She did not leave a note.

  Only a broken lantern,

  left swinging in the wind.

  “What did you do?”

  Beric’s voice cut through the stillness like a blade as he threw open the door to Silva’s office. His breath was ragged, his pulse pounding in his ears. Outside, the Weaver’s District still burned. The stench of scorched timber clung to his cloak.

  In Silva’s office, there was pristine stillness and order. The room was untouched by the chaos outside.He sat behind his desk, marking something in a ledger with calm precision.

  He didn’t flinch.

  He looked up slowly. “Have a seat, Beric.”

  “I’m not here to sit.”

  Beric hovered in the doorway, the heat of fury crashing against the cold weight of Silva’s poise. He was losing control. He never lost control.

  After a beat, he shut the door and sat, sharply, like it hurt, and did not unclench his fists.

  “I take it,” Silva said, finally looking up, “you disagree with my methods.”

  Beric exhaled, but it caught on the way out. “I thought the detonation was just a distraction.”

  “It was,” Silva replied simply.

  Beric leaned forward. “You leveled half a block.”

  Silva gave a mild shrug. “Sometimes, to uncover rot, you have to splinter the surface.”

  Beric stared. “There were people there.”

  Silva’s tone didn’t change. “No lives were lost.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  Silva glanced toward the window, where smoke smudged the sky beyond the curtains. He said nothing for a moment. Then:

  “Do you remember where I found you?”

  Beric jolted; he remembered.

  He had been filthy and starving, curled beneath the broken statue of the Primes in the courtyard. Every day, he had returned. Guardians had chased him off, priests had stepped around him. But he kept coming.

  He had overhead and memorized sermons and whispered prayers. He didn’t always understand them, but he hoped that they might see him.

  No one had. Except Silva.

  “When a child chooses to sit beneath the gods, barefoot and broken, day after day…” Silva's voice was soft, nearly kind. “What does that tell you?”

  Beric said nothing. He knew the answer Silva expected. That Beric had been chosen. That his pain meant something. But the memory had changed shape in his mind. It no longer felt like salvation.

  “I think I just wanted someone to tell me the truth,” he said at last.

  Silva nodded slightly, as if that, too, proved his point.

  “I understand,” he said. “The world as it is offers no truth, only repetition. That repetition builds complacency. That complacency brings destruction.”

  Silva rose from his chair and moved around the desk. He rested a hand on Beric’s shoulder, firm, grounding.

  “You still feel like you're outside the circle,” he said. “Like you’re being kept from the center.”

  Beric didn’t answer, but his tension loosened, slightly.

  “You’ll be brought in soon,” Silva said.“I have a task for you. Something more delicate than usual.”

  Beric’s stomach tightened. “What is it?”

  “There is a girl. A variable. You’ll speak with her. Help her understand what we’re building.”

  Beric frowned. “Who is she?”

  Silva smiled faintly with a distant look. “Someone at a crossroads… She came into possession of something last night,” Silva continued, “something... we arranged for her to find.”

  Beric looked up, startled. “You planted it?”

  His eyes snapped back. “Let’s just say the conditions were right for her to take it. And she did, as expected.”

  Beric's mind caught on the implications. “So the explosion—”

  “Served many purposes,” Silva said calmly. “Chaos creates opportunity.”

  He returned behind the desk and retrieved a sealed scroll bound with red twine.

  “You will speak with her. Help her understand what she now carries, and what’s at stake if she misuses it. We don’t need her loyalty—just her alignment. For now.”

  Beric took the scroll, fingers tightening around the twine.

  Silva watched him closely. “She’s important, Beric. She may be the key to everything we’ve worked toward.”

  Beric’s stomach twisted. “And if she refuses?”

  Silva’s expression didn’t change. “Then we will adjust. As always.”

  Beric rose, scroll in hand. He hesitated at the threshold.

  His thumb brushed the silver ring Silva had given him years ago. He slid it off, quietly, and closed it in his fist. He didn’t throw it. He didn’t return it.

  But he didn’t wear it either.

  “Clarity will come,” Silva said behind him. “Stay close to the fold.”

  Beric nodded, but not as quickly this time.

  And as he stepped back into the hall, smoke from the outside world drifted in through the cracks.

