The smell of burning wood and stale wine still lingered in the air long after The Velvet Ladle had emptied. The chairs remained overturned from the struggle to move the unconscious bodies, and the long tables were smeared with the remnants of the so-called noble banquet.

  Finn stood in the center of it all, arms crossed, mind racing.

  The hardest part was done.

  Vraska and her goons were down, locked in a magical sleep that would last the better part of a week. But that week would pass too fast, and when they woke, they’d be looking for blood.

  If Finn wanted to be free of this life, he had to act now.

  And that meant getting rid of all of them.

  Marla stood by the bar, arms resting on the counter, her fingers drumming against the polished wood. “So,” she exhaled, staring at the unconscious bodies with an unreadable expression. “What exactly is the plan? Because we can’t just keep them stacked like sacks of potatoes in the damn dining hall.”

  Grog, standing near the door, cracked his knuckles. “I say we toss ‘em in the river.”

  Marla rolled her eyes. “Yes, because a floating pile of bodies drifting down Puddlebrook’s main canal won’t raise any suspicion at all.”

  Finn wasn’t listening. He had already made his decision.

  His old life had taken everything from him once before. His freedom, his future. He had escaped once.

  And now, he was going to finish what he started.

  He turned sharply, striding toward the back room where the storage was kept. “We’re getting rid of them,” he said, voice firm. “Permanently.”

  Marla glanced at Grog. “See? Now that’s a plan.”

  Grog grunted. “Fine. Where?”

  Finn didn’t hesitate. “We take the small ones and hand them off to someone else to deal with. The bigger problem—” He glanced toward Vraska’s unconscious form, her crimson cloak pooled around her body, her head tilted against the floor. She was the real problem.

  He inhaled.

  “We take her to the dragon’s den.”

  Silence.

  Then Marla laughed. “I’m sorry, you wanna what?”

  Finn looked at her. “You heard me.”

  Her grin widened in disbelief. “So let me get this straight. You’re suggesting we haul one of the most dangerous crime lords in the region all the way back to the same godsdamned cave where you nearly died years ago?”

  Finn nodded. “Yes.”

  Marla whistled. “Oh, you’re insane.”

  Grog merely grinned. “I like it.”

  Before anything else, Finn had one loose end to tie up.

  Someone had to watch The Velvet Ladle while they were gone.bix

  The bodies were a problem, yes. But leaving the tavern unattended? That was a different kind of risk. If someone wandered in and saw the mess—if the wrong person noticed the absence of the so-called nobles from last night’s banquet— the whole town would be talking before they even left the city gates.

  Which was why Finn needed Bix.

  He found him in his usual spot—the merchant stalls near the west end of Puddlebrook, peddling an array of exotic spices and imported goods. The halfling had an eye for rare ingredients, a talent for keeping secrets, and—more importantly—a love for coin.

  When Finn approached, Bix didn’t look up immediately. He was in the middle of negotiating with a fishmonger, waving a small bundle of dried saffron under the man’s nose.

  “I’m telling you,” Bix said, his voice smooth and sure. “This is the finest saffron you’ll ever see. Straight from the eastern dunes. I had to bribe three different traders just to get my hands on this batch.”

  The fishmonger squinted at him. “Looks the same as the last batch.”

  Bix gasped, clutching at his chest as if mortally wounded. “You wound me, friend. Truly.”

  Finn cleared his throat.

  Bix turned, his face immediately shifting into a wide, knowing grin. “Finn! My favorite gnome. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Finn didn’t waste time. He gestured away from the stalls. “We need to talk.”

  Bix raised a brow. “Sounds serious.”

  “It is.”

  That got his attention.

  Bix finished up with the fishmonger—grabbing a few silver coins with a wink—before following Finn toward the quieter side of the market.

  Once they were alone, Finn exhaled. “I need you to watch The Velvet Ladle.”

  Bix blinked. “Oh? Finally giving me the keys to the castle?”

  Finn didn’t smile. “This isn’t a favor. It’s a job.”

  Bix studied him for a long moment. Then, his grin faded slightly. “Alright. Tell me what’s going on.”

  So Finn did.

  He told him everything.

  The assassination attempt. The banquet. Vraska’s threat, the forged crime ledgers, the drugged food, the unconscious bodies still waiting to be dealt with.

  Bix listened without interrupting.

  When Finn finished, the halfling let out a low whistle.

  “Well,” he muttered, “that’s certainly more excitement than I usually like before lunch.”

  Finn reached into his coat and pulled out a leather pouch of gold. He pressed it into Bix’s hands.

  “This is for you,” Finn said. “To keep your mouth shut. To keep people out of the tavern. And to make sure that when we come back, nothing’s missing.”

