The night air over Drenmire had turned sharp, biting, as if even the wind had begun to whisper secrets through alley cracks and over tiled roofs. Inside the Starshade Teahouse's back room, Fornos sat beneath a single lantern's glow, its soft light reflecting off the lead-sealed blueprint fragment lying open between him and Park.
Three codex layers.
Just enough to confirm what Varn had warned—crystal resonance communication was not merely a marvel of signal projection, but a two-way channel, capable of echoing ambient mana signatures from receiving ends. Which meant that with the right setup, whoever controlled the device could listen through walls. Or cities.
Park pointed at the feather again. His sign language, rapid but fluid, carried urgency:
They wanted you to have this.
This is bait.
They want to test how much you know—or who you'll go to next.
"I'm counting on that," Fornos replied quietly, leaning back. "If the Inkfeather Syndicate's still breathing, then they haven't survived this long by staying quiet. They watch. They wait. They poke."
He placed the fragment back in the canister.
"Which means I need to draw their dagger out."
The Next Morning – Drenmire Archives Annex
Varn Tessel was waiting in the same cramped vault, reading another mold-stained tome that smelled more of vinegar than parchment.
"You brought trouble," he muttered as Fornos entered.
"I brought a blueprint," Fornos replied, tossing the canister lightly onto the desk.
Varn's tired eyes flinched. "How much?"
"Three layers."
"And how did you come by this?"
Fornos sat opposite him. "A courier. Feather marked. Inkfeather Syndicate."
The older scholar muttered a string of curses, old enough to predate city law. "You just waved a signal flag in a shark pool."
"They already saw me. I'm waving back."
"You're mad."
"No. I'm forcing their hand."
Varn looked again at the canister. "And if they come for you next?"
"They already tried once. The auction. But this time, I want them to see what happens when I start leaking pieces of the codex in places they can't silence."
Park, leaning by the door, gave a thumbs-up.
"Let me guess," Varn muttered. "You plan to publicly accuse someone, leak half the truth, and see who panics first."
"Correct. And you're going to help."
The archivist stared at him.
"Why would I?"
Fornos tilted his head. "Because your problem with the device wasn't what it was, but who could use it. So help me choose the right people."
Varn's mouth opened, closed, then nodded—reluctantly.
Later – Drenmire's Public Registry Hall
Fornos sat in the second floor of the glass-roofed archive office, next to an ink press operator who hadn't recognized him—yet.
He passed over a scroll, carefully worded.
A public notice. Half truth. Half bait.
"BREAKTHROUGH IN RESONANCE TRANSCRIPTION:
Archive-Backed Codex Seeding Underway
The lost blueprint of Hal's Crystal Frequency System has been partially recovered.
Drenmire Archive invites engineer guilds to verify layers 1–3.
No single buyer will be authorized sole control."
Park read it behind him, nodding once.
"Now we wait," Fornos muttered.
"Or bleed," the press operator said, joking nervously.
Fornos didn't laugh.
That Evening – Abandoned Cloister North of Market Row
They came at dusk.
Hoods blacker than soot. Faces masked in glass-thread veils. Three figures. Silent. Smooth in their approach.
Park met them at the alley wall. No words.
A knife came first.
Park blocked it, countered with a blow so fast the first assassin dropped before a second blink.
The other two hesitated—then scattered.
Fornos, already positioned at the cloister balcony, watched through spyglass lenses.
"Too quick," he muttered. "They didn't want to kill me tonight. They just wanted to know if I was bluffing."
He picked up the glass-thread veil from the downed assassin. Beneath it—a younger face than expected. Maybe sixteen.
Inkfeather trained child-agents. Still.
Park signaled:
She's breathing.
"Good," Fornos replied. "Bind her. She'll carry a message for me."
Midnight – Starshade Teahouse, Once Again
The girl sat bound, flanked by Brassheart and Park. She said nothing. Her eyes, though, glared murder.
Fornos crouched to her level.
"I'm not going to threaten you," he began. "You've already tried to kill me. But you should know—your masters sent you to die. Not succeed."
No response.
"They knew I had a combat golem and a silent killer for a companion. They still sent you. Alone. Why?"
Silence.
Fornos pulled a page from his pocket. A piece of the codex.
"Do they know I've already begun seeding this?"
The girl blinked.
"I'm giving you a choice," Fornos said, folding the page. "You deliver a message. No traps. No tricks. You hand it to your handler, and I don't burn every courier relay in this city to find your guild's roots."
The girl looked at Park. Then at Brassheart. Then back to Fornos.
"You're not afraid," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "Why?"
Fornos rose, stepping back.
"Because fear's a luxury I can't afford," he said. "Now go. And tell your masters—if they want the rest of the blueprint, they'll meet me in the old glass foundry. At dawn."