Jack leaned against the outer courtyard door with a sigh. He’d just come back from talking to the Baron outside the Royal Library, after taking the long way home through the back alleys to avoid the four adventurers.

  “I can’t live like this,” he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists in anger. Skulking home like a rat, jumping at shadows, avoiding four murderous bastards he hadn’t even wanted to cross paths with. He shook his head, frustrated at the path he was being forced onto. “Why can’t they leave me alone?” he complained. He didn’t want to kill random adventurers; it took him away from his plan to deal with Baron Greaves.

  He’d managed to live forty-one years in his first life without ever having to kill anyone. Sure, there had been close encounters, but other than the assassination attempt on Greaves, he’d always avoided fatal violence. Yet here he was, less than a week into his resurrection, and he’d already killed two adventurers… and was considering killing four more.

  “I just want to live a good life and kill Greaves to protect my family. Is that too much to ask?” he whispered, glancing up at the sky as though hoping the Gods who’d granted him this second life were listening.

  “Those bastards have to die.” He banged his head against the courtyard door in frustration. “I have to, to save my family from Greaves!” He still hadn’t gotten around to making a copy of the blood magic grimoire from his first life to send to the Inquisition with the likenesses of all the blood mages who sacrificed the orc warrior.

  “Fuck!” Jack drew a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of his mom’s herb garden soothe his nerves. The sweet fragrance of lavender drifted on the breeze, mingling with the gentle buzz of bees among the thyme and rosemary.

  At least the wind’s shifted, he thought, grateful the tannery’s stench wasn’t in the air. The thought was so normal, it helped calm him.

  A little sparrow flitted into his mom’s herb patch, hopping from plant to plant, pecking for tasty insects. Jack watched it for a quiet moment, smiling as the small bird darted away, its beak stuffed with tiny legs and wings.

  Must have a nest filled with hungry young. Jack smiled as he watched the bird fly away. “Good luck, little sparrow,” he murmured. “Family. That’s why we fight to survive.” He thought about his family. Mom… Dad… Polly… Richard… Zia… It was his nest to protect.

  Feeling a little steadier, he stepped inside.

  “Hi, Mom,” Jack called, closing the front door behind him as he made his way into the house.

  “Hey, Son,” came his mom’s warm voice from the kitchen.

  Jack inhaled, his eyes lighting up. “Hmm… something smells good.” He entered the kitchen and grinned. “Hi, Zia. You look busy.”

  Zia was elbow-deep in a large mixing bowl, her little hands buried in a sticky mess of dough. She looked at Jack’s mom with a shy smile. “M-mom’s teaching me to make bread.” Her cheeks flushed pink.

  Anna beamed, pausing her own chopping, she gave the little girl a hug and kiss on the top of the head. “You’re doing a great job, sweetheart.” The pair, mother and adopted daughter, lingered in that shared moment of a simple hug over bread dough.

  Jack felt a lump rise in his throat. So sweet, he thought. He brushed a quick tear away before anyone noticed.

  “We’ll be eating soon,” their mom said, turning back to the stove. “Go get cleaned up, and I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  He grinned. “I don’t smell that bad, do I?” Jack sniffed at his armpit and pulled a face of horrified regret. “Sheesh. Actually… yeah, I do.”

  Anna raised an eyebrow, smiling with that same mischievous glint his sister Polly always had when she was about to land a good joke. “I could smell you two streets away. Little Richard started crying as you got closer, he wasn’t happy with you competing with his smelly nappy.”

  Zia giggled and turned up her nose at the ‘smell’. “Pew!”

  “Alright, alright, I’m going,” Jack mock-grumbled, throwing his hands up. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

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  Anna chuckled. “It’s not that, Jack. I just don’t want your stink wilting the lettuce. Look at the poor things.” She pointed at a tray of crisp, vibrant lettuces on the counter. “They’re already looking faint. Go. Go. Before it’s too late!” she teased, shooing him away.

  Jack snorted as Zia dissolved into giggles, her dough-covered hands waving him off like a little queen.

  “Alright, alright! I surrender!” he laughed, backing out of the kitchen. “I’m off, I’m going!”

  ***

  After a hot bath, Jack sat on the edge of his bed, towel-drying his hair. “I’m going to have to track the four of them down,” he muttered to himself. “Six days before I start work. I can’t afford to let this threat hang over my family.”

  He planned to stake out the Adventurers Guild, watch for any sign of the four adventurers, and trail them one by one. With months of experience tracking Greaves in his past life, he knew how to move unnoticed.

  He dressed, pulling out the dark cloak he’d taken from the rat-faced rogue. When worn, it would cover most of his clothing. “That’ll do for a start,” he murmured, rolling it up and storing it in his pack. “I’ll need to buy a mask… and figure out how to hide the bow’s colour.”

