The celebration hall pulsed with the unique energy of predators and prey caged together. Music from traded instruments clashed with the ring of mugs and bursts of laughter, which often sounded like challenges. The savory aroma of baked fish and scallin spread cut through the usual tang of salt and steel that lingered in Stratus Haven.

  Servers wove between tables, balancing platters of Skertain fish—a local delicacy prized for its flesh, as tender as it was firm. Steam rose from bowls of seaweed noodles in fish broth, their portions noticeably generous. Remarn’s organization might be built on violence, but it fed its people well.

  Invisible lines of power divided the room. Remarn sat with his core group at the raised platform in the back, his Serkulls perched in the rafters above like living decorations. Their dark eyes caught the lamplight as they observed the celebration below. Serra, the essence user who had tried to kill Helletta earlier, lounged at Remarn’s right hand, while other lieutenants clustered nearby in a casual display of power.

  Lower-ranking members filled the central tables, their seating arrangements a delicate map of allegiances and rivalries. Newer recruits lingered near the edges, trying to look as if they belonged. The whole room had the feel of a performance—one meticulously rehearsed, except by the newest players.

  Helletta sat with Ella and three others at a corner table, deliberately positioned to be both visible and isolated. A serving girl arrived with a platter of baked Skertain, its scales still glistening gold from the oven. The bread was fresh, and the scallin spread was seasoned with rare spices—signs that this celebration was meant to impress.

  “Eat,” Ella murmured, noticing Helletta’s hesitation. “It’s considered rude not to.” Her bright smile never wavered, but her eyes roamed the room, cataloging every detail.

  Their tablemates were an eclectic mix: a young man with deft hands and what looked like an engineer’s device strapped to his back; a woman whose fingers lingered near an ornate harpoon propped beside her chair; and a muscular man with hard eyes who introduced himself simply as their group leader, though others called him Sour Boy.

  The uneasy silence at their table contrasted sharply with the rowdy celebration around them. Everyone was acutely aware of being watched, assessed. The Serkulls above shifted occasionally, their shadows crossing the table like silent warnings, while Remarn’s occasional glances held more weight than his birds.

  “Well,” Ella said brightly, breaking the tension with practiced ease, “shall we get to know each other? After all, we’re family now.” She managed to make the last word sound both genuine and faintly mocking.

  "So," the young man said, fingers drumming on his strange device, "that's an interesting bit of threadwork you've got there." He nodded at Helletta's borrowed needle. "We saw you fight earlier. Pretty fancy, almost looked like noble training, but..." He trailed off as Ella shot him a warning glance.

  "I'm Swinter," he continued, redirecting smoothly. "I'm a mechanic." The word held a faint note of defensiveness.

  "Engineer," Ella corrected absently, her gaze fixed on the apparatus strapped to his back. "Those look like Titanforge pressure valves. Too sophisticated for basic mechanics."

  A flush crept up Swinter’s neck. "No, just a mechanic. Engineers are..." He gestured vaguely upward, indicating the higher levels of Stratus Haven. "Different. That’s a term for people from the main Islands."

  "Show them," Sour Boy interjected, his voice sharp as a command. Dressed almost formally, he lounged like a man accustomed to scrutiny, his posture reminiscent of an interrogation room—a conspicuous test.

  Swinter hesitated, then rose, carefully unhooking what appeared to be a compact, two-layered tank connected to a pair of gloves. "It’s called a pressurizer," he said, a flicker of pride replacing his earlier reluctance. "See, it draws in atmospheric essence, runs it through here—" he indicated a heated nozzle, "—and then..."

  He aimed at an empty cup on a nearby table. With a quick gesture, a narrow stream of pressurized water shot from his glove, precise and forceful, slicing cleanly through the cup’s side like a trained essence user's attack.

  "Incredible," Helletta murmured, genuinely impressed. Even Ella leaned forward, her interest unmistakable.

  "If it’s so impressive," Ella said carefully, "why are you here?" Her eyes narrowed. "You don’t exactly fit The Serkhull King's typical recruit profile."

  Swinter’s excitement dimmed. He sank back down, running a hand through his hair. "Because it doesn’t work. Not properly." His voice took on a bitter edge. "The energy output exceeds the atmospheric intake. Even with the heating system, it’s not sustainable. I worked out the equations—" he traced invisible lines in the air with his finger, then stopped himself. "Sorry. I doubt you’re interested in the technical details."

  "You need better crystals," Ella observed, her tone certain.

  "Dense-grade entangled crystals," Swinter confirmed with a grim nod. "The expensive kind." His face darkened. "I, uh, borrowed quite a bit to get it working this far, but it’s still nowhere near functional. I borrowed... from family. Neighbors. Enough that..." He swallowed. "They’re not going to recover anytime soon."

