It didn't take us long to get changed, and once we were done, we set off.
There was always a little tension during this part of the plan when we were walking through unfamiliar areas, pretending we belonged, but we had a trick for that. We chatted casually, tossed a few jokes around. Laughter was disarming. It shifted the mood from cautious to cheerful, and cheerful people didn't invite suspicion.
Most people didn't want to be the one to ruin the fun, and even if they did, they'd usually approach with an apology, and that suited us just fine.
As we passed the house, I found myself looking through the windows. Not even to see if anyone was there, instead, I wanted to see what the inside looked like. I was curious about whether they had spent as much effort on the inside as they did the outside. Of course the answer was yes.
As we passed the house, I found myself glancing through the windows. Not to check for danger, but out of curiosity. I wanted to see whether the inside matched the beauty of the garden.
Of course it did.
From what little I could make out, it was stunning. Art lined the walls. Paintings of a lake framed by distant mountains. A polished wooden dining table sat at the centre of the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs. A wrought-iron candle holder stood proudly in the middle like a centrepiece of quiet wealth.
I almost wished we could linger a little longer, just to take it all in.
Something about the space stirred something in me. A dream I hadn't known I carried.
Maybe this was what a good life looked like.
A peaceful life.
One away from the problems of our side of town, away from the weight of my family, and far from shady backroom deals.
In my mind, the owners of this house had regular, unremarkable jobs. Maybe even boring ones. But coming home to a place like this? That would make any work feel worthwhile.
The money from this job would likely be enough to fund a change in our lifestyles. It could even be enough to kickstart a career. I think Morgana would be happy to leave the thieving behind, and I know Dillon definitely would. At that moment, I resolved myself to get us out of a life of crime.
To get a home like this.
A life of peace sounded better than a life of conflict to me.
We slipped out onto the street without incident. No curious neighbours stepping outside, no guards on the corner. The house windows around us glowed softly with light, but the curtains made it hard to tell if anyone was watching. Either way, no one looked like a threat.
"If I'm right, we're about four streets from Marky's contact," Dillon said.
"Oh, that's better than I thought," I replied. I'd assumed we'd wandered much farther.
Dillon shook his head. "We weren't that far off to begin with, so hopping the fences didn't put us back much."
"Alright, lead the way."
I followed, but my mind was still half-stuck on that house and the life it represented. I knew I needed to shake it off and focus. We weren't out yet—and getting sloppy now would undo everything.
That point was driven home a second later, when the sharp shout of a guard patrol echoed down the street.
"That's not far from here," Morgana said, glancing over her shoulder. "I think they might be a street behind us."
"Should we speed up?" Dillon asked.
"No," I said quickly. "Let's keep our pace. We're not drawing attention right now, and sudden changes will only make us look suspicious."
"Fast walk then," Morgana decided. "Keep smiling. Laugh now and then. Make it look like we're just some normal kids out for a stroll."
She was the best when it came to confidence tricks, so I let her take the lead.
We picked up the pace slightly, throwing in the occasional laugh and casual shoulder bump. It wasn't much, but it worked. The voices behind us faded as we turned the next corner and stepped onto the street where Marky's contact supposedly lived.
"Keep an eye out for a jade statue," I said, scanning the homes.
It didn't take long to find it.
"I'm guessing that's it," I said, pointing toward a massive green sculpture of a woman holding a spear.
"Wow," Morgana breathed. "I didn't think it'd be that big."
"Neither did I," Dillon muttered in awe. "Do you know how much jade costs?"
Morgana and I shared a shrug. Dillon took that as his cue.
"About one coin per kilo. And jade's dense. That statue alone could be worth enough to set us up for life."
My eyes widened. That much money, sitting unguarded on someone's lawn, was basically an open challenge to any would-be thief. It wasn't just wealth.
It was a statement.
You only displayed something like that if you knew, without a doubt, you could protect it.
Whoever we were meeting wasn't just rich. They were dangerous.
To be honest, if I'd known this from the start, I might've thought twice about getting involved. Getting on the radar of someone this powerful could go very wrong. Especially if they decided the whole train job had been more trouble than it was worth. Then again, if anyone could shield us from the wrath of the nobility, it'd be someone who operated at their level.
"Fingers crossed they're magnanimous in their power," I muttered as we approached the house.
As we got closer, I noticed more sculptures decorating the surrounding gardens. They were smaller pieces tucked among the hedges and flowerbeds. In this neighbourhood of artisans, it must've been a status thing. Maybe even a form of advertisement: Look what I can do.
We reached the house just as a trio of guards turned the corner at the far end of the street. We didn't need to say anything—instinct kicked in and we surged forward, practically leaping up the steps onto the porch. The overhang gave us some cover. Unless the guards came halfway down the street, we were safe for now.
