DEREK MORRISON CAME BACK FOR REVENGE

Chapter 5

Sophia pressed her lips together. The argument was still sitting behind her teeth, fully formed, ready to come out, but even she knew there were lines on this mountain that no one crossed, and defying a direct order from Master Zachariah in his own house was one of them.

The four of them went quiet.

Derek looked at them once more — steady, honest then turned back toward the herbs still spread across the stone table.

"I have to pack," he said. "Sort the rest of those while I am gone. The ones on the left are still good. The ones on the right need drying again before you store them."

His room in the stone dwelling was small the way every room on this mountain was small, not cramped, just honest about what a person actually needed. A sleeping mat rolled against the wall. A low wooden chest. A shelf of texts so old the pages had turned the color of aged teeth. He had lived in this room for fifteen years, and in those fifteen years he had never once felt it was too small for him.

He pulled the chest open.

He did not own much that could be called a possession a few robes, some tools for his work, things that belonged to the mountain more than they belonged to him. Everything that truly mattered he carried inside himself, built into his bones through years most people would not survive a single month of.

He had just begun folding his second robe when he heard footsteps in the doorway.

All four of them. Of course.

Sophia came in first, carrying something in both hands a long cloth case, dark blue, tied at both ends with silver cord. She held it out to him without a word, which was unusual enough for her that it made Derek actually stop and look at her face. There was no edge in it right now. She was just standing there, offering what she carried.

"Open it," she said.

He took the case and untied the cord.

Inside, resting against silk the color of deep water, lay a set of acupuncture needles. Twelve of them, each the length of his middle finger, catching the light from the doorway in a way ordinary metal never could. They were gold — not gold-plated, not gold-colored, but true gold, refined to the exact purity the old healing techniques demanded, the purity that let it channel energy without resistance.

Immediately Derek went still.

He lifted one needle between two fingers and held it to the light. The balance was perfect. The tip narrowed to a point so fine it nearly disappeared when he looked at it straight on.

"These are—" He stopped. "Sophia, these are Grade Seven conductors. Your family makes these."

"The only family left in the western territory that still knows how," she said, matter-of-fact in the way she only got when something actually mattered to her. "My father sent them three months ago. I have been holding on to them. They were supposed to be your birthday gift." She paused. "But you can have them now."

Derek looked at her.

She looked back, and for just a moment the usual Sophia — the one who pushed and tested and never let anything show all the way through was just a young woman standing in a doorway, saying goodbye the only way she knew how.

"These are worth a fortune on the open market," Derek said. "Sophia, I cannot—"

"You can and you will," she said. "Do not make this stranger than it already is."

He held her gaze a moment longer, then set the needle back into its silk, closed the case, and placed it in the chest.

"Thank you," he said.

Madison stepped forward next, holding a wooden crate no bigger than both her fists together. Inside, packed tightly in dark cloth, sat six small clay jars, each sealed with wax and marked with old characters.

"Herb compounds," Madison said. "Six blends from my family's collection. My mother sent them last season." She lifted the crate slightly, showing him. "One for deep tissue damage. One for bone fracture recovery. One that speeds energy circulation. One that treats blood disease at the root. One for nerve damage." She paused. "And one for fertility."

Derek raised an eyebrow.

Madison did not look embarrassed at all. "You are going to work among people again, Derek. Women will be chasing you the moment they see your face. You will need it."

She said it with a trace of jealousy she did not bother hiding.

He took the crate and looked over the jars, able to smell them even through the wax the deep, layered scent of compounds that took years to prepare properly, ingredients that could not be rushed. He recognized every one. These were formulas that existed in only three or four family lines across the entire country.

"Madison." He looked up at her. "This is—"

"I know what it is," she said quietly. "Take care of yourself."

The last part came out sadder than the rest.

He set the crate in the chest beside the needle case.

Brooklyn was last.

She walked in carrying nothing he could see, her hands at her sides. Then she reached into the fold of her inner robe and pulled out something flat and rectangular a card, gold on one side, matte black on the other, with a seal pressed into its surface he did not immediately recognize.

She held it out to him, he took it and turned it over.

The seal on the front showed a double phoenix, an old symbol, older than anything the current major families used. Beneath it, in fine print, ran a line of text he read twice.

"Universal Access Open Clearance. Valid for entry, recognition, and passage across all registered medical, academic, and professional institutions under the Continental family circle."

Immediately he looked up at Brooklyn.

"I have been keeping that for a year," she said, arms folded, chin lifted, though her voice did something complicated underneath the surface. "I knew you would need it someday. Maybe not today, maybe not right away, but someday." She shrugged one shoulder, too casual, the way a person gets casual when they have been thinking about something for a very long time. "Consider it an open door. When the time comes, use it."

Derek held the card and studied it.

A card like this did not get made. It got inherited, or earned over decades inside a family, or gifted once in a long while between people who trusted each other completely. He had read about them in Master Zachariah's old texts, but he had never actually held one before.

He looked at Brooklyn.

Brooklyn looked back, doing the thing she always did when she did not want anyone to see what was happening in her face staring at a point just past his left ear instead of at him directly.

"Brooklyn," he said.

"Do not get sentimental about it," she said immediately.

"I am not getting sentimental." He held up the card. "This is a serious gift."

"I know it is." Her jaw moved. "That is why I gave it to you and not someone who would waste it."

He placed the card in the chest.

Then he stood, turned, and looked at all four of them standing in his small room Sophia with her arms loose at her sides for once, Madison with her hands folded in front of her, Brooklyn with her chin still lifted and her eyes still finding the wall behind him, and Savannah standing quietly near the door with her arms crossed, watching everything without a word. Two years of mornings on this mountain. Two years of training together, eating together, learning together, arguing over technique until Master Zachariah walked in from wherever he had been and told them all to be quiet.

"I am going to miss this place," Derek said. "I am going to miss all four of you."

Sophia looked like she wanted to say something sharp back and chose not to.

Madison nodded once, quiet.

Savannah finally spoke, her voice rougher than usual. "Do not get yourself killed out there. If you die before I get to see you again, I will drag you back from the afterlife myself."

Brooklyn said, "Do not you dare have a woman in the city, because I am coming soon," and turned and walked out of the room first, so no one would see whatever was happening on her face right then.

Derek left at first light, heading toward the West family estate.