Finn’s grip on the parchment tightened.
A search. Not an official one, not yet. The guard in front of him—a man named Roderick, if Finn remembered correctly—hadn’t come here with a full squad. No extra boots on the street, no other officers waiting outside.
Which meant this was off the books.
Which meant someone had gotten to Roderick directly.
Which meant he was alone in this.
Finn exhaled slowly, forcing his pulse to steady.
“Roderick,” he said carefully, setting the parchment down on the counter. “You’ve been drinking in this tavern for the last three years.”
The guard crossed his arms. “And?”
“And you know damn well the only thing I’m smuggling in here is decent food,” Finn said flatly. “You really think I’m moving stolen goods?”
Roderick’s mouth twisted. He was second-guessing it. That was a good sign. Finn could work with that.
But then the guard let out a sharp breath and shook his head. “I don’t have a choice, Finn. I have to take a look.”
Finn exhaled. This adds on to the list of pigshit that he’s had to deal with recently.
“Fine,” Finn said, stepping back from the counter. “Go ahead. Search.”
Roderick hesitated.
Then, with a low grunt, he stepped forward, moving toward the storage room.
Finn kept his expression neutral, but his mind was already spinning through possibilities.
Marla stepped up beside him, voice low. “Finn, this is bad.”
“No kidding,” he muttered.
He turned his attention to Roderick, who was pulling crates aside, checking shelves, opening barrels. Finn kept his breathing steady, watching every movement, his mind running through exit strategies if this went sideways.
Then—
“Shit.”
The word came from Roderick, sharp and unmistakable.
Finn’s stomach sank.
The guard stumbled back from a wooden crate near the back of the room.
Finn moved instantly, stepping around the counter, closing the distance.
Then he saw it.
The crate had been hidden beneath sacks of flour, tucked away just enough to avoid immediate notice. And inside—
Illegal plants. Substances. A collection of small, well-wrapped packages—contraband that should not be here.
Finn’s pulse hammered.
That hadn’t been there yesterday.
Which meant someone had planted it.
Roderick’s face twisted, and Finn saw the exact moment the man’s indecision hardened into conviction.
“Finnrick Tumblepot,” Roderick said sharply, reaching for the iron cuffs at his belt. “You’re under arrest for possession of—”
The words barely left his mouth before Marla’s fist connected with his jaw.
The impact was solid, the sound of knuckles against flesh echoing through the room.
Roderick staggered back, stunned, his head snapping to the side.
Then he let out a growl, drew his sword, and turned toward Marla, his stance shifting.
“Bad move, lady.”
Finn’s stomach dropped.
Before he could react—
The tavern doors slammed open.
Murdock burst into the room like a boulder through a fence, moving with terrifying speed for a man of his size.
In a blur, the bounty hunter crossed the space between them, caught Roderick by the wrist, and twisted.
The guard yelled in pain, his sword clattering to the floor.
Then Murdock, still gripping Roderick like a ragdoll, leaned in close.
“I’d stay down if I were you.”
The threat was calm. Matter-of-fact.
Roderick tried to struggle, but it was like trying to wrestle a mountain.
Then, without another word, Murdock drove his fist into Roderick’s temple.
The guard collapsed instantly.
A heavy silence followed.
Marla, still standing with her fists raised, let out a sharp breath. “Well. That was efficient.”
Finn, however, wasn’t relieved.
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He turned toward Murdock, who was rolling his shoulders like knocking out a city guard was just another part of his morning routine.
Murdock noticed the look and smirked. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Finn exhaled slowly. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Murdock shrugged. “Saw some interesting faces heading toward your place. Figured I’d check in.” He nudged Roderick’s unconscious body with the toe of his boot. “Good thing I did.”
Finn dragged a hand down his face. “You just knocked out a city guard.”
Murdock raised a brow. “Would you rather he arrested you?”
Finn couldn’t argue with that.
But this was still a problem.
Murdock knelt, grabbed Roderick by the collar, and lifted him with one hand like he weighed nothing.
“I’ll take care of this,” Murdock said simply.
Marla raised a brow. “Define ‘take care of.’”
Murdock grinned. “That’s for me to know.”
Finn’s stomach twisted. He didn’t trust Murdock, not even a little. But he also didn’t have many options.
Then—
Another voice cut through the room.
“Well, hello Finn.”
A shadow crossed the threshold of the tavern.
Madame Vraska had arrived.
She stepped inside with the confidence of someone who had never once been denied anything.
Her crimson coat was crisp, untouched by the damp streets outside, her dark hair swept up in a precise coil. Her sharp, knowing eyes took in the entire scene at once—the unconscious guard, the tension in the air, Murdock standing over the body like a wolf over a fresh kill.
Then, slowly, she smiled.
“Seems we need to strike a deal.”
Finn’s blood went cold.
Silence settled over The Velvet Ladle like a blade pressing against the throat of the room.
Finn didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t give Vraska the satisfaction of seeing him react.
