Finn watched the last page of his past turn to ash.

  The flames in the hearth crackled softly, eating away at the parchment, curling its edges into blackened tendrils until nothing remained but smoldering embers.

  For the first time in years, the weight that had been pressing against his ribs felt lighter.

  The ledger was gone.

  His name—his crimes—had been reduced to nothing.

  No more ties to Laudendale’s underworld. No more threats hanging over his head. No more leverage for Vraska, should she somehow crawl her way out of that cave.

  And yet…

  Finn didn’t feel relief.

  Not yet.

  Because freedom came with a cost.

  And something in his gut told him they weren’t done paying it.

  Marla stretched her arms behind her head, letting out a long exhale. “Well. That’s one hell of a step forward.”

  Finn leaned back in his chair, staring at the embers in the hearth. “Yeah.”

  Marla gave him a sideways glance. “Don’t sound too excited.”

  Finn exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not over yet.”

  Grog grunted from his spot by the window, watching the street below. “Too quiet.”

  Marla rolled her eyes. “We’re in a city, big guy. It’s never quiet.”

  But Finn knew what he meant.

  The moment they had burned that ledger, Finn had expected to feel…finality. A clean break. An ending.

  Instead, he felt like someone was waiting.

  He stood, shaking off the thought. “We should get moving.”

  Marla frowned. “Already?”

  Finn nodded. “We stole a royal document. It won’t take long before someone notices it’s missing.”

  Grog grunted in agreement.

  Marla sighed. “Alright, alright. I’ll pack.”

  They moved quickly, gathering what little supplies they had brought. Finn made sure to check the alleyway before stepping outside, keeping his hood drawn just enough to keep his face from catching too much attention.

  But the moment they stepped into the street—something felt wrong.

  The usual bustle of Laudendale’s markets was still there. Merchants haggling, couriers rushing past, nobles in fine clothes chatting outside tea houses. But there was an undercurrent to it all.

  A shift.

  Marla noticed it too. “They’re talking about something,” she muttered under her breath.

  Finn kept walking, listening as they passed by small clusters of locals, catching snippets of conversation.

  “…can’t believe it. Right here, in the city…”

  “…a spot just opened in the competition…”

  “…not just anyone, either. He was one of the favorites to win…”

  Finn’s brow furrowed. What were they talking about?

  And then—

  “…Silk Renna says she’s stepping in to take his place.”

  Finn’s entire body went still.

  Marla noticed. “Okay. That’s not good.”

  Grog rumbled lowly. “Silk Renna?”

  Finn’s jaw clenched.

  Because Silk Renna was bad news.

  Silk Renna was a viper wrapped in silk and gold.

  She had been one of Vraska’s closest business associates. Unlike Vraska, who built her power through deals, threats, and extortion, Silk was more…direct.

  She specialized in smuggling enchanted goods, high-class assassinations, and poisons disguised as luxuries. A glass of rare elven wine, a sprig of exotic spice, a whisper of something dissolved in honey.

  Finn had only worked with her a few times.

  He never wanted to work with her again.

  Marla frowned. “What’s she doing here?”

  Finn already knew.

  She was here because Vraska was gone.

  And now, she was taking over.

  Finn barely had time to process that thought before a courier stopped in front of them, panting slightly as if he’d been searching for them specifically.

  “You,” the courier said, eyeing Finn. “You’re the gnome who runs The Velvet Ladle?”

  Finn kept his expression neutral. “Who’s asking?”

  The courier held out a sealed parchment. “A formal invitation. From Lady Silk Renna.”

  Finn stared at the letter.

  Marla sighed. “Oh, for gods’ sake.”

  Grog grunted. “Trap.”

  Finn took the letter and broke the wax seal.

  Inside was a single, elegantly penned message:

  Dearest Finnrick,

  What a pleasant surprise, finding you in Laudendale. I hear you’ve been keeping busy.

  I’d love to catch up.

  Meet me at the Royal Feast Challenge. There’s a spot open, and I’ve taken the liberty of adding your name.

  Let’s see if you still have that magic touch.

  Warm regards,

  Silk Renna

  Finn folded the parchment without a word.

  Marla crossed her arms. “I hate her already.”

  Finn exhaled. “Join the club.”

  Grog frowned. “We ignore it?”

  Finn wanted to.

  Gods, he wanted to.

  But Silk Renna didn’t make requests.

  If she was summoning him, it wasn’t a matter of choice.

  They had to go.

  Marla groaned. “Well. Guess we better see what she wants.”

  Finn’s jaw tightened.

  Because he had a sinking feeling he already knew.

  And he wasn’t going to like it.