  "Borrowed?" Helletta raised an eyebrow, her voice edged with skepticism. "You mean stole."

  "I’ll pay them back!" Swinter’s voice rose, edged with desperation. "Once I perfect this, I’ll be rich. Rich enough to make it right. They’ll understand then. They’ll forgive me."

  "Will they?" Helletta asked quietly. "Just because you come back with money?"

  "Of course they will." This time, Ella replied, her voice as matter-of-fact as her ever-bright smile. "In these parts, money ruins everything." She spread her hands in a casual, almost playful gesture. "But it also fixes everything. Even love."

  "She’s right," Swinter said eagerly, his gaze darting between them. "You don’t understand how things work here. With enough coin—"

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  "What about you?" A new voice sliced through their conversation, sharp as a blade. The woman with the harpoon had spoken at last, turning her gaze to Helletta. Her dark auburn hair caught the lamplight as her predator’s eyes studied Helletta. "Why is a monster dining with common thieves?"

  The table fell silent. Around them, conversations continued, but a new tension thickened the air. Even those who seemed preoccupied with their own affairs were now subtly listening, tuned into the exchange. Above, the Serkulls seemed to lean closer, their shadows stretching across the table like dark wings.

  The woman laid her harpoon across her lap, and Helletta could now see it fully—a hunter’s weapon, unmistakably crafted from the remains of a sea beast. Silver tendrils dangled from its sides, and the shaft, carved from bone and bound with metal, gleamed under the lamplight like rows of teeth.

  “State your name and tell us something of yourself before you start demanding answers from others,” said Sourboy, who had been prodding his food in disinterest, remarked coolly, barely glancing her way.

  "I’m a hunter," she said, throwing him a look of sharp warning before fixing her gaze back on Helletta. "Drekan Lowe. Not interested in catching pets for noble houses." Her lip curled in distaste. "Rich folk wanting exotic beasts to flaunt... they have no idea what they’re toying with."

  "And Remarn does?" Swinter asked, his gaze flicking nervously to a Serkull gliding overhead. He instantly looked as though he regretted his words when Drekan’s eyes locked onto him with an unflinching, dangerous glare.

  "Remarn..." Drekan paused, seeming to weigh her words. "He smells wrong. Not predator. Not prey." She shrugged. "His people don’t concern me. They’re all..." She gestured at the room, at the lieutenants gathered near their leader. "Caged animals. You can smell it on them."

  Swinter’s initial anxiety shifted to curiosity. "If none of them concern you, then who does?"

  Drekan’s smile sharpened as she turned back to Helletta. "The monster who sits in our midst."

  "They say you caught a corrupted Servhal," Drekan continued, her fingers trailing along her harpoon’s shaft with a casual menace. "And another beast after that. They say you fight like a noble but move like something else." Her voice lowered to a murmur, almost reverent. "You smell like deep water to me. Like something that hunts in the dark."

  She began to rise, her movement liquid and smooth, eyes fixed on Helletta. "Before I leave this place, I think I'd like to hunt—"

  "Sit down."

  Sour Boy’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even looked up from his drink, but his tone alone made Drekan pause. She stared at him, a challenge in her posture, the air around them taut as a drawn bowstring.

  Then, unexpectedly, she smiled—a real, dangerous smile, predatory as any creature she might have hunted—and sat back down.

  "Now then," Sour Boy said calmly, as if nothing had happened. "What about you two?" He looked at Helletta and Ella, his gaze piercing. "Why are you really here?"

  The moment stretched, a taut thread about to snap. Around them, the celebration’s noise seemed to soften, as though the whole room had leaned in, waiting to catch their answer.

  Helletta and Ella exchanged a glance before Helletta spoke, letting a bitter edge creep into her voice. "Looking for a place that values strength," she said. "The city calls me a monster for catching a corrupted beast? For protecting their waters?" She shook her head, and conversations at nearby tables quieted as people strained to listen. "They arrested me. Stripped my Helsuk. Some gratitude."

  Several heads around the room nodded, murmurs of agreement threading through the air. In Stratus Haven, it was a familiar story—no good deed going unpunished.

  "I’m just here for the money," Ella added with a breezy smile. "Banker’s interests."

  Sour Boy studied them both for a long moment, his hard gaze lingering on Helletta. The noise in the pub seemed to fade further as he leaned forward, his expression unyielding.

  "If acknowledgment of strength is what you want," he said slowly, each word weighted, "why not cross to the other side? Join the Empire’s games? Find a delegate?" His voice carried across the room, and Helletta felt Remarn’s attention, steady and unblinking from his table. "Your power would be more than acknowledged there."

