The guildhall corridors are still dim when we slip back through the side gate, the red sharkskin ledger pressed warm against Master's chest where I can smell its wax every time I nuzzle closer. My tail stays curled twice around his wrist the whole way up the stairs, tip flicking possessive little arcs that brush his forearm. My ears stay forward twitching at every distant sound that they pick up.

  The meeting room door is already open when we reach it, same table, same iron candle holders, same eight Sapphire guards lining the walls in their chainmail and blue tabards. The guild master sits at the far end again, elbows planted. He doesn't rise. Doesn't speak. Just watches us enter..

  I don't wait. My tail lashes once, sharp and irritated before I vault onto the table in a single fluid leap. My boots thud on the wood as I keep my knees bent and back hunched forward like the table is my proven claimed territory.

  Master walks the length of the table. He reaches the chair opposite the guild master and drops into it without ceremony, leaning back just enough to look relaxed, one hand resting loose on the armrest.

  I don't sit. I stay crouched, ready to pounce if I smell a threat.

  Master reaches inside his cloak. Pulls the red sharkskin ledger free. Sets it on the table with a soft thump and slides it down the table, slow, deliberate and until it stops exactly in front of the guild master.

  The man stares at it for a long beat before he then looks up at Master. Then at me, hunched on his precious table like it's my scratching post.

  "You were not hired for this," he says, voice flat, clipped. "We did not authorise any action against the Cartel safehouse. You acted without sanction. Again."

  Master shrugs, one shoulder lifting lazy. "You paid us to squeeze them. We squeezed. Ledger's clean. Cartel's bleeding. Crimson's proxies are scrambling. You're welcome."

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  The guild master's eyes narrow. "We deny any involvement. You are freelancers. If this ledger implicates Sapphire in any way."

  Master cuts him off. Voice still that same neutral calm. "Whatever." He leans forward slightly elbows on the table now, fingers interlaced. "That was our last job."

  The words sit heavy in the room. The guards shift, subtle, uneasy, hands resting closer to sword hilts. My tail lashes once, slow yet deliberate and brushing the table. My ears flatten against my skull whilst a low, rattling growl starts in my chest, vibrating through my fangs which I now bare.

  Master doesn't glance my way. Doesn't need to. He knows I'm coiled tight enough to explode if anyone so much as breathes wrong. "Any mess from here on," he continues, tone bored, "is yours. No more proxies. No more warehouses. No more ledgers. We're done."

  The guild master exhales through his nose, slow, controlled. His gaze flicks to the ledger again, then to me, still crouched, still grinning with fangs and murder in my eyes, then back to Master.

  "You think you can simply walk away?"

  Master stands. Slow. Unhurried. Cloak settling around him like it's bored too. "I already did."

  He turns and I vault off the table, boots thudding light beside him, tail curling twice around his wrist in an instant, possessive, anchoring as we take toward the door. The guild master doesn't call after us. Doesn't need to. We walk out.

  The moment we step out of the guildhall we head to the district gate. The customs post is a squat stone and wooden box, two Alderian guards in tabards. They straighten when they see us coming. Eyes flick to Master and then to me.

  "Chip check,".

  Master stops without a word. I growl low in my throatm rattling, warning but he rests his free hand on the back of my neck. "Easy, kitten." The bond hums warm.

  I force my ears to flick forward instead of flattening. My tail squeezes his wrist once, hard before it then loosens to sway slow arcs.

  The guards steps closer as they begin searching us for any untaxed goods and scanning my collar.

  "Redstone marked," the guard reads aloud, voice dropping half an octave. "Marshgate registered." His eyes flick to the spear then to the shield, "No untaxed goods?"

  Master shrugsm "Nothing that concerns you."

  The guard hesitates but only for a minute before they let us leave Merchant Cross. The Oak Trade Road stretches ahead, sandstone cobbles and a familar smell of trees. Back in the open, humm this is nice, just me and Master.