  Finn didn’t look back.

  The moment he read the letter, the moment he saw Silk Renna’s name penned in that smooth, practiced hand, he knew exactly what she was doing.

  She wanted to pull him into her game. To make him dance to her tune just like she had done with so many others.

  And Finn?

  He wanted nothing to do with it.

  He tucked the parchment into his coat, turned on his heel, and started walking.

  “Finn?” Marla called after him.

  “Change of plans,” he muttered under his breath.

  Grog frowned. “We go to challenge?”

  “No,” Finn said. “We walk. We get out of Laudendale now.”

  Marla caught up to him, lowering her voice as they weaved through the crowded streets. “And what happens when Silk notices we’re missing?”

  Finn’s jaw tightened.

  “She already noticed us either way,” he murmured.

  Marla cursed under her breath but didn’t argue.

  They moved quickly, slipping past merchants, ducking through narrow alleyways. Finn took the longer route to the city gates, avoiding the main roads, keeping his head low and his movements careful.

  This was the only play.

  Silk Renna was dangerous. She thrived on manipulation, deception, and control. The moment you stepped onto her board, you lost. Much like Vraska, as she was a practical replica of her.

  So Finn had no intention of playing her game.

  He just needed to get out before she forced him to.

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  They rounded the last street, the massive gates of Laudendale finally coming into view. Finn felt the tension in his chest ease, just slightly.

  Another twenty steps, and they’d be gone.

  Another twenty steps, and they’d be—

  “Now, now, Finnrick.”

  The voice was smooth, silk spun over steel.

  Too familiar.

  Finn’s stomach dropped.

  He stopped just short of the city gates.

  And there she was.

  Silk Renna stood with four men flanking her.

  They weren’t city guards. They weren’t even proper enforcers. They were brutes. Thugs built like brick walls, arms thicker than most men’s waists, scars running along their faces and knuckles.

  The kind of men you sent when you wanted to make a point.

  Silk herself was dressed as impeccably as ever. Deep sapphire-blue robes, edged in gold thread. Jewels at her fingers, her wrists, but nothing too flashy. Her wealth was measured, carefully worn like armor, meant to impress but not distract.

  Her hair was tied up in an intricate series of coils, and her lips curled in a knowing smile as she tilted her head at Finn.

  “I was starting to worry,” she said smoothly. “You received my invitation, didn’t you?”

  Finn’s expression didn’t change. “Must’ve gotten lost in the rush.”

  Silk tsked. “Unfortunate. But I must insist you accept it. It would be… rude otherwise.”

  Finn inhaled slowly. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid we have business elsewhere.”

  Silk’s smile didn’t waver.

  The four men at her side shifted slightly.

  A subtle motion. Barely a flicker. But Finn caught it.

  A warning.

  No.

  A threat.

  Silk’s gaze never left his. “I insist, Finnrick.”

  Marla took a step forward, her fingers twitching at her belt. “Listen, lady—”

  Finn held up a hand, stopping her.

  Because Silk wasn’t done talking.

  And what she said next made his blood run cold.

  Silk Renna smiled, slow and confident.

  “You see,” she continued, “while you’ve been busy cooking your little meals and playing tavernkeeper, I’ve been very, very busy.”

  She lifted a single, delicate hand.

  And one of her men reached into his coat—and pulled out a leather-bound ledger.

  Not the one Finn had burned.

  No.

  This was a different book.

  Silk took it from the brute’s hands, turning it over idly, letting the weight of it settle in her grip.

  Then, with deliberate slowness, she flipped it open.

  And there it was.

  Finnrick Tumblepot.

  His name.

  His real name.

  Written in official script.

  Stamped with the royal seal of Laudendale.

  Proof of his past crimes.

  Proof that he wasn’t just a gnome running a tavern in Puddlebrook. And he could consider himself lucky that Puddlebrook refused the laws of Laudendale, keeping their politics and enforcement away from their people. But Finn—he was in the wrong place at such a wrong time.

  He was a criminal. A rogue. A man who had evaded justice for years.

  And if this ledger was turned over to the right hands?

  He’d be tried, convicted, and executed before the week was out.

  Silk watched his face carefully.

  She smiled.

  “There’s something poetic about paperwork, isn’t there?” she mused. “A man could outrun a blade. But ink? Ink follows you. Ink clings to you no matter how far you run.”

  Finn’s fingers twitched at his sides.

  He forced himself to breathe.

  To think.

  Silk wasn’t going to kill him. Not yet.

  No, she wanted something.

  And Finn already knew what it was.

  Silk snapped the ledger shut.

  Then she smiled, as if they were old friends catching up over tea.