She stood just inside the doorway, poised, composed, completely in control, her presence wrapping around the tavern like a vice. She wasn’t a tall woman, but she didn’t need height to command attention. Power radiated from her. Authority sat in the effortless way she carried herself, in the slow, measured way she took in the room—cataloging every face, every exit, every possibility.
Her sharp, dark eyes swept over the unconscious guard at Murdock’s feet, flicked to Marla’s clenched fists, lingered on Finn with something between amusement and cold calculation.
Then, she smiled.
Kel and Orla, who had been watching the scene unfold with the wary caution of people who had spent too many years in the business of knowing when to leave, both set their utensils down at the exact same time.
Finn didn’t look at them, but he heard the soft scrape of chairs against wood, the sound of Kel clearing his throat.
“You know what? I think we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Kel muttered, pushing his half-finished bowl of Goblin’s Gold Curry away.
Orla was already standing. She gave Finn a look, something that almost passed for an apology, but not quite. More like a warning.
Then, without another word, they turned and walked out, disappearing into the rain-slicked streets.
Cowards.
Smart cowards.
Finn exhaled slowly, forcing his attention back to the real problem in the room.
Vraska took a step forward, hands folded neatly behind her back. “Such a shame. You used to surround yourself with bolder company.”
Finn tilted his head. “Maybe they know something I don’t.”
Vraska’s smile widened just slightly. “Oh, I doubt that.”
She turned slightly, gesturing toward the storage room. “Imagine my surprise when I heard that the respectable Finnrick Tumblepot had turned to smuggling.”
Finn let out a slow breath through his nose. “You planted that crate.”
Vraska didn’t even try to deny it.
She tilted her head, mockingly thoughtful. “Now, Finn. That’s quite the accusation. A rather serious one, at that.” She smiled. “And yet, if that were true, it would mean you have a very big problem, wouldn’t it?”
Finn clenched his jaw.
She had set this whole thing up. The guard. The planted goods. The perfectly timed entrance. It wasn’t a warning—it was a declaration.
She could have him ruined with a whisper.
“So.” Vraska exhaled, glancing toward Roderick’s unconscious body with mild amusement. “Shall we discuss your predicament?”
Finn said nothing.
Vraska took that as permission to continue.
“You still owe me, Finnrick.” Her voice was silk over steel, smooth and deadly. “I paid you in full before the job even started.”
Finn knew where this was going. He felt the words coming before she even said them.
And yet, when she spoke, his stomach still twisted.
“And you failed me.”
The dragon egg. The last job he ever took.
She had paid him before the job even started, something she never did, because she had been so sure of the outcome.
And Finn had failed her.
Badly.
Vraska sighed theatrically, shaking her head. “I must say, I was terribly disappointed. All that planning, all that investment, and what did I get in return? Dead men, one missing egg, and you disappearing like a ghost.”
Finn’s fingers curled into fists. “If I had stayed, I’d be dead.”
Vraska lifted a brow. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. But that doesn’t change the fact that you still owe me.”
Finn had spent years outrunning this conversation. But now?
Now, she had him cornered.
The bounty had been her first move. The planted evidence? Her second.
And if he said no to whatever came next?
He didn’t need to guess what her third move would be.
Vraska stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I’ll be generous, Finn. I’ll even let you clear your debt.”
Finn didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
He already knew the price before she even said it.
“You’re going to hide something for me.”
Of course.
Finn exhaled sharply. “Smuggling for you gets me killed. If the guards don’t find out, one of your rivals will. I’m not running that risk.”
Vraska sighed dramatically. “Finn, Finn, Finn. You’re looking at this all wrong. I’m not asking you to move shipments. I’m not even asking you to take the risk.” She leaned in slightly. “I just need a place to keep things… safe.”
A drop point.
Finn had spent years moving things between “safe places.” He knew what this meant. If he agreed, The Velvet Ladle would become a hiding spot for stolen goods, artifacts, contraband. Whatever she needed moved, she’d stash here until it was ready to be picked up.
And if he refused?
He already knew the answer.
Vraska straightened, tilting her head slightly. “This is a good arrangement, Finn. You run your little tavern. You keep your Silver Coins. I remove that nasty bounty. And in return?” She smiled. “You hold a few crates for me. No questions asked.”
Finn clenched his jaw. “And if I say no?”
Vraska sighed, disappointed. “Then I suppose I’ll have no choice but to report your… criminal activities to the proper authorities.”
Marla muttered a curse under her breath.
Finn closed his eyes for half a second.
This was a game, and Vraska had already won.
The bounty had been the bait.
The planted evidence had been the net.
And now?
Now, she was pulling the rope tight.
“You always were a clever man, Finn,” Vraska murmured. “I trust you’ll make the right decision.”
Finn had no choice.
If he said no, The Velvet Ladle was done.
He opened his eyes and met her gaze.
Then, with a quiet, steady voice, he said the only thing he could.
“Fine.”
Vraska smiled.
“I knew you’d see reason.”