The troubadour leaned against the wall of a small storage cabin, his stance deceptively casual while his eyes swept the harbour with the practiced precision of a man who made his living from other people's secrets.

  Zyren knelt behind piled-up crates, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at the troubadour in disbelief. He looked exactly as he had at Regismere's gates, yet the playful, innocent expression had been replaced by a cunning grin that made Zyren's stomach tighten.

  "Anything catching your eye?" the troubadour asked, already knowing the answer.

  Zyren hesitated, offering no reply. A brief glance toward the small ship at the far end of the harbour betrayed his intentions.

  "The Silent Raven," the troubadour said with a knowing smile. "What do you want with it?"

  Again, Zyren remained silent. Cold sweat dripped down his back. Still reeling from his interlocutor's unexpected presence, he now faced a worse realization: he'd been caught. On his first assignment, before taking any action, he'd been caught.

  Around them, the silent commotion continued, oblivious to their presence and the tension crackling between them. Whispered prayers and low humming filled the spaces between heartbeats.

  The troubadour cast one last glance across the harbour—brief, but Zyren could see him absorbing every detail with the efficiency of someone who made their living from observation. Then he turned toward the road leading into the village and walked away.

  Knowing he had to follow to extract more information, Zyren looked back at the Silent Raven, counting the eight men carrying crates in and out. They moved with mechanical precision, their disciplined coordination betraying their true nature to anyone familiar with human soldiers. It was the kind of secret everyone knew but no one acknowledged—a fiction maintained for the sake of plausible deniability.

  He continued taking mental notes while watching the troubadour's figure recede into the mist. What was he doing here? What had he been watching? How did he know about the ship? Where was his master? Who was he? The questions pulled him from his task like hooks snagging cloth. Exhaling his frustration and trembling with doubt, Zyren hurried after the troubadour, doing his best to remain unnoticed.

  Avoiding the main square, the pair turned into a narrow pedestrian street, its width barely sufficient for two people to walk side by side.

  "How did you get here?" the troubadour asked without turning.

  "By boat," Zyren replied. "And you?"

  "Same," the troubadour chuckled. "Like everyone. What do you want with the Raven?"

  Zyren paused. He still couldn't read the troubadour's intentions, and something fundamental had shifted since their first encounter. Several responses formed in his mind, and he weighed each word carefully, trying to keep the conversation alive without revealing anything of substance.

  "I see," the troubadour interrupted, reading the silence like text on a page. "Is it just you?"

  "No," Zyren answered, feeling himself falling further behind in the exchange. "And you? Where is your master?" His tone came out hastier than intended, a clumsy attempt to push back and buy time to think.

  "Drinking somewhere," the troubadour replied casually. "Like yours?"

  "I don't have a master!" Zyren snapped, louder than he'd meant to.

  Both men looked around, checking whether anyone had heard them. The street remained silent, its paved stones linking the harbour to an old watchtower. No one was in sight.

  The troubadour chuckled softly. "Why the Raven, then?"

  "Just trying to get a feeling for the surroundings," Zyren offered, forcing his voice to steady. "Wasn't looking for anything specific."

  "Me neither," the troubadour smiled. "Still, it wouldn't hurt to get closer."

  "Why?" Zyren asked, frustration bleeding into his voice. He couldn't extract anything from the troubadour, especially while trying to reveal as little as possible himself.

  "You can never know too much, dark elf." The cunning smile returned, sharper than before.

  Another cold shiver ran down Zyren's spine.

  He wasn't concealing his race well, but it was clear the troubadour remembered it perfectly. The man had made it abundantly clear that he valued information above all else, and he seemed to extract it effortlessly despite Zyren's best efforts to guard every word.

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  "Should we help each other?" the troubadour suggested, stepping closer to Zyren. "Maybe get aboard and see where it goes?"

  Zyren hesitated. Getting more information from the ship would be invaluable—it could provide a lead to the secret island. Yet he couldn't make such a decision alone, nor could he share his true intentions with this stranger.

  "Shall we talk with your friends before doing anything?" the troubadour asked, his tone almost gentle.

  Not even silence was helping Zyren anymore. Every pause, every hesitation—the troubadour read them like words on a page.

  Resigning himself to the troubadour's superior position, Zyren turned and headed toward the taverns where he'd left Tasya and Hisoka. They clearly shared a target, and the troubadour had been extracting information from him with disturbing ease—even his silence revealed more than words. The only reasonable course of action now was to bring him to Tasya and Hisoka, rely on their experience to handle him, and see what came of it.

  Perhaps they could all benefit from this encounter.

  Hisoka was the first to notice Zyren peering through the tavern window. He was doing his best to remain low and discreet while still trying to catch their attention.