  Bix weighed the pouch in his palm.

  Then, he grinned.

  “Well, when you put it that way.”

  Finn exhaled, nodding. “Thank you.”

  Bix tucked the pouch into his coat. “Of course. I’ll keep everything nice and cozy while you’re off playing corpse transport.” He tilted his head. “You got a plan for where they’re all going?”

  Finn nodded. “I’ve got some people taking care of most of them. The real problem is Vraska.”

  Bix arched a brow. “Ah. The big one.”

  Finn’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah.”

  Bix exhaled. “Well. Good luck with that, my friend. You’re going to need it.”

  Finn had a feeling he was right.

  With the tavern secured under Bix’s watch, Finn’s next move was clear.

  He needed transport.

  Not just for Vraska, but for the other bodies as well. He had no intention of leaving them rotting in the basement of his tavern. That was too dangerous. If one of them woke early? If someone stumbled upon them?

  No.

  They had to disappear.

  And for that, he needed Kellen Quickfingers and Orla Halloway.

  Kellen was an expert smuggler, one of the best logistics men Finn had ever worked with. If something—or someone—needed to vanish, Kellen was the one to make it happen.

  Orla, on the other hand, was a fixer. A problem solver. A woman who knew how to cover tracks and make sure nothing pointed back to the people responsible.

  Finn sent two separate letters.

  Short. Direct. Urgent.

  Then, he waited.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  By sundown, they arrived.

  Kellen grinned the moment he walked in, his fingers tapping idly against the hilts of the many knives he carried. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the great Finnrick Tumblepot. When I got your message, I thought to myself—what could our old friend possibly want?”

  Orla sighed, crossing her arms. “You better not be wasting our time.”

  Finn nodded toward the unconscious bodies stacked neatly in the back room.

  Orla raised a brow. “Oh.”

  Kellen’s grin widened. “Oh, this is fun.”

  Finn exhaled. “I need them gone.”

  Kellen rubbed his hands together. “We can handle that.”

  Finn nodded. “And Vraska?”

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Kellen whistled. “Now, that’s a different conversation.”

  Finn clenched his jaw. “She’s coming with me.”

  Orla arched a brow. “And where exactly are you taking her?”

  Finn exhaled.

  “To a dragon.”

  Orla’s expression barely shifted. If she was surprised that Finn intended to haul Madame Vraska to the same godsdamn dragon’s cave that nearly killed him all those years ago, she didn’t show it. Instead, she studied him for a long moment, her dark eyes calculating, fingers idly adjusting the belt at her waist where a dagger rested.

  Kellen, however, was not as composed.

  The smuggler let out a sharp, barking laugh, running a hand through his mess of chestnut hair, eyes crinkling at the edges as he grinned. “Oh, Finnrick. I swear, every time I hear from you, I think, maybe this time it’ll be for a nice, normal favor.” He sighed, shaking his head dramatically. “But no. It’s always something like ‘help me transport a crime lord to a monster’s den’ or ‘steal a portrait from Laudendale’s museum.’” He clapped Finn on the back. “Honestly? You’re the best part of my week.”

  Finn didn’t laugh.

  Didn’t even smile.

  Because while this might be entertaining for Kellen, for Finn, this was life or death.

  “I’m not joking,” Finn said, voice flat. “Vraska is waking up in a week. If she’s still in Puddlebrook when she does, I’m finished.”

  Orla finally spoke. Her voice was cool, measured, every word chosen with purpose. “So you want us to deal with the rest of them,” she nodded toward the slumped bodies in the storeroom, “while you personally escort the biggest problem of all straight into a dragon’s mouth.”

  Finn exhaled. “That’s the plan...hopefully. Only thing I’m unsure of is if the den is still being…used?”

  Kellen rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “You know, normally when someone says, ‘that’s the plan,’ it’s supposed to be a good plan.”

  Marla scoffed. “You got something better?”

  Kellen grinned. “Of course not. I love this plan. This is a fantastic plan.” He turned to Finn, wagging a finger. “But just so we’re clear, if this goes sideways and I never see you again, I want you to know that I’ve always loved that little dish you make—the Faun’s Foraged Fettuccine? Absolute magic.”

  Finn sighed. “Good to know.”

  The next few hours were spent securing the transport.

  Finn left Kellen and Orla to handle the bodies while he went to rent a horse and carriage. Normally, he would have been more careful about being seen, but the sun had already set, and most of Puddlebrook had settled into the comforts of warm hearths and nightcaps.

  The stable master was half-asleep when Finn knocked at his door.

  The old man squinted at him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Finn? What in the hells do you need at this hour?”

  “A carriage and a strong horse,” Finn said simply, sliding a small pouch of coin onto the counter.

