The city felt different at night.

  Brad had noticed it during the day—the way people laughed too easily, the way soldiers and merchants stood in the same lines without tension simmering beneath the surface. But at night the Violet City softened even more, like the place breathed out once the sun dipped below the rooftops.

  Lanternlight pooled across the cobblestones. Music drifted through open windows. Somewhere down the street a pair of workers were arguing cheerfully over a card game balanced on an overturned crate.

  Brad walked half a step behind Cade.

  Not because Cade demanded it. The man never had. But something about him naturally set the pace, and Brad found himself matching it without thinking.

  Cade moved easily through the street, long coat shifting with each step, the blindfold tied cleanly across his eyes like it had always belonged there.

  People noticed when he passed.

  Not loudly. No shouting, no bowing. Just quiet acknowledgments.

  A nod.

  A straightened back.

  A look that lingered half a second longer than normal.

  Cade returned most of them with the slightest tilt of his chin and kept walking.

  Brad watched the pattern repeat twice before finally saying, “Do people always notice when you’re out?”

  Cade didn’t slow. “Well for a man with no eyes, I’m quite handsome.”

  Brad stared at him. “That is definitely not the reason.”

  “Then maybe it’s the blindfold,” Cade said calmly. “Hard to ignore.”

  Brad let out a quiet huff of laughter. “You’re a lot less dramatic in conversation than people make you sound.”

  “In conversation?” Cade asked.

  Brad hesitated. “That came out wrong.”

  “No, no,” Cade said. “Please continue. I want the full report on my reputation.”

  Brad thought for a moment before answering. “You feel bigger from a distance.”

  Cade’s mouth twitched slightly. “That one I’ll accept.”

  They turned down a narrower street where the crowd thinned.

  Near the mouth of an alley, a man struggled with a cart whose wheel had slipped loose. One knee dug into the dirt while he wrestled with a stubborn iron pin. His wife stood nearby holding a crate while two little girls bounced impatiently beside her.

  Brad gave it a passing glance.

  Cade lifted two fingers beside his coat.

  There was no spectacle.

  No glowing circle, no muttered incantation.

  Just a brief ripple in the air.

  The iron pin slid cleanly back into place with a soft click. The warped wood tightened as if it had never cracked.

  The cart straightened.

  The man blinked.

  He tested the wheel once… twice… then looked around in confusion.

  His wife laughed softly. “See? I told you if you stopped fighting it, it’d behave.”

  Brad glanced at Cade.

  Cade kept walking.

  “You fixed that,” Brad said quietly.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Cade smirked. “Maybe the cart fixed itself.”

  Brad looked back at the family. The girls were already climbing into the now-stable cart while their parents argued playfully about whose fault the problem had been.

  His eyes drifted forward. “You could’ve just stopped and helped.”

  Cade didn’t break stride. “I did.”

  Brad rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  Cade’s voice stayed casual.

  “If I stopped every three minutes so someone could thank me publicly, I’d never reach my destination. This way they get their solution without feeling like they owe anyone.”

  Brad considered that.

  Further down the street, an elderly woman stood on her toes trying to hang a lantern outside her door. The hook sat just beyond her reach.

  Cade’s head turned slightly.

  A whisper of wind lifted the lantern the final inch and settled it onto the hook so gently the flame inside barely flickered.

  The woman blinked at it.

  Then smiled to herself like she’d just proven a point to the universe.

  Brad stared again.

  Cade sighed lightly. “You’re going to hurt my feelings if you keep acting surprised every time I do something nice.”

  “I’m more surprised you keep doing it without wanting credit.”

  “Someone who wants to be seen helping, isn’t actually helping.” Cade said.

  Brad didn’t have a response to that.

  They walked another block before Cade pushed open the door to a modest bar tucked between a tailor shop and a bookmaker.

  Warm noise spilled out.

  Dice clattered against wood. Someone laughed too loudly. The smell of roasted meat and spilled ale hung thick in the air.

  The bartender noticed Cade immediately and set two clean mugs on the counter before they even reached the bar.

  “Your usual?” the man asked.

  “Unfortunately,” Cade said.

  Brad slid onto the stool beside him.

  The bartender glanced at him. “You?”

  Brad shrugged. “Whatever’s cheap.”

  Cade turned slightly toward him.

  “See,” he said, “that right there. Useful.”

  Brad frowned. “What is?”

  Cade moved his thumb along the handle of his mug. “That instinct.”

  Brad raised an eyebrow.