  “I could turn this over to the city guard,” she said lightly. “But that seems… wasteful.”

  She tapped the cover of the ledger with a perfectly manicured nail.

  “Instead, I have a proposition.”

  Finn’s jaw tightened. “Let me guess.”

  Silk’s smile widened. “You compete in the Royal Feast Challenge.”

  Marla groaned.

  Grog grunted.

  Finn kept his expression neutral.

  “And if I refuse?” he asked.

  Silk shrugged. “Then I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to turn you in.”

  She said it so sweetly. Like it was a real tragedy.

  Finn exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. “And if I play along?”

  Silk’s gaze gleamed.

  “You win,” she said, “and you’ll earn favor with the king himself. It would be… useful to have a connection that high up, wouldn’t it?”

  Finn hated that she was right.

  Marla scowled. “And what do you get out of this?”

  Silk smiled. “Entertainment, of course.”

  Lies.

  There was more to it than that.

  But Finn didn’t have time to press.

  Because Silk had backed him into a corner.

  He could either risk his life in front of the entire royal court…

  Or he could be dragged before them in chains.

  Finn exhaled slowly.

  Then, he nodded.

  Silk’s smile widened. “Wonderful.”

  She turned on her heel, gesturing for her men to follow. “The competition begins tomorrow. I suggest you prepare.”

  She tossed the ledger back to one of her brutes.

  And just like that, she was gone.

  Leaving Finn standing at the city gates—

  Trapped.

  Finn stood at the city gates for a long moment, watching Silk Renna disappear into the city’s streets, her four brutes following close behind like trained hounds.

  The weight in his chest settled like a stone at the bottom of a lake.

  She had backed him into a perfect corner.

  He had one night to prepare.

  One night before the Royal Feast Challenge began.

  And he knew—without a doubt—that Silk wasn’t inviting him to this competition just for sport.

  No.

  She was setting him up.

  The only question was how.

  Marla let out a long exhale, dragging a hand through her hair. “Well, Finn, congratulations. You just got blackmailed into cooking for royalty.”

  Grog grunted. “Could’ve been worse.”

  Marla shot him a look. “How?”

  Grog shrugged. “Could’ve been cleaning stables for royalty.”

  Marla snorted. “Yeah, real comforting.”

  Finn didn’t respond immediately.

  He was already thinking through the angles.

  They needed information.

  Fast.

  The Royal Feast Challenge was one of the largest culinary competitions in Laudendale—a high-profile event where only the best chefs were invited to cook before the king and his high court.

  It wasn’t just about good food.

  It was about prestige. Influence. Power.

  The kind of event where nobles made alliances, rivalries were forged, and fortunes were won or lost.

  Finn hated politics.

  But this time, he didn’t have a choice.

  Marla crossed her arms. “So, what’s the plan? Besides ‘don’t get killed.’”

  Finn exhaled. “We need to get inside the competition hall before morning. Figure out the layout, the ingredients, and the rules.”

  Marla smirked. “You planning to cheat?”

  Finn gave her a flat look. “I’m planning to survive.”

  Marla held up her hands. “Fair enough.”

  Grog cracked his knuckles. “We go now?”

  Finn nodded. “Now.”

  Because whatever Silk was planning…

  He had to be one step ahead.

  #

  Getting into the competition hall wasn’t as difficult as Finn had expected.

  Laudendale’s kitchens were always busy. Late into the night, cooks, bakers, and servants moved in and out, preparing for the royal meals of the following day.

  Finn used that to their advantage.

  With a well-timed bribe to a kitchen porter, they slipped through the side entrance, blending in among the staff.

  The main cooking hall was a sprawling space of polished stone countertops, open hearths, and enchanted stoves. Iron racks hung from the ceiling, holding copper pots and knives sharp enough to split bone.

  It smelled of herbs, fresh bread, and simmering stocks.

  But beyond the food, beyond the artistry—

  It was a battlefield.

  Chefs from all over had already begun preparing, some testing sauces, others sharpening knives. Finn recognized a few faces—renowned chefs from the capital, former noble house cooks, even a dwarven spice master who had once been a personal chef for the Crestwell family.

  Marla whistled low. “Fancy.”

  Finn scanned the room, looking for anything out of place.

  And then, he saw it.

  Near the far side of the kitchen, a figure in deep navy robes stood beside one of the pantry doors, speaking to one of the competition officials.

  Silk Renna.

  Finn ducked behind a shelf, motioning for Marla and Grog to follow.

  From their vantage point, they could hear just enough of the conversation.

  “…ensuring only the finest ingredients, of course,” Silk was saying, her voice smooth. “The competition must reflