"The leak in the starboard bow is expanding exponentially!" Cassian yelled, his voice cracking as he slammed his pocket watch shut and shoved it deep into his ruined velvet pocket. "If we do not bail right now, this entire municipal vessel will become a permanent sub-surface fixture!""Stop panicking and grab the tin mug!" Saphielle shouted back, her chest heaving as she used her staff to shove off a jagged outcropping of the stone island. "We are already here! Elsinore, jump!"The frail intern didn't wait to be told twice. With a surprising burst of frantic energy, Elsinore scrambled over the splintered gunwale, landing face-first in the cold, slimy mud of the island's shoreline like a sack of discarded ledgers. Cassian scrambled after him, slipping on the algae-slick stones and sprawling into the muck right beside the intern, his satchel flying open just enough for the bronze cylinder to emit a brief, defiant hum.Behind them, with a final, pathetic groan of s

"Not to interrupt what promises to be a deeply emotional reunion between a disgraced city guard and a freelance cutthroat," Cassian panted, furiously scraping black tarn-sludge off his lapel with the edge of his pocketknife, "but Kaelen just confirmed that Dorian’s advance guard cleared the northern ridge twenty minutes ago. If we stay here debating pension schemes and hazard pay, our next audit is going be conducted in the afterlife."Saphielle didn’t lower her staff, keeping the hardened tip leveled squarely at Kaelen’s chest, though her eyes flicked toward the fog-shrouded tree line where the swamp gave way to the jagged cliffs of the upper province. "You’re entirely too comfortable trading allegiance for ledgers, Kaelen. How do I know you won't sell us out the second Dorian dangles a heavier pouch of silver?""Silver's loud, captain," Kaelen replied smoothly, hoisting his heavy steam-crossbow over his shoulder and patting the leather-bound l

"It makes it an optimal point of logistical transition," Cassian corrected sharply, dropping the canvas sacks onto a rotting wooden table with a heavy, dust-raising thud. He began unbuttoning his mud-caked velvet coat with frantic, twitchy fingers. "Furthermore, the local climate requires specialized attire if we intend to walk past Lord Vance’s private steam-guards without being immediately executed for trespassing or tax evasion. Saphielle, check the drying line by the stables."Saphielle crossed her arms, her jaw tightening as she stared down at the small civilian merchant's cart parked outside under a rotting lean-to. "You want me to steal laundry.""I want you to exercise tactical requisition of high-society garments," Cassian corrected, sliding out of his ruined jacket and tossing it onto a chair. "Lord Vance is hosting his annual Autumn Harvest Gala tonight. If we walk in wearing salt-crust and swamp-slime, we will be intercepted before we even reach the d

"While Elsinore was busy eating glowing yellow fungus and predicting our breakfast menu," Saphielle hissed, adjusting the neckline of the silk gown she had reluctantly stolen from the merchant's drying line, "you were moonlighting as a master counterfeiter. Remind me why I didn't leave you in the salt-mines.""Because my administrative acumen is the sole reason you aren't currently serving as a decorative paperweight in Dorian’s office," Cassian shot back, leaning closer to the cracked mirror to straighten his oversized burgundy velvet lapels. "Now, are we going to stand here debating my criminal versatility, or are we going to crash an aristocrat’s gala?""We are going to walk through those iron gates, endure whatever ungodly social torture you've concocted, find the third Salt-Glyph, and leave before Vance's steam-guards realize our vellum is fake," Saphielle muttered, checking the hidden sheath strapped securely against her thigh beneath the sweeping fol

"According to the blue journal's architectural cross-section, the third anchor is situated directly beneath the private bathhouse floor," Cassian whispered, his fingers deftly adjusting the silver monocle perched precariously over Elsinore’s left eye. "Which means we need to cross this ballroom without attracting the attention of Lord Vance’s private security detail, pick a brass-reinforced reinforced lock, and stabilize a magical singularity before the dessert course is served."Elsinore blinked his milky eyes, his expression completely blank as the heavy glass lens slipped down his nose. "Probability of detection by the steam-powered crossbowmen near the terrace: eighty-four percent. Probability of you ruining your burgundy velvet suit in the subterranean drainage sludge: one hundred percent.""Thank you for that deeply encouraging meteorological report, Elsinore," Cassian muttered, catching the monocle before it hit the polished marble floor. "Now, stay