  The room had gone silent, every gaze fixed on her. Helletta could feel the weight of Remarn’s scrutiny, could sense dozens of eyes waiting. Even the Serkulls seemed to lean closer, their shadows stretched long and ominous across the tables, as though the whole room was holding its breath for her answer.

  The table went still. Even Ella’s unfaltering smile flickered for a brief moment.

  Helletta let herself sink deeper into the role, or at least tried to. She was fumbling, grasping at an edge she wasn’t sure how to hold. "The Empire’s way isn’t the true way," she declared, forcing her voice louder. "Swearing oaths, bending knee—that’s for weaklings. Like watered-down tea, it means nothing. I’ll make my name here, where people take what they want without asking. If you ask me, this is how things ought to be—the powerful taking what they want without some useless system holding them back."

  Her words tumbled out, jagged and overzealous, and even Ella could see the forced edge in her proclamations. Helletta seemed like someone out of place in these murky depths, trying to pretend she belonged. It was almost embarrassing.

  But Helletta pushed on, her voice swelling in a theatrical bravado. "And when I get big enough, this little town won’t be able to hold me. I’d ravage past Qua—"

  The world started to blur at the edges. A slow warmth spread through her limbs, weighing them down, making her movements sluggish. She felt herself slumping forward, her thoughts fading into a thick fog.

  "Too much to drink," Ella’s voice echoed distantly. "I’ll get her back to the boarding house."

  As consciousness slipped away, Helletta thought she heard Drekan’s laugh—a sound like waves crashing against jagged rocks. Above, the Serkulls shifted in the rafters, their shadows flickering over her darkening vision. The last thing she saw was Ella’s hand moving away from the table, quick and deft.

  Ella apologized to the table, waving off her friend’s outburst. "The wine got to her," she claimed lightly, though everyone knew Helletta hadn’t been drinking wine. Before anyone could question her further, Ella maneuvered Helletta out of the pub, her friend’s drooping arm slung over her shoulder.

  The night air hit Helletta’s face like cold water as Ella half-carried her through Stratus Haven’s winding streets. The city felt different at this hour—quieter, yet far from peaceful. Waves lapped against the pylons below, their rhythm echoing the throbbing in Helletta’s head. Above, the city’s massive supporting columns stretched into darkness, while lanterns closer to the water cast yellow light that drifted like jellyfish in the gloom.

  "You…" Helletta managed to mumble, her tongue thick and unwieldy. "You did something to me."

  "Mmm-hmm." Ella adjusted her grip, surprisingly strong for someone so slight. "Tiny pin-prick. Relaxant. Fast-acting, but it’ll wear off soon." She paused. "I am a chemist, after all. And you were about to say something very stupid."

  Helletta tried to laugh, but it came out as a drowsy giggle. "Watching my back?"

  "Someone has to." They passed through a slant of moonlight, casting Ella’s usual smile in an almost genuine light. "You’re not very good at it yourself."

  The boarding house was still several streets away, but Helletta didn’t mind the slow pace. The night was cool, the dark water below familiar and steady, and even through the chemical haze, something felt right about this moment.

  "I don’t know anything about you," Helletta murmured, watching their shadows merge and separate under each passing lantern.

  "Same," Ella replied softly. "Though you’re not exactly subtle. A fisher who fights like nobility? Who has a connection with Serkulls? And who nearly announced to a room full of criminals that she was going to take over Quartertown?"

  "Was I that obvious?"

  "Only to someone paying attention." They turned down a narrower street, where the sound of waves grew louder. "Which, unfortunately, includes most of Remarn’s inner circle."

  They walked in a companionable silence, their footsteps echoing off the worn wooden boards. A night fishing crew passed, heading toward their boat with nets and lines in hand. The crew nodded respectfully—whether out of recognition or simply courtesy, it was hard to tell in the dark.

  Finally, they reached the boarding house. Ella guided Helletta up the creaking stairs, her arm steady as they moved. The dormitory room was mostly empty; everyone else was either still at the celebration or out tending to their trades.

  "Here we are," Ella said, helping Helletta settle onto the narrow bed. "Try not to do anything stupid until morning."

  As Ella turned to leave, Helletta reached out and caught her arm. "Moore," she said, her voice slurring slightly. "My name is Helletta Moore. My master gave me that name." She blinked heavily, struggling against the relaxant. "Thought you should know."

  Something softened in Ella’s expression, a flicker of unguarded surprise. For the first time since they’d met, she smiled—a small, genuine smile that cracked her usual mask, making her look younger, more real somehow.

  "Moore," she repeated quietly. "Good to know."

  The last thing Helletta saw before sleep claimed her was that smile—the first true thing she’d seen from her mysterious partner since this whole adventure began.

  She dreamed of dark water, but this time, it felt like home.