The door before us was striking. A round slab of deep red wood, perfectly painted without a single chip or flake. In the centre sat a jade knocker shaped like a clenched fist. Solid. Heavy. No way this was ornamental.
I wondered if it had been carved from the same vein of jade as the statue, or if the homeowner simply had a thing for the stone. Either way, it made a statement.
I lifted the knocker and gave the door three sharp raps. The sound echoed deep and low. It was solid, like the door itself was braced by stone. Not even a tremor ran through the frame.
This wasn't a door just built for beauty. No, this was built for strength.
I stepped back from the door and exchanged a glance with my friends. We all understood what a reinforced entrance usually meant: either someone had tried to break in before… or there was something inside that was worth protecting. Considering the jade statue was sitting outside with no visible guards, I found myself increasingly curious about what might be within.
I didn't have long to wonder. The door swung open with surprising speed.
Standing before us was a towering man, broad-shouldered despite the slight stoop in his posture. His hair was steel-grey, swept back neatly, and he wore a textured green suit with matching shoes that looked tailored to perfection. His scarred right hand hung by his side – relaxed, but unmistakably capable, beside it, a sheathed knife rested at his hip.
"Come in," he said, his voice softer than I expected.
He stepped aside, and we didn't need to be told twice. We slipped inside quickly, our footsteps muffled by the polished floor.
As I passed through, I glanced back at the door. It had to be at least ten inches thick, yet it had moved with the ease of a silk curtain when he'd shut it. That was some impressive craftsmanship.
To the left of the door was a standing rack filled with umbrellas and canes, each one finer than anything I'd ever owned. Most were sleek and black, but every handle was uniquely carved in the form of birds, beasts, and twisted vines. Each were little sculptures in their own right.
I took in the hallway, letting my eyes roam the walls. Paintings lined the corridor, all framed in gold. But they weren't the grand, self-important portraits I expected. These showed everyday people: farmers reaping harvests, seamstresses mending tears, fishermen casting lines, miners, blacksmiths mid-swing. Beneath each painting was a small plaque, the names of the artists neatly etched in silver.
I barely had time to read one before the man spoke again.
"I wasn't sure you would make it."
"Neither were we," I admitted. "There are guards chasing us."
"They were just down the street," Morgana added, brushing hair behind her ear.
He didn't seem concerned. "No need to worry. They won't come in here."
He pointed toward a door farther down the hall. "Let's talk in the sitting room."
We followed him without question and entered a warm, dimly lit lounge. The three of us sank into a deep grey couch while he moved to close the curtains, then settled onto the one across from us with a sigh.
"Forgive my manners," he said. "I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Erick. Erick Stanson."
He extended a hand. I took it without hesitation. His grip was firm, but not aggressive.
"Brandon," I said.
"Morgana."
"Dillon."
He raised an eyebrow, only slightly but I caught the meaning. He'd noticed our omission of surnames. He didn't comment on it though, which I appreciated.
"A pleasure," Erick said with a nod. "Especially since your presence here means Marky's little scheme was a success."
"Indeed," Morgana replied. "We completed the job. Now, we just need a way home."
Erick's smile grew, and he leaned back slightly. "Then I suppose we have business to wrap up."
At his request, we recounted everything—how we boarded the train, how we identified the targets, the fight, the loot, the escape. He listened with the attentiveness of someone used to sitting through high-level negotiations. Always meeting our eyes, always nodding at the right times. When he didn't understand something, he asked. Not with condescension, but with curiosity.
And as the words spilled out, I found myself relaxing more than I expected. The couch was soft. The lighting was gentle. For a moment, it felt like we were back at home, talking to an uncle we actually liked.
"...and then we found this beautiful garden while escaping the guards," I was saying. "There was a pond with these curious little fish and trees I didn't even recognise. It was like something out of a dream."
Erick's eyes lit up. "Ah. You stumbled into Collin's haven. Remarkable space, isn't it?"
"You know the owner?" I asked.
"I helped him design it," he said with pride. "Sourced some of those trees myself. He's an old friend. I trust you didn't ruin the place?"
I shook my head quickly. "No! Of course not. We wouldn't dare. It felt like a slice of heaven."
Erick chuckled. "I'll have to tell him he's gained new admirers."
"That won't be necessary," I said, shifting a little. "We'd rather not draw attention right now…"
He waved it off like a mild inconvenience. "Collin couldn't care less about the guards. And as for your journey… you'll be home before they even realise you've left the area."
He stood with ease. "Help yourselves to something from the drinks trolley. I'll go make sure everything is ready for your return."