  From his vantage point, Zyren could see them conversing with several other patrons, refilling drinks and encouraging the men to talk freely. Once his presence registered, Hisoka took her time alerting Tasya. With a swift, barely perceptible movement, she signaled that she'd seen him and that he should wait.

  Not wanting to draw more attention to himself, Zyren glanced around before crossing the street to join the troubadour beneath a gnarled tree. The man had produced a thin pipe from his coat, lighting it with practiced ease, smoke curling lazily into the evening air.

  "Were they there?" the troubadour asked.

  Zyren didn't reply. He'd resolved not to offer another word without Tasya and Hisoka beside him.

  "Let's wait, then," the troubadour said to himself with a light smile, seemingly unbothered by the silence.

  The village began to revive around them. The ceremonies had ended, the reverent humming replaced by the buzz of people walking and talking. Darkness gave way to warm light pouring from tavern windows and house doorways. A fine drizzle began to fall over Bruma's Port, as if nature itself sought to keep the volume and energy restrained.

  Laughter and loud conversation burst from the tavern door, the beam of light momentarily interrupted by Hisoka and Tasya's silhouettes.

  They crossed the street directly toward Zyren, weaving smoothly around locals passing by.

  "Who's this?" Tasya asked while still approaching, her voice carrying an edge that made the question sound more like an accusation.

  For the first time, Zyren saw the troubadour's composure crack—though only briefly. Something about Tasya made him almost take a step back, his extended hand faltering mid-reach. Recognition flashed across his features—not the pleasant kind, but the wary acknowledgment of a predator spotting another—before his mask of easy confidence slid back into place.

  "This is..." Zyren began, then realized mid-sentence that he didn't even know the troubadour's name.

  "...Rashid," the troubadour supplied without missing a beat, extending his hand toward Tasya once more.

  Clearly displeased by the presence of someone outside their group, Tasya ignored Rashid entirely and fixed Zyren with a look that simultaneously demanded more information and made her displeasure abundantly clear.

  "Rashid was also at the harbour," Zyren explained, something about Tasya's bearing prompting him to deliver information as if reporting to a superior officer. "He has information on the human ship and proposed some sort of cooperation. We crossed paths once before, at Regismere's gates..."

  "...And even then I saw something about this one," Rashid interrupted, seizing the opportunity. "You see, I also have my eye on the Silent Raven..."

  Tasya raised her hand—a clear command for silence.

  "Wait here," she ordered the troubadour while pulling Zyren aside.

  Rashid smiled and looked around, giving them privacy while maintaining just enough proximity to remain present. He drew on his pipe, the ember glowing briefly in the gathering darkness.

  "What happened?" Hisoka asked as soon as they'd moved far enough away.

  "I was watching the ships when he approached me," Zyren explained, keeping his voice low. "I thought no one was noticing me, that I was well hidden." He paused to glance at the troubadour, who now leaned against the tree with smoke curling lazily around him. "There's something about him. He seems experienced."

  "How much did you tell him?" Tasya asked, her tone sharp but not accusatory.

  "Almost nothing. Still," Zyren replied, lowering his head, "he knows we're watching the humans. He knew which ship I was looking at and that I wasn't alone. I didn't say anything directly, but..."

  "That's all right," Hisoka interrupted gently, trying to ease his obvious distress. "Now we know we can't underestimate him, and that he likely knows more than he's revealed."

  "What about the ship?" Tasya continued, refocusing on the mission.

  "It's the Silent Raven," Zyren reported. "The crew is disguised, but they're clearly navy. Rashid confirmed it as well." He threw another glance at the troubadour. Rashid appeared as composed as ever, showing no sign of nervousness or impatience at being sidelined. "They're loading substantial cargo."

  "They must be supplying something bigger," Hisoka realized, looking to Tasya, who nodded in confirmation.

  "There was a Vyrrin aboard," Zyren added, the detail suddenly surfacing in his memory. "I'm almost sure."

  Tasya's expression shifted into a sharp grin—the look of someone whose suspicions had just been confirmed. She said nothing, but her silence carried more weight than any explanation.

  She simply turned and walked back toward Rashid, the others following in her wake.

  "I assume you want us to share something," Tasya began without preamble.

  "Just enough to get closer. Inside would be better," Rashid replied evenly. "I don't need to know your business. And you clearly don't want to share yours."

  "Let's check it, then," Tasya said, already moving past the troubadour toward the harbour.

  The statement wasn't a question or an invitation—it was a decision already made. Rashid could follow, or he could be left behind to wonder what he'd missed.

  After a moment's hesitation, the troubadour fell into step behind them, his easy smile never quite reaching his eyes.

  Hope you liked this chapter!

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