Chapter 7: The Mill’s Gambit

The old mill loomed through the dawn mist, its weathered stones slick with dew, the air heavy with the sour tang of rotting grain and rusted iron. Torren Vale crouched in its shadow, his shoulder throbbing where Selene's bandage strained against the warehouse cut.

The night's escape from the Golden Griffin had left him ragged, but the promise of profit—and a chance to outwit Sir Aldric—kept his blood pumping. Rhea's tip about the mill rendezvous with Elara buzzed in his mind, and Selene's pledge to meet him here added a wild card to his deck. He adjusted his cloak, fingers brushing the dagger at his hip, his grin a flicker of its usual swagger as he weighed his next move.

The mill door groaned open, and Selene emerged, her blonde hair a tangled mess, her dagger catching the first light. She moved with the grace of a cat, her blue eyes narrowing as she spotted him. "You're late, Vale," she said, her voice clipped. "Thought the guards carved you up."

Torren straightened, forcing a lopsided smile despite the ache. "Took a scenic route, lass. They're slower than your temper." He stepped closer, noting the tension in her stance. "You look like you've been wrestling shadows—need a hand to untangle that hair?"

She glared, brushing a strand from her face with a huff. "Keep your hands off, Fox. I scouted the riverbank—Aldric's men are thick there. He's coming with Elara, likely within the hour." Her tone was all business, but her eyes flicked to his bandage, a hint of concern buried deep.

Torren nodded, filing that away. "Good. We'll turn their meeting into our profit. Though, I must say, you're a sight even in this muck—makes a man forget his aches." He tilted his head, testing, but she rolled her eyes, turning to scan the mist.

"Focus, Vale. They'll spot us if you keep gawking."

Before he could retort, Rhea slipped from the fog, her red hair a vivid streak against the gray. She carried a pitchfork, her freckled cheeks flushed from running. "They're early," she whispered, joining them behind a crumbling millstone. "Saw Aldric's banner from the stable. You're in deep, Fox."

Torren chuckled, leaning toward her. "Deep's where I thrive, Rhea. You're a brave one—those curls could light up a dungeon. Fancy sticking around for the show?" He reached to tweak her hair, but she swatted his hand, grinning despite herself.

"Flirt later," she said, her green eyes sparkling. "They're close."

The hoofbeats confirmed it. Sir Aldric rode into view, his armor glinting dully, two guards at his heels. Elara followed, her satchel slung low, her green eyes cutting through the mist with a predator's focus. Torren's heart kicked—he'd planned to eavesdrop, but their early arrival forced his hand. He signaled Selene and Rhea to hold, then stepped out, dagger drawn.

"Morning, milady, sir," he called, his voice steady despite the odds. "Fancy meeting you here."

Aldric's sword rasped free, his scarred face twisting. "Vale! You insolent rat!" The guards advanced, steel flashing.

Elara raised a hand, her smile thin but intrigued. "Hold, Aldric. He's mine." She drew her blade, stepping toward him. "You're a persistent pest, Fox. Why not scurry back to your hole?"

Torren bowed, his grin sharpening. "Persistence is my trade, especially for a face like yours. How about we skip the blades and share a drink instead?" He parried her first strike, their weapons clashing with a metallic ring. She was fast, her movements precise, and he struggled to keep up, his injured shoulder slowing him.

"Charming," she said, pressing an attack that forced him back. "But I don't drink with fools." Her blade nicked his arm, drawing blood, and Torren winced, dodging behind a beam.

The guards lunged, but Selene burst from cover, her dagger flashing as she took on one. Rhea, surprisingly deft, swung her pitchfork, catching the second guard off-balance. Torren seized the moment, tackling Elara low, bringing them both to the ground. Her breath hitched as he pinned her wrist, their faces inches apart. "Caught you," he gasped, his voice low. "Now, how about that drink?"

Elara laughed, a sound both mocking and warm, twisting free with a move he didn't see coming. She stood, offering a hand up, her eyes glinting. "You're lucky, Vale. Meet me at the docks tonight—alone. We'll talk terms." She retreated with Aldric, the guards limping after.

Selene glared as she bandaged his new cut, her touch rough. "You're a madman. That stunt could've killed us."

Rhea giggled, pressing a cloth to his arm. "Mad, but fun. I'm in, Fox."

Torren grinned, wincing. "Ladies, you make my heart race more than swords. Tonight's my chance—docks, deals, and maybe a dance with Elara." He winked, earning a scoff from Selene and a shy smile from Rhea.

As they planned, the gray-cloaked figure watched from a ridge, sword steady. A second shadow lingered near the mill, dagger poised. Torren's game was afoot, and his charm was drawing a crowd—willing or not.