With a smile and a final nod, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.
He smiled and left the room, closing the door behind him.
"That went better than I expected," Dillon said, easing onto the couch.
"He's so nice!" Morgana beamed. "I thought he'd be like Marky. Maybe worse because of where we are… But he's great."
"Yeah, he's so easy to talk to," I added. "I wonder if that's why he doesn't bother protecting the statue. Maybe he just gets along with everyone."
The drinks trolley nearby was stocked with bottles of all shapes and sizes, many filled with liquids I'd never seen before. Some glowed faintly. Others were so dark they seemed to absorb light. Judging by Dillon's expression, Erick had taste... and coin.
"Some of these are worth more than we'd earn in ten years," he muttered in awe, picking up a squat bottle filled with amber liquid. "Do you think he meant we could actually drink some?"
I shrugged. "He seemed like he meant it."
I grabbed a different bottle, turned it over in my hands, then popped the stopper. One sniff and I reeled back because it felt like it set my nose hairs on fire. Grimacing, I corked it again and put it back.
"I'll let you pick."
While Morgana and Dillon deliberated, I wandered to the other side of the room to inspect the sculptures on display.
The first was a metal bust of a crying man. The craftsmanship was incredible. I could almost feel the sorrow in his contorted expression, see the tension in the tendons of his neck. I tapped the top of the head. Hollow. It still felt heavy though. Even if it was just the emotional weight.
The table it sat on was just as impressive. It looked like a single piece of wood, seamlessly carved, though a closer inspection showed the slightest joinery lines.
Next was a sculpture of a workhorse mid-plough, set against a miniature metal field. The detail in its musculature, the tug of the harness, the grit in the tiny furrows. It was art, plain and simple. I couldn't tell if it was Erick's handiwork because there was no signature but whoever made it was no amateur.
Dillon approached, handing me a short glass of brown liquor before heading back to chat with Morgana.
I took a sip and stopped cold.
The drink was like silk. Smooth, warm, and impossibly rich.
I turned, raising my eyebrows at Dillon.
He laughed. "Miller's Thirty Year. I've heard the king drinks this."
"I'm not surprised," I exclaimed. "That might be the best thing I've ever tasted. If Erick tries anything funny, I'm taking that bottle with me," I said, going in for another sip.
The last sculpture was… odd.
It looked like a halved chunk of jade. That was it. No carving, no base. Just a smooth, heavy piece of green stone displayed like it was a masterpiece. Curious, I circled it, examining the back. Same as the front, completely plain. No markings. No polish. Nothing.
I reached for it, hand hovering above the stone, just as Erick returned.
"You can pick it up if you like," he said with a smile. "Though I doubt it'll give you any answers."
Curiosity got the better of me and I lifted it. It was heavier than it looked. The bottom was the same as the rest. Smooth, save for a chipped edge.
I frowned.
Erick chuckled.
"I don't blame you. It's become something of a prank on inquisitive guests."
He stepped beside me, his presence somehow... grounding. Despite his imposing stature, I didn't feel threatened. Just the opposite. There was something calming about him. Like the kind of safety only someone very dangerous – and very in control – could offer.
He took the jade from my hands and turned it over with an almost reverent touch.
"You're wondering why I have an uncarved rock next to all this," he said, his gaze still on the jade.
I nodded.
He smiled, not quite looking at me. "I found this when I wasn't much older than you. Like you three, I grew up in Danese District."
The disbelief on our faces must've been obvious, because he let out a soft laugh.
"It's true. I wasn't born into wealth. This rock… was where it all began."
He placed it back down and walked to the drinks trolley. After a pause, he poured himself a glass of the same liquor we'd chosen.
"Excellent taste," he said, raising it in Dillon's direction.
"I found it while exploring. Going places I wasn't supposed to," he said with a wink. "There was this… feeling. Like something was calling me. The closer I got, the stronger it became, until I came across this."
He gestured to the jade.
I glanced at Dillon and saw his brow furrow, putting the pieces together.
We'd all heard stories of that feeling. The call. The resonance.
"Wait… you have an affinity," Dillon said quietly.
"You have magic," Morgana whispered, eyes wide.
"You can't be from Danese, then," Dillon said. " Or you're a bastard. No one from there has power. It's always been that way."
Erick turned, his expression calm but resolute. "Why not?"
"Because…" Dillon faltered. "Because that's just how it is. Everyone knows it. No one outside the Houses has had magic since–"
"Garius," Erick finished. "Yes. I know the stories. 'Not since Garius has someone outside the noble lines awakened magic.' Hundreds of years. And in all that time, nothing has changed."
He took a sip of his drink.
"But the truth is… there have been others."