  “Former grocer.” Cade said.

  Brad stiffened. “How do you know I worked in a grocer?”

  Cade took a calm sip of his drink. “Your hands.”

  Brad smiled in denial. “My hands.”

  “Small blade cuts along the fingers. Old strain through the wrists. Faint spice oils embedded in the skin deep enough to survive several baths.” Cade tilted his head. “Also you scan every shelf, doorway, and price board the moment you enter a room.”

  Brad stared at him. “That was an insane sentence.”

  Cade shifted in his chair. “It was also correct.”

  The bartender snorted and wandered down the counter.

  Brad looked down at his hands like they’d betrayed him.

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” he muttered. “I stocked goods and counted coin. That’s not exactly elite training.”

  Cade turned slightly toward him. “Brad, do you know how many soldiers can tell me the price of flour in three districts without checking a ledger?”

  Brad stayed quiet.

  So Cade continued. “How many nobles can spot when a merchant is shaving weight off a shipment?”

  Still nothing.

  And again. “How many self-important idiots notice who buys more than a household needs, who suddenly has coin they shouldn’t, who visits the same place every third night, or who asks questions while pretending not to?”

  Brad frowned. “Grocers notice that,” he admitted.

  “Yes,” Cade said. “Because grocers survive by noticing patterns.”

  Cade leaned his elbow on the bar. “You tracked supply, waste, theft, desperation, routine, and price shifts without even realizing it. That’s half of intelligence work without the dramatic clothing.”

  Brad smirked faintly. “Dramatic clothing?”

  “Cloaks, weapons, attractive code phrases.”

  Brad snorted. “That sounds made up.”

  “It mostly is,” Cade said. “Real spying is usually listening to boring people lie badly.”

  Brad laughed quietly into his mug.

  Then Cade’s tone shifted just slightly. “Tomorrow night there’s a casino gathering a few cities over. A poor imitation of my own establishments.”

  Brad looked up.

  Cade cracked his knuckles. “On paper it’s just wealthy traders losing money and pretending they meant to.”

  Brad raised a brow. “And in reality?”

  “In reality,” Cade said, “people talk when they gamble.”

  He took another drink. “Supply routes get mentioned. Guards get bribed. Officials get drunk. Smugglers test each other.”

  Brad felt the weight of the conversation settle. “You want someone to go.”

  Cade paused. “I want to go.”

  Brad blinked. “Yourself?”

  “I know,” Cade said dryly. “Reckless behavior.”

  Brad waved at the bartender for another round. “You’re the leader of this city.”

  Cade nodded. “Which is exactly why I won’t be arriving as the Violet King.”

  Brad exhaled slowly. “And you want me there.”

  “I do.”

  Silence lingered between them.

  “Why?” Brad asked.

  Cade answered immediately. “Because you understand commerce.”

  He lifted one finger. “Because you can tell when numbers don’t make sense.”

  Another. “Because you notice patterns.”

  A third. “And because nobody will look twice at a quiet grocer watching which tables move the most money.”

  Brad stared at him.

  Cade lowered his hand. “And,” he added more quietly, “because you deserve something real to do here.”

  Brad felt something tighten in his chest.

  “You’re not a stray I picked up off the road,” Cade continued. “If you’re staying in this city, then stand in it.”

  Brad looked down at his drink. Then back at Cade. “You really think being a former grocer qualifies me for espionage.”

  Cade lifted his mug. “I think it’s an underappreciated specialty.”

  Brad shook his head, laughing despite himself. “This is insane.”

  Cade smirked softly. “Probably.”

  Brad lifted his beverage. “And if I say yes?”

  Cade clinked his mug lightly against Brad’s.

  “Then tomorrow night,” he said, “we go gambling.”

  Brad groaned. “We are absolutely not going gambling.”

  “Oh we are,” Cade said, standing from the bar. “We’re just also doing light reconnaissance.”

  “Light reconnaissance,” Brad repeated.

  Cade nodded. “Yes.”

  Brad shook his head. “At a casino.”

  Cade nodded again. “Yes.”

  Brad finished his beverage. “With you disguised as someone who definitely isn’t you.”

  Cade paused. “I never said I’d be disguised.”

  Brad dragged a hand down his face. “You are impossible.”

  “And yet,” Cade said as he headed toward the door, “you’re coming.”

  Brad stared after him for a moment.

  Then stood and followed.

  That might have been the most frightening part.

  How easy it was becoming to say yes.