Chapter 16 – Cold Signatures

I slept no more than an hour.

When dawn came, it brought a thin, brittle light that found every flaw in the plaster walls, every crack in the warped floorboards.

I sat at the table with the ledger open before me, the iron key resting on its battered cover.

It was not the weight of the key that kept me awake.

It was the certainty that somewhere, someone was already measuring the cost of letting me live this long.

---

I turned the key over in my hand. It felt colder than it should have, as though it had lain in a snowdrift rather than Tull's pocket.

Perhaps it was only my imagination.

But when I set it down, the chill lingered in my skin like an accusation.

---

I unfolded the list of names again. Six in total, though one was now half-crossed in my mind.

Five more doors to knock on.

Five more men or women who could choose to betray me with a word.

The thought should have made me hesitate. Instead, it left a curious calm in its wake.

I had chosen this path the moment I refused the guild's offer.

Everything since had only been a consequence.

---

By second bell, I had made my decision.

The next name was scrawled in a hand less precise than the others: Marin Ves.

A woman, if rumor was true. Formerly a grain factor for the lower river districts before the guild accused her of hoarding stocks in the lean season.

I had no reason to think she would be any more receptive than Tull.

But I had less reason to avoid her.

And that was enough.

---

I wrapped the iron seal in a strip of cloth and tucked it into my inner pocket. The list went beside it.

For a moment, I considered leaving the ledger behind.

Then I slipped it into my satchel all the same.

If I was to be measured by anyone, it would be by the weight of what I had recorded.

---

The streets were quieter than they had been the day before. The snowfall had eased, but few carts braved the ice-slick cobbles.

I kept to the side lanes, watching each shadow for movement.

No one followed.

But more than once, I felt a presence brush the edge of my thoughts—some patient awareness that did not vanish when I turned to look.

It was like the memory of a hand on my shoulder, lingering long after it had been withdrawn.

---

I reached the grain factors' quarter as the third bell began to chime.

Ves's warehouse was smaller than I expected—a narrow brick building with iron-barred windows and a single heavy door.

A painted sigil had once adorned the lintel. It had been scraped nearly clean.

I knocked twice.

No reply.

I knocked again, harder.

At last, a bolt scraped back.

A woman's voice came through the crack.

"State your business."

"My name is Ren Arcanon."

Silence.

"I'm not with the guild," I said.

The door opened another inch. A pale eye studied me through the gap.

"You've chosen a poor time to call on strangers."

I reached into my pocket and withdrew the iron seal.

"I came to offer you a chance," I said quietly.

A long pause.

Then the door swung open.

Marin Ves was taller than I expected, her hair bound back in a simple knot. She wore no sign of rank, but her bearing had the steadiness of someone accustomed to command.

She looked me over without hurry.

"You'd better come inside."

The door closed behind me with a hollow finality.

Inside, the air smelled of old burlap and the faint, acrid taint of spoiled grain. Half the storage bins stood empty. A ledger lay open on a trestle table near the wall, its pages fluttering in the draft.

Marin Ves did not move to sit. She stood across from me, arms folded over her chest, her gaze steady.

"You have a name that draws whispers," she said.

"So do you."

A flicker of something—humor or contempt—crossed her mouth.

"Then we're both unwanted."

I inclined my head.

"I came because you understand what it means to be cast aside."

She considered that without answering.

"What is it you think I can give you?"

"Routes. Buyers who still trust you more than they trust the guild."

"And in return?"

"Freedom from their embargo. A share in every shipment I move outside their sanction."

Her brows rose.

"You speak as if you already have goods worth moving."

"I will."

"And if you fail?"

"Then I'll fail in the open, not waiting for permission to starve."

---

For a time, neither of us spoke.

Wind rattled the high windows. Somewhere in the rafters, something small shifted—a rat, or perhaps only the settling of the beams.

At last, Ves moved. She crossed to the ledger on the table, flipped a page, and ran her finger down a line of entries that no longer held any power.

"You know why they came for me?" she asked without looking up.

"They claimed you hoarded."

"They lied," she said flatly. "But it didn't matter. Truth is nothing when they decide your name is worth less than their example."

Her hand stilled on the page.

"You think you can make yourself too useful to erase."

"I know I can."

She looked up. For the first time, I saw something in her eyes that was not resignation.

"You're either a fool," she said quietly, "or something worse."

"Perhaps both."

That drew a short, humorless laugh.

"At least you're honest."

---

She closed the ledger and turned to face me fully.

"What do you carry?"

I hesitated.

"You mean the seal."

"I mean what makes men look twice when you pass."

I drew a slow breath.

"Something I don't yet understand."

Her gaze did not waver.

"Then learn," she said. "Before it learns you."

---

I reached into my coat and laid the folded list on the table.

"Your name is here because Elinne believes you still have the will to fight."

"And do you?"

"Yes."

Her hands rested lightly on the ledger's cover.

"If I agree, it will not be a half-measure," she said. "You understand that?"

"I do."

"Then you'll have my routes," she said. "And my word."

I inclined my head.

"That's enough."

---

A silence settled between us—not companionable, but no longer hostile.

At last, she reached into a small drawer beneath the table and withdrew a copper token stamped with a broken wheel.

"For your couriers," she said. "Show it when they bring goods. My men will know to look the other way."

I accepted it carefully. Even through the glove, the metal felt cold.

"Be careful, Arcanon," she said.

"I intend to."

---

I turned and let myself out into the snow.

The cold struck my face like a hand, but I did not flinch.

One more door opened. Four names remained.

And somewhere behind them, the watchers waited, measuring each step I took.