  The stable master raised a brow. “You moving cargo?”

  Finn nodded once. “Something like that.”

  The man studied him for a long moment. Finn didn’t fidget under the gaze. He simply waited.

  Eventually, the stable master sighed and stood, shaking his head. “You’re a strange one, Finnrick.” He muttered as he moved to unlock the stall doors, leading a sleek black mare out into the open air. “Strong back, good endurance. She’ll get you where you need to go.”

  Finn nodded in thanks and hitched the horse to the carriage.

  When he returned to The Velvet Ladle, Kellen and Orla had already done their part.

  The bodies were gone.

  Vraska was the last one left.

  Grog hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of vegetables ironically, grunting as he adjusted her weight. “She’s lighter than I thought,” he mused.

  Marla scoffed. “All that power and manipulation, and she still weighs less than a barrel of ale.”

  Finn ignored them. He opened the carriage door, motioning for Grog to load her inside.

  Vraska didn’t stir. Not yet.

  But Finn knew she would eventually.

  And when she did?

  She’d wake up in a place she never imagined.

  The night air was cold and crisp, the kind that clung to the skin and seeped into the bones. The road leading away from Puddlebrook stretched endlessly ahead, dark and lined with the silhouettes of swaying trees.

  Finn sat at the front of the carriage, holding the reins, his eyes flicking toward the stars above. They were clear tonight. Unobstructed.

  Good. That meant no storm. No bad omens.

  Just the road ahead.

  Marla sat beside him, arms crossed, watching the trees blur past. “So,” she said, after a long stretch of silence. “What’s the real reason you’re doing this?”

  Finn didn’t answer immediately.

  Marla exhaled, tilting her head toward him. “I mean, I get it—Vraska’s a problem, and getting rid of her means you’re free. But this?” She gestured toward the dark road ahead. “This feels personal. Next level personal.”

  Finn tightened his grip on the reins.

  It was personal.

  The last time he had been on this road, he had been running for his life, bleeding out, barely breathing. He had lost his crew, his future, his reputation, his purpose. But he did find Grog—or at least, Grog found him.

  And now, years later, he was walking back into that same place—only this time, he wasn’t the one being left to die.

  This time, he was the one making sure someone else didn’t leave.

  Marla sighed, shaking her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Finn smirked faintly. “That makes one of us.”

  The journey to Laudendale was long, but quiet. The only sounds were the steady clatter of hooves against dirt and the occasional rustle of leaves as the wind rolled through the trees.

  Finn expected trouble.

  A part of him waited for it.

  A scout on horseback, a hired blade, some last-minute effort from Vraska’s people to get her back.

  But nothing came.

  Either they hadn’t noticed her disappearance yet… or no one was foolish enough to chase them.

  Grog snored from inside the carriage, his deep rumbles nearly drowning out the occasional shifting sounds of Vraska’s unconscious form. She was still out cold.

  Finn didn’t want to wait to find out.

  By the time they reached the valley leading toward the mountain pass, the sky had begun to lighten. Dawn was only a few hours away.

  Marla rubbed her arms, shivering slightly against the chill. “How far now?”

  Finn adjusted the reins. “Not far.”

  And he was right.

  Because just beyond the ridge, through the curtain of thick mist rolling down from the cliffs, the entrance to the dragon’s den came into view.

  A massive, gaping cavern mouth, carved into the base of the mountain. Water cascaded from the rocks above, forming a narrow waterfall that veiled the entrance, droplets catching the first hints of morning light.

  The same place where Finn had nearly lost his life.

  And now, the place where Vraska would lose hers.

  Marla let out a slow breath. “Damn.”

  Grog, having woken up, leaned out of the carriage window and grunted. “Big hole.”

  Finn smirked faintly. “Yeah.”

  The carriage rolled to a stop.

  The last stretch of the journey had ended.

  Now, they just had to drag the queen to her throne.

  The deeper they went into the cavern, the more Finn’s memories clawed their way to the surface. He remembered the heat, the way the air had shimmered with residual magic, the sound of thunderous, measured breathing in the dark as the dragon had coiled around its nest.

  But now?

  Now, the cave was empty.

  No scent of sulfur and smoke. No lingering presence of scaled terror lurking in the shadows. Just cold, damp stone and the echo of their own footsteps.

  Finn wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

  Grog took a deep sniff, squinting at the darkened corners. “No dragon.”

  Marla let out a slow exhale, glancing around the hollowed-out den. “Guess it finally moved on.”

  Finn stared into the darkness for a long moment. The nest was still there—a massive pit of hardened rock, long abandoned. The bones of unfortunate prey lay scattered across the floor, brittle with age. If not for the claw marks still carved into the stone, there’d be no trace that a dragon had ever been here.

