Morning sun cut through the gaps between buildings as the carriage rattled through Thornhaven's streets. John had claimed the cargo bed. Less a claim than a necessity, really, given how many supplies they'd loaded. Crates of vegetables and sacks of grain surrounded him on all sides, leaving William and Reynolds the bench up front.

  The new driver handled the reins like he'd been doing it for years. Leon had promoted Reynolds from the griffin stables when John mentioned needing William at the orphanage. Apparently the man had a gift for handling temperamental creatures. Useful qualification for both griffins and noble families, John supposed.

  "Strange, isn't it?" William's voice carried back over the sound of hooves on cobblestone. "The Valebrants have been good to me. And here I am, leaving them for a haunted mansion."

  "The orphanage needs you," John said, shifting to avoid a particularly sharp corner on a crate. "They don’t."

  William chuckled softly at that, the sound warm in the morning air.

  John settled back against a sack of grain and watched the city roll past. After the drop-off, Reynolds would take him to the enchanter’s district. His sneakers were starting to show wear. A durability enchantment would be a good start, and it beat trying to get exact replicas made of shoes that didn't exist in this world.

  John’s eyes drifted to the shop windows as they passed.

  A man was standing outside a cooper’s shop, hands folded loosely behind his back. Not browsing. Not talking. Just watching the street.

  John's gaze slid past him at first, dismissing it. Then the carriage rolled forward another few paces, and the reflection in the next window showed the man turn his head. Just enough to keep the carriage in view.

  John frowned.

  The carriage rounded a corner, leaving the cooper's shop behind.

  When John glanced back, the man was gone. Vanished into the crowd as if he'd never been there.

  Probably nothing, he told himself. Thornhaven was crowded. People stared at carriages all the time, especially ones bearing Valebrant colors.

  Still.

  The game memory surfaced unbidden.

  Grey Ledger questlines started like this.

  John shifted in his seat, peering between crates at the street behind them.

  Two streets later, he caught it again.

  This time it was a woman leaning against a stone wall near a bakery, idly flipping a copper coin between her fingers. She didn't look up as the carriage passed, her attention seemed fixed on the coin's lazy rotation through the air. But the moment they drew level, the coin stopped spinning.

  John looked away immediately, keeping his expression neutral.

  Hmm.

  The mansion appeared ahead, weathered stone and overgrown gardens, but the windows gleamed clean in the morning light.

  Reynolds brought the carriage to a smooth stop in the circular drive. "We're here."

  John climbed down from the back, stretching muscles that had gone stiff from being wedged between supplies. William was already moving toward the door where Cara had appeared, wiping her hands on an apron.

  "You're early," she said, but she was smiling. "Father Bevin is still blessing the rooms."

  "We brought everything on the list," William said, already reaching for a crate. Their hands brushed as she helped steady it, and they both smiled like idiots.

  John grabbed a sack of grain and headed inside, leaving them to their moment.

  The work went quickly with three of them moving in a steady rhythm, hauling supplies in repeated trips between carriage and pantry.

  Father Bevin appeared eventually, leaning heavily on his cane as he made his slow way through the stocked rooms. His prayers echoed through the mansion's halls, steady and certain, making it feel less haunted and more… settled.

  Emily drifted through the doorway as John set down the last crate, Edward close behind her. They moved together now, naturally, like they’d been married for decades instead of days.

  "The children's rooms are nearly ready," Emily said, practically glowing with happiness.

  "You and Edward are going to be amazing at this," John said.

  She smiled and disappeared through the wall with Edward following close behind.

  "They arrive tomorrow," Cara said, looking over the stocked pantry with satisfaction. "We're ready."

  William beamed at her. They'd be fine. All of them would.

  John left them to it and climbed back into the carriage, settling into the back among the now-empty crates. Reynolds took his place on the driver's bench, gathering the reins.

  "Enchanter's district?" he asked, glancing back.

  John hesitated, his eyes drifting to the street beyond the gates. To the city rolling past.

  "Change of plans," John said. "Westbrook estates."

  There was a pause. Then Reynolds clicked his tongue at the horses, and the carriage started moving, wheels creaking softly as they rolled back onto the main road.

  John watched the city roll past. The Grey Ledger had to know about him by now. Eric the Red at least. Possibly the Tree. Maybe the Mindbreaker. Information was their business, and John had made enough noise.

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  Were they just watching him? Or did they want something.

  John had a pretty good idea which.

  The thing growing beneath the city was a scaling encounter. You could tackle it at any Rank, but smart players saved it for later. Better loot as the dungeon evolved into something more intricate. A proper endgame dungeon crawl.

  But the world wasn't following the script anymore. Things were happening too fast, too early. What if it couldn't wait?

  Besides, it was easier with the key. And if he cleared it now, the experience might push him straight to Rank 2. Or close enough, at least.

  The Westbrook estates rolled into view ahead. Houses here sat close, with iron gates and private gardens. Wealth on display in every carefully maintained detail. Rich enough for high walls, not rich enough for true space.

  "Keep circling the block," John called forward, opening the carriage door. "I won't be long."

  Reynolds glanced back, confusion crossing his face. "Sir?"

  John swung out and hit the ground running as the carriage rolled on, and sprinted for the back wall.