  Jack picked up the white oak bow, frowning at the bloodstains. “Wait… wasn’t there a stain on one of the durability runes?” He remembered a little smear of blood that should have been impossible to clean off without damaging the rune’s delicate etching.

  “Where did it go? Did it… fade?” he muttered, puzzled. He’d tried washing those stains days ago with no luck. He double-checked the durability rune. “Still intact. That’s so strange.”

  Shaking his head, he focused back on his plan. He slipped into Polly’s room and rummaged through one of her tailoring supply boxes for something to wrap the white oak bow shaft.

  “Nope… nope… ah, perfect.” He pulled out a thin strip of black material. “Probably just an offcut. Polly won’t miss it.” He hurried back to his room.

  A few cuts with a pair of scissors, and a little time later, Jack had wrapped the bow in the cloth and tugged on it to tighten the knot. He held it up like he was about to nock an arrow. “Hmm… needs to be tighter.” He unwrapped the material and rewrapped it; this time, making sure to pull the cloth taut with each wrap.

  Minutes later, Jack admired the result with a grin. “Much better. They won’t recognise it now.”

  “Jack! Food’s ready!” his mom called from the kitchen.

  “Be there in a minute!” he called back, hanging the now black bow on the valve where he kept it out of reach of little hands.

  ***

  The kitchen table was already set when Jack arrived, his cheeks still flushed from the bath, hair still damp. A large steaming pot of ramen noodles sat in the centre, fragrant with herbs, garlic, and rich broth. Alongside it sat a basket of fresh-baked bread; Zia’s bread, judging by the lumpy shapes and the proud little smile on her face.

  “Delicious, Mom,” Jack said, slurping up another mouthful of noodles. “Zia, did you help with this?”

  Zia nodded. “I made bread!”

  Anna ruffled her silver hair. “She did. Kneaded the dough, shaped the loaves. Zia did everything herself. They came out beautifully. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Zia said, her cheeks flushing pink again.

  Jack tore off a piece of crusty bread and dipped it into his broth. “Tastes amazing. You’re a natural baker.”

  Zia beamed, her little feet swinging under the table.

  Nearby, baby Richard lay in his cradle, gurgling and waving tiny fists in the air. Every so often, Anna leaned over to tickle his tummy or make a scrunched-up face, drawing delighted squeals and little kicking feet.

  “Look at you, little warrior,” Jack said, reaching over to tap Richard’s nose. “One day you’ll be running circles around us all.”

  Richard responded with a gummy smile and a happy burble.

  Dinner was filled with easy chatter: Zia recounted how the dough had puffed up ‘like magic,’ Anna shared a funny memory of when Polly was little and tried to bake a cake out of mud, and Jack joined in, teasing and laughing along.

  Zia brought over the last loaf. It was shaped a little like a dragon, though it looked more like a fat lizard with stumpy legs. Jack made a show of inspecting it.

  “I don’t know, Zia… is this really a dragon?” he said, grinning. “Looks suspiciously like a cow with stubby legs and something odd going on with its udder.”

  Zia gasped in outrage. “It’s a dragon! Look, it even has dragon wings!”

  “Hmm…” Jack squinted. “Are you sure? Looks like a poor out-of-work knight saddled up a cow as his mighty steed. See. Look!” He pointed at the ‘snout’, “It even has reins.” He leaned forward in his seat and pretended to ride the saddled cow. “Giddy up, little cow!” He waved his arms in the air. “We have a kingdom to save!” He pointed forward like he was holding a sword, about to go into battle.

  Anna chuckled, shaking her head as she wiped her hands on a cloth. “Don’t tease her, Jack.”

  “I’m not teasing,” Jack smiled, breaking off a piece of bread and popping it into his mouth. “I’m complimenting. It’s a brave knight’s delicious cow-steed.”

  Zia giggled so hard she almost fell off her chair, clinging to the edge to keep from sliding off.

  After dinner, the kitchen settled into a warm, quiet hum. Anna rocked Richard in her arms, humming to soothe him to sleep. Zia, determined to ‘help like a grown-up,’ stacked dishes on the counter, her little tongue poking out in concentration. Then set to work cleaning them.

  Jack leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, watching the peaceful scene. For a brief, golden moment, the weight on his shoulders eased. This was what he was fighting for. Dad will be at work now, and Polly is with her friends rehearsing, he thought. I have to keep them all safe.

  He’d do anything to keep his family safe. Rising, Jack returned to his room to collect his things. After double-checking his gear, he headed back out to begin his stakeout at the Adventurers Guild.