  He shook himself from his thoughts. “Doesn’t matter. It serves our purpose.”

  Marla crossed her arms. “Which is?”

  Finn stepped forward, gripping the iron chains in his hands.

  “We make sure she never leaves.”

  Vraska didn’t stir as Grog hoisted her from the carriage, carrying her deep into the cavern with the ease of a man lifting a sack of grain. The echoes of their footsteps bounced against the high stone walls, making the space feel even larger than it already was.

  Finn knelt down, picking the spot carefully. It needed to be far enough inside that no passerby would see her if they happened across the cave—but not so deep that the terrain itself became a problem.

  “This’ll do,” Finn muttered, pointing to a natural stone pillar near the far end of the den. It was thick, sturdy, perfect for an anchor point.

  Grog dropped Vraska unceremoniously to the ground, rolling his shoulders. “She’s lighter than I thought.”

  Marla scoffed. “Ain’t power funny like that?”

  Finn moved quickly, securing the shackles to the pillar, making sure the metal held fast against the stone. He locked one around each of her wrists, one around her ankles, wrapped a cloth around her head, covering her mouth to stop her from yelling, and a final shackle around her throat.

  Marla arched a brow. “You’re really making sure she doesn’t walk out of here, huh?”

  Finn tugged the chains one last time before stepping back. “She doesn’t get a second chance.”

  Grog grunted approvingly.

  Vraska remained motionless, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. Even unconscious, she still looked like she belonged on a throne.

  Finn watched her for a long moment.

  Marla shifted beside him. “What’re you thinking?”

  Finn exhaled. “That she’s gotten away with too much for too long.”

  Marla nodded. “And you’re sure leaving her here is enough?”

  Finn’s jaw tightened. “She built her empire on the backs of people who couldn’t fight back. People like me. And now, she’s finally lost control.”

  Marla didn’t argue.

  Instead, she stepped forward, pulling a small knife from her belt. Before Finn could ask, she crouched beside Vraska and carved something into the stone next to her.

  A simple phrase. No one is coming.

  Finn smirked. “Dramatic.”

  Marla shrugged. “Figured she deserves a little something to wake up to.”

  With one last glance at the chained woman, Finn turned. “Let’s go.”

  And just like that, they left her behind, disappearing into the morning mist.

  The road to Laudendale was different from the winding paths that led to Puddlebrook.

  Where Puddlebrook had cozy farmsteads and rolling green hills, Laudendale had stone walls and watchtowers, sprawling markets and banners that snapped against the wind.

  It was a city of wealth. A city of ruthless order.

  And, most importantly?

  A city that still held Finn’s past in ink and parchment.

  They rode in silence for the first stretch of the journey, the carriage wheels rattling over the dirt road as the golden sunrise spilled over the horizon.

  It wasn’t until they passed the first milestone marker—one that told them Laudendale was only a day’s ride away—that Marla finally broke the silence.

  “So,” she said, stretching her arms above her head. “I assume you’re not planning to just roll into the city and pretend we’re tourists?”

  Finn smirked faintly. “Not exactly.”

  Grog leaned against the side of the carriage, arms crossed. “You got a plan?”

  Finn exhaled. “I know where they keep it.”

  Marla raised a brow. “The ledger?”

  Finn nodded.

  Laudendale’s City Treasury was where they kept official records. Tax documentation, birth and death certificates, criminal histories. The ledgers were locked away in an underground archive, beneath the courthouse, accessible only to authorized officials.

  Finn had spent years avoiding that place.

  Now? He was about to walk straight into it.

  Grog grunted. “That’s a hard place to rob.”

  Finn sighed. “I know.”

  Marla squinted at him. “You sound like you’ve already thought about this before.”

  Finn hesitated.

  Then, quietly—“I have.”

  Back when he had first escaped the underworld, when he was still living in the shadows, trying to build a new life, he had considered breaking into the records hall to erase his name.

  But back then, it had been impossible.

  Now, though?

  Now, he had a team.

  Marla leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Alright. So what’s the plan? Sneak in? Bribe the guards? Burn the place down?”

  Finn smirked. “Too early to decide. First, we get inside the city and figure out our options.”

  Marla sighed. “Oh good, another half-baked scheme.”

  Finn nudged her with his elbow. “Wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”

  She grinned.

  Grog, however, was still frowning. “City’s full of guards.”

  Finn nodded. “We’ll have to be careful.”

  Laudendale wasn’t like Puddlebrook.

  It wasn’t forgiving.

  Marla rolled her shoulders, exhaling. “So, what do we do when we get there?”

  Finn grinned. “We do what we do best.”

  She arched a brow. “Which is?”

  Finn leaned back against the seat, smirking.

  “We improvise.”