

  Norn's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes. Recognition. Something almost like hope, quickly extinguished.

  "They're coming back," Koen continued, leaning forward. "Two weeks from now. For the harvest festival."

  Norn's lips parted slightly, the first sign of genuine surprise he'd shown. "How do you know this?"

  Koen tapped his temple. "I listen. I remember. I connect pieces others don't see." He pushed the emerald fragment across the table with one finger. "So, Ashmark. Why are you hunting them? Revenge? Rescue? Or something else?"

  Karima groaned. "For fuck's sake, Koen. Stop antagonizing the scary man with the knife."

  But Norn had gone still in a way that made the air itself seem to hesitate. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat as a frozen lake.

  "They took someone from me."

  Koen's eyes lit with interest. "The girl who owned this?" He nudged the emerald fragment.

  Norn didn't answer. Just stared, waiting.

  Koen sighed dramatically. "Fine, be mysterious. But here's my offer: I tell you everything I know about the Holy Veil's movements, their numbers, their patterns. In exchange, you teach me how to fight like you do."

  Karima choked on her drink. "WHAT?!"

  "I saw him take down those bandits," Koen continued, eyes never leaving Norn's face. "Five men. Thirty seconds. No wasted motion." A hunger shone in his expression. "...I want that."

  Norn's jaw tightened. "No."

  "Then good luck finding your friend without my help." Koen leaned back, the challenge clear in his posture.

  For a long moment, no one spoke. Patrons pretended to return to their drinks, but every ear strained to catch what would happen next.

  "She's not my friend." Norn finally said, so quietly only the twins could hear. "She's my failure."

  He reached out, taking the emerald shard from the table. His fingers closed around it like it was something precious and terrible all at once.

  "One week," he said, eyes fixed on Koen with cold intensity. "I'll teach you for a week. Then you tell me everything. That's the deal."

  Koen's face split into a victorious grin. "Deal."

  As Norn turned to leave, Karima muttered into her mug, just loud enough to carry: "Great. Another asshole to babysit."

  But Norn barely heard her. His mind was already racing ahead, calculating, planning. Two weeks until the Holy Veil returned. Two weeks to prepare. Two weeks closer to finding Elia.

  And for the first time in years, the Ashmark on his arm felt not like a burden, but like a weapon he might finally turn against those who had taken everything from him.