The Spirit Cedar hissed again, a sound like a dying snake, as Chen’s chisel bit deep into the grain. The wood didn’t just yield; it shivered. Tamsynor Night’s grip on the apron tightened, his knuckles white against the dark, oily smear of his own decaying vitality."The ring," Tamsynor wheezed, his eyes darting toward the ornate jade band. "It’s worth a city block. It’s worth your life. Take it, Chen. Make the burning stop. Give me... give me just one more year."Chen didn't look up. He focused on the wood, his hands steady despite the tremor in his own chest. "The ring is for the box, Tamsynor. It’s for the velvet lining and the brass handles. It doesn't pay for the Ledger’s pen."Tamsynor coughed, a wet, rattling sound that sprayed dark droplets across the workshop floor. "You speak as if you're a god. You’re an undertaker. You measure the dead. That’s all.""That’s where you’re wrong," Chen replied, his voice flat, devoid of the deference the youth expected. He stopped carving and