The bell above the door didn’t just chime; it rattled like a warning.Henry didn’t look up from the workbench. He was elbows-deep in a batch of rye, the dough resisting him with a stubbornness that felt personal. "We’re closed for another hour. Unless you’re the tax collector, in which case, we’re closed forever.""I’m not a tax collector," a thin, strained voice rasped. "Do I look like I have a steady paycheck?"Henry wiped a glob of flour from his eye and squinted. Standing by the counter was a girl who looked like she’d been dragged through a hedge backward—and the hedge had won. She was maybe nineteen, wearing leather armor so cracked it looked like parched earth. A rusted dagger dangled precariously from a frayed belt."You look like you’ve been living in a ditch, Elara," Henry said, sighing as he set the rye aside. "What happened to that 'big score' you were bragging about last week?"Elara scowled, though it was hard to tell behind the streaks of dirt on her face. "The ruins ar

The door didn’t just open; it groaned under the weight of a man who looked like he’d spent the last decade chewing on gravel.Kaelen didn’t look like an adventurer. He looked like a monument to bad decisions and survived wars. His leather armor was scarred, his beard was a thicket of grey and grit, and his eyes had the flat, dangerous sheen of a man who had seen exactly how much a human body could leak before it stopped moving."I’m closed, Kaelen," Henry said, not looking up from the tray of dough he was scoring with a razor. "The morning rush ended an hour ago. Come back when the sun hits the weather-vane.""The girl, Elara. She’s been running her mouth at the 'Rusty Tankard,'" Kaelen growled. His voice sounded like two grindstones meeting."She has a lot of mouth to run. What’s she saying now? That I’m secretly a prince in exile?""She’s saying she took a spiked-log trap to the chest and walked away because of a piece of bread." Kaelen stepped further into the shop. The floorboards

"You’re going to die, Henry. And I’m going to have to explain to the guards why I’m standing over your flour-dusted corpse."Henry didn’t look up from the iron-bound trapdoor. He was busy wedging a pry bar into the seam where the wood met the stone. "You said you wanted adventure, Elara. This is it. Basement-level adventure. Very convenient for the commute.""This isn't adventure! This is a structural hazard!" Elara hovered three feet back, her hand white-knuckling the hilt of her rusted dagger. "The Hall Master just threatened to shut you down, and your response is to break into the literal abyss? That’s not a business plan, that’s a suicide note.""Clara wants results," Henry grunted, leaning his full weight onto the bar. The iron groaned. The rhythmic hum from below spiked, vibrating through his boots and up into his molars. "She wants thirty percent more efficiency? Fine. But I can't do that with the bargain-bin grain from the Oakhaven mill. It’s too weak. It doesn't hold the mana

The clock on the wall hadn’t even struck four, but the heat in the kitchen was already at a blistering roar."Left side! Move those cooling racks or I’ll use your hand as a baguette mold!" Henry shouted over the hiss of steam."I’m moving, I’m moving!" Elara yelped, sliding a wooden tray across the flour-slicked table. "Why are there so many of them? It’s dark out. Normal people are sleeping, Henry. Normal people are dreaming of not being stepped on in a bakery!""Normal people don't have to clear a spider nest by noon," Kaelen grunted. He was leaning against the newly installed long-table in the front room, his massive arms crossed over his chest. He looked less like a mercenary and more like a bouncer for a high-stakes gambling den.Henry shoved a fresh batch of "Iron-Crust" rolls into the window. "Open the doors, Kaelen. They’re starting to kick the wood."The sound of the heavy iron bolt sliding back was the starting gun. The door swung open, and the freezing Oakhaven mist was imm

"Is he... glowing? Is that supposed to happen, or is he about to explode?" Elara whispered, shielding her eyes.The Regional Inspector didn't explode. Instead, he let out a long, shuddering breath that sounded like steam escaping a high-pressure valve. The silver embroidery on his robes pulsed with a soft, rhythmic light, mirroring the blue veins of mana now visible on the back of his hands. He took another bite of the croissant, his eyes rolling back in sheer, unadulterated bliss."He’s not exploding, Elara," Henry said, though he kept his grip tight on his heavy rolling pin. "He’s recharging.""It’s impossible!" Master Vane shrieked, his face a mottled purple as he stared at the empty vial of damp-magic sludge in his hand. "That sludge should have extinguished the hearth! It should have turned his dough into toxic lead! How is he—how is that bread doing this?"The Inspector finally opened his eyes. They weren't brown anymore; they were the color of a summer lightning storm. He looke