Cain ate like an unwelcome guest at first, surrounded by a family of strangers. He’d never been good at relaxing outside of adventuring.

  Anna insisted he have seconds. He tried to refuse, muttering something about not wanting to be a burden.

  “Nonsense,” she said, already piling more stew into his bowl. “You’ve lost half your bodyweight since you walked through the door.”

  Cain opened his mouth to protest again, then closed it. The stew was too good. He ate the second bowl faster than the first.

  When Anna offered thirds, he lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. You win. Gods, this is better than anything I’ve had in a tavern… or anywhere really. Most of the time, I’m eating something that I have to guess the species of.” Most of his meals were hunched in taverns over mystery meat pies or wolfed down on the road before something tried to eat him. But here, in the warmth of the kitchen, surrounded by the scent of fresh bread and laughter, something began to soften in him.

  Polly wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

  “How are you not as fat as a cow ready for slaughter?” Cain asked Jack’s father.

  Their dad chuckled. “I had to learn self-restraint fast.”

  Anna laughed. “Not at first, you didn’t.” She patted her stomach. “I remember the extra belly you grew in your twenties.”

  Her husband gave a rare, hearty laugh. “Too true. You need a will of iron to live with a great cook.”

  Anna gave him a smile for the compliment.

  Jack’s dad turned to Cain. “That arm giving you much trouble?”

  Cain glanced at the cheap, hooked prosthetic. “More annoying than anything. I can’t fight with it. And the ones that respond like a real limb cost more than I make in two years.” He frowned. “And that was before I lost an arm.”

  Despite being intimidated by the giant adventurer, Polly couldn’t help herself. “You could always become a bandit… a one-armed bandit.”

  Polly smirked, but Jack could see a hint of apprehension behind the confidence.

  Cain smiled, then gave a roar of laughter. Other than Zia, they all laughed.

  Jack explained the joke to Zia, but the little girl from Brindlecross had never seen a slot machine before, so she still didn’t find it funny.

  Their father rubbed his beard. “I know an inventor from the Academy. He’s a bit odd, but brilliant. He’s looking for someone to test a new kind of prosthetic limb. It’s an experimental model where they add runic channel inscriptions directly into the severed limb. He claims it’ll give better responsiveness than the current mechanical designs.”

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  Jack recalled that type of design from his past life. Though they hadn’t become widespread due to the cost. 50 gold for the cheaper versions. They were used by those without the thousands of gold to afford a Master Healer.

  Cain looked up. “He’s not asking for coin?”

  “Not a copper. Just wants detailed feedback. And maybe someone with thick enough skin to handle it if it goes wrong. You could lose more of your arm.”

  Cain considered that for a long moment. “If it means I can hold a sword again… I’d like his name.”

  Jack’s dad nodded and scribbled the contact details down on a slip of paper. “Tell him I sent you.”

  Cain folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you.”

  Their father smiled.

  By the end of the meal, Cain looked fuller and more at peace than when Jack first met him.

  When it was time to leave, Zia clung to Cain with one final hug. “Promise you’ll visit?”

  He hugged her. “I swear it. Whenever I can.”

  “You’d better,” Zia threatened. “Or I’ll come find you.”

  Cain laughed. “I don’t doubt that, little warrior.”

  Zia smiled at the new nickname.

  Jack walked Cain to the courtyard outside. The night air was chilled and still. Cain pulled his cloak tighter.

  “That mask you were wearing earlier,” Cain said as they reached the gate.

  Jack stiffened. He thought of the adventurers he’d killed and the three that still wanted him dead. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in. But if you ever need help…” Cain looked him dead in the eye. “Find me at the Guild.”

  Jack nodded. “Thanks. I will.” He glanced back towards the front door, checking Zia was out of earshot. “What happened to Zia’s family?”

  Cain frowned. “During the undead attack, Zia’s mother was knocked into a river. Her dad jumped in to save her. Last I saw, Arlen—that’s her father—was holding his wife above the water as they were swept downstream.”

  “Any chance they could survive?” Jack asked.

  “Arlen was a Journeyman Warrior, like me.” Cain leaned against the wall. “He served in the King’s Army. A good fighter and as brave as they come. I’ve no doubt he got himself and his wife to dry land. The problem is, the river flows into Wraith’s Corridor.” He paused to gauge Jack’s reaction. Jack’s eyes had widened. “I see you’ve heard of the place. No one gets out of Wraith’s Corridor.”

  Jack nodded. “Poor kid.”

  “She’s strong-willed,” Cain said. “I’m glad she’s found a new family. I won’t forget this. Need any help, find me at the Guild.” He patted Jack on the shoulder with his left hand. “Anything, Jack. I owe you big time.”

  Jack braced himself. Shit! That’s some shoulder pat. He felt like he’d been hit with a rubber mallet.

  “Oh, and thank your mother again for the meal.” Cain patted his stomach. “I haven’t felt this full in years. You’re a lucky man having a mom like that.”

  Jack nodded as he noted a brief, forlorn expression from the huge adventurer. “She’s a wonderful mom.”

  Cain smiled, then turned and vanished into the darkened street, his footsteps fading into the quiet.

  Jack stood in the gateway for a while, staring after him. The stars above blinked into place, one by one. He watched them, wondering just how many promises a man could make before the world made him break them.

  ***

  Jack spent a couple of hours creating a partial copy of the unencrypted blood magic grimoire. “That should be more than enough to prove Baron Greaves and the others are blood mages.” He’d limited what he copied to material that couldn’t be used to hurt anyone.

  He put the new pages with the rest of his evidence against Greaves and the others and got into bed. He planned to anonymously share the information with the Inquisition in the morning. If I’m lucky, they’ll arrest Baron Greaves before the hunt. It was a tight timeline, but the Inquisition wasn’t known for messing around, they tended to act and worry about the consequences afterwards.