  ***

  Beric pulled his coat tighter as he walked through the Skein. The neighborhood was filled with the reek of stale ale and a metallic tang that made his nose wrinkle. He glanced around, hand gripping his coin purse, eyeing the run-down buildings. Cracked windows stared back like empty sockets, and faded posters clung to brick walls like tattered skin. He knew, though, that beneath the grime and decay was something hard, something that wouldn't bend to the whims of the Inner Ring.

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  You can take the boy out of the Skein…

  He found the ramshackle pawn shop, Trident’s Treasures. It had no proper sign, just a faded symbol etched into the warped wood: a trident entwined with a frayed length of thread.

  As he stepped inside, the harsh stench of oil and rusted metal slammed into him. The girl behind the counter, her dark braid pulled tight, didn't bother with a greeting. Instead, her gaze flicked past him, scanning the doorway for Guardians.

  Seeing he was alone, she narrowed her eyes with a flicker of suspicion. "What do you want?"

  She was young, maybe a year or two older than him. He tried not to cower and straightened his coat, the worn fabric rough against his fingertips.

  "I'm here to see Mister Grosse," he said, his voice steady.

  "Sorry, kid, no one here by that name," she smirked, a glint of something sharp and knowing in her eyes.

  Beric rolled his eyes, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. He'd forgotten how stubborn people in the Outer Ring could be. He slid the coin from his pocket onto the counter, the dull silver catching the meager light.

  "I know I’ve cleaned up a bit, but I grew up on this side. Just tell Vann the Re-Weaver sent me."

  The girl’s fingers lingered on the coin’s edge, her gaze fixed on him. She didn't move, just studied him in silence.

  "Viper," a low, gravelly voice rasped.

  They both turned. A huge figure, his shoulders straining against his worn leather coat, stood in the doorway behind her, holding back a tattered curtain.

  “What, Rook?”

  His eyes were flat and hard as he gestured for Beric to follow. Beric walked towards the opening, glancing back at Viper, who grinned, a hint of something cruel and amused in the curve of her lips.

  Rook settled onto a creaking stool, his bulk filling the cramped space, and nodded towards a splintered wooden door. Beric hesitated, unsure whether to knock. The brute stared at him as if he were dumb, then slowly opened the door.

  Embarrassed, Beric nodded his thanks and stepped into the dimly lit office.

  A thin, pale man in a tailored suit sat behind a gleaming mahogany desk, the candlelight reflecting off its polished surface. An older man in a hooded cloak sat in the corner, his face obscured by shadow, his presence silent and unsettling.

  "Beric," Vann hissed, his voice like the scrape of metal on stone. "Nice of you to grace us with your presence in the Outer Ring."

  "You remember me?"

  "I never forget one of my own," he replied.

  Beric paused, letting a moment of charged quiet settle, not wanting to appear too eager. He'd learned to control his reactions from Silva.

  "I'm looking for someone. Dani. I figured I'd start here."

  "Of course you are," Vann's grin turned sour, his lips twisting into a thin line. "That makes two of us."

  Beric began to speak, but Vann held up a hand, his silver rings flashing in the candlelight like cold stars.

  "Tell me, Beric. Why should I not be offended that Silva sends his lapdog to me? You should tell him to learn some manners and come get a bit of dirt on those pretty coattails himself."

  Beric braced himself. He expected this.

  Vann was a proud man. He had built himself a seat of power here. But he'd always be an outsider to the Inner Ring. "Silva believes Dani would trust someone who shares her perspective," he admitted, his voice even. "And together we can find her faster. His debt could be worth more to you than silver."

  Vann snorted but didn’t interrupt. Beric continued.

  “He also gave me something. Said you’d understand.”

  He reached into his coat and pulled the scroll Silva had given him, the one bound in red twine, the seal marked with a broken loom etched in silver wax.

  Slowly, he placed it on the desk.

  Vann’s eyes sharpened. The smirk drained from his face.

  The old man in the shadows shifted, his attention narrowing.

  Vann leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “You don’t know what this is, do you?”

  Beric said nothing.

  “Didn’t think so.” Vann tapped one silver ring against the mahogany. “He shouldn’t have sent this through you.”

  The old man stirred again. His voice rasped through the gloom. “He plays with fire… The Tapestry remembers.”

  Beric stared at the scroll on the desk, as if it might speak for itself. Silva had said he was trusted now—said he’d be brought into the fold. But once again, Beric was watching pieces move without knowing the game.

  "What makes you think you can find her faster than I can?" Vann asked, his voice a low, challenging tone.

  Beric shook his head, careful to keep his frustration in check. "You're misunderstanding me. You're just worried about the trinket, but it's not worth nearly what you think. Silva wants the girl.”

  He exhaled, tempering himself.

  “How do you think the whispers about the amulet reached you in the first place?"

  The old man in the corner, his face obscured by the shadows of his hooded cloak, leaned forward. His voice, raspy and dry, cut through the air. "I'd watch your tongue, boy. These webs were woven long before you, or even the Re-Weaver, were born."

  "Hold on, Arachne," Vann said, his hand gesturing to the old man. "Let's be practical. I'm sure there's an arrangement to be made." He turned back to Beric, his eyes gleaming. "You speak of 'shared perspective.' Don't insult my intelligence. You think Dani would trust a pretty-face from the Inner Ring any more than she'd trust me? She knows the Skein. She is the Skein."

  Beric paused, calculating. "Help me find her. I'll deal with that part. Silva will make good on any debts acquired."

  A pause.

  Then, Vann sat back, eyes glittering.

  “Now that’s something worth discussing.”

  He finally picked up the scroll.

  And smiled.

  ***

  Beric rushed through the streets of the Skein, heading towards the Gear & Cog. He moved quickly, a knot tightening in his stomach. His conversation with Vann Grosse had left him believing that many people would like to get their hands on Dani.

  As he crossed into the Hank, he wondered what he would say to Dani when he found her. There was so much he still didn’t understand about what was happening right now. He couldn’t imagine what she must be thinking.

  Vann had said that she was the key to mending the wounds of the past.

  After a while, one grew accustomed to his cryptic way of speaking.

  He was drawing near to the shop when he noticed a pair of familiar figures approaching it as well. Frances and Paolo, in their usual tailored suits that seemed out of place in the Skein's grimy streets, drew the stares of those who lived there.

  "What are you doing here?" Beric called to them as they converged upon the shop. The pair stopped in shock to see him blocking the door.

  "Well, look who we have here, Franko," Paolo jeered, elbowing Frances' ribs.

  Frances spoke through his menacing smile, "Silver Boy, you didn’t think you were the only person Silva entrusted to tie up this loose end for him, did you?"

  Beric froze.

  Was it true? Had Silva sent them to find Dani as well? If so, he didn’t think they would be trying to reason with her like he was. He pursed his lips, clenched his jaw, and remained silent.

  Beric didn’t move. He knew better than to start a fight he couldn’t win.

  So he played his part.

  He exhaled, carefully crafting his next words.

  “I was hoping, I’d be the one to talk to her,” he admitted, letting just enough disappointment bleed into his voice. “I didn’t think Silva needed three people to do a one-man job.”

  Paolo let out a low whistle. “Look at you. Thinking you get a say in how things work.”

  Frances didn’t laugh. His gaze stayed steady, assessing. “This isn’t about efficiency,” he said simply. “This is about control.”

  Beric said nothing.

  They all knew what that meant.

  He didn’t have Silva’s complete trust like he’d believed.

  Paolo sighed, stretching lazily. “Well, we’d love to stay and chat, but we’ve got business to handle.” His gaze flicked toward the Gear & Cog’s door.

  Beric didn’t block their path outright. That would’ve been stupid. Instead, he angled himself just enough to make them pause.

  “You don’t need to do this,” he said, voice steady.

  A beat of silence.

  Then, Paolo laughed, shaking his head. “Listen to this,” he said, nudging Frances with an elbow. “He thinks we need his permission.”

  Frances didn’t react. He just studied Beric, weighing something behind his dark eyes. Then, he let out a slow exhale, tilting his head toward the alley.

  “Walk away.”

  Beric held his ground.

  Frances’ voice didn’t change, but there was a weight to it now, a warning woven into every syllable.

  “You’re not the only one who wants to stay in Silva’s good graces,” he said. “So don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  Beric felt his pulse drum against his skin. He forced himself to breathe. To think. Then, with the faintest nod, he stepped past him.

  Paolo grinned. “Smart choice.”

  Beric didn’t answer.

  He turned on his heel and walked away, his pace calm, measured—just another errand boy running his route.

  Only when he was out of their sight did he move faster.

  He needed to find Dani, and he believed the Gear & Cog wouldn’t be the place they found her, so he needed to work out a back-up plan.