  When he glanced back, Reynolds was staring at him, reins slack in his hands, mouth slightly open.

  John checked the street. A merchant two houses down, focused on his cart. A servant walking the opposite direction, head down. Clear enough.

  Then he laughed under his breath and ran at the wall. He jumped, caught the top edge with both hands, and hauled himself over in one smooth motion. The drop on the other side jarred his knees, but he stayed upright and kept moving.

  Manicured gardens stretched before him. Hedges trimmed into geometric shapes. A fountain in the distance, water catching sunlight. Nobody in sight.

  John moved quickly across the lawn, keeping low out of instinct more than necessity, and headed for the rear entrance. A servant's door, less likely to be watched.

  John slipped inside and eased it shut behind him, careful not to let the latch click. A servant's corridor stretched before him, dim lighting from small windows near the ceiling. The bones of the house that guests never saw.

  He moved quickly but quietly, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

  Somewhere deeper in the estate, voices murmured in conversation. Low, unhurried, the sound of people who weren’t expecting trouble.

  Footsteps crossed an intersecting hallway to his left. A woman humming softly to herself. A broom rasped against stone.

  John pressed himself against the wall and stayed absolutely still until the sounds faded into the distance. Then he moved again.

  The stone walls were broken by the occasional alcove or storage door. He followed them instinctively, keeping to the edges, pausing at every corner to listen before advancing.

  He reached a junction and peered around the corner—

  A maid stood barely ten paces away, adjusting a vase on a side table with intense focus. Middle-aged, neat uniform. She shifted the vase a fraction of an inch to the left. Frowned. Moved it back. Tilted her head, considering.

  John leaned back into the shadow of the doorway, holding his breath.

  The seconds stretched.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity of minute adjustments, she nodded to herself and continued down the hall. Her footsteps receded gradually, fading into the ambient sounds of the estate.

  John let out his breath slowly and kept moving.

  He found a narrow staircase tucked behind a tapestry depicting a hunting scene. Stylized riders chasing an abstract, many-eyed stag through a forest of gold-threaded trees.

  The stairs spiraled upward, carpeted in thick fabric that swallowed the sound of his steps almost entirely. John climbed carefully, listening for voices or movement from above.

  At the top, he eased open a door and found himself in a different world entirely.

  Sunlight poured in through tall arched windows. The walls were lined with art—too much of it. More than any reasonable person would display. Paintings stacked between ornate sconces. Sculptures on marble pedestals. Framed relics and curios mounted in careful symmetry.

  John moved slowly, eyes scanning as he walked.

  Portraits of stern ancestors in elaborate dress. Landscapes of impossible places. Abstract pieces that looked more like magical residue than intentional design. Some were beautiful. Some were disturbing.

  He ignored them all.

  Mounted alone on the far wall, isolated from the crowded collection around it, was a mask.

  Stone. Unpainted. Completely unadorned.

  It was simple in a way nothing else here was. No gilding, no jewels, no exaggeration. The features were smooth and human, but subtly off. The eyes were hollow. The mouth was closed, neither smiling nor frowning.

  It looked almost human. But whatever had carved it hadn't quite understood how a human face should work.

  "Found you," John murmured under his breath.

  He reached up and worked the mask free from its mount. It came away with a soft, gritty scrape, and dust fell from behind it in a thin cascade, drifting down to settle on the floor.

  He turned the mask in his hands. It was heavier than it looked, perfectly balanced, the inside smooth and shallow. Clearly meant to be worn.

  "Hello."

  John almost dropped it.

  He spun, mask clutched to his chest.

  A child stood at the far end of the hallway. Eight, maybe nine years old. Dark hair pulled back in an elaborate braid, wearing an expensive dress that looked uncomfortable. She held a leather-bound book against her chest and stared at John with wide, curious eyes that showed no fear at all.

  "Are you robbing us?" the child asked.

  "Yeah." He held up the mask slightly. "But just this."

  "Good."

  John frowned. "Why?"

  "It's wrong." She took a step closer, book clutched tight. "The servants won't look at it. I have dreams about it. Where it—" She stopped, swallowing. "Father won't listen. He says it’s just an old relic."

  "Did your father ever wear this?"

  Her face went pale. "Once."

  Silence.

  "What happened?" he asked gently, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

  She blinked rapidly, not quite crying. Her jaw worked for a moment before she found the words.

  "Mother made him put it back on the wall."

  John really looked at her then. The way she stood. Too still. Too controlled.

  "I know a place," he said carefully. "Safe. With good people."

  Her expression didn’t change.

  "No," she said.

  Footsteps echoed somewhere below. Adult voices, coming closer.

  The girl’s eyes widened slightly before her expression smoothed back to neutrality. "You should go."

  John exhaled through his nose. "Yeah."

  He slipped the mask into his spatial ring. The air felt lighter immediately.

  "Don’t come back," she added.

  He turned and moved.

  Down the hall. Into the stairwell. Taking the steps two at a time, no longer careful about silence, his footsteps loud in the enclosed space.

  Behind him, voices reached the top floor. People started shouting in confusion, in alarm.

  John didn't slow down. Through the servant's corridor, out the back door, over the wall.

  By the time they figured out what had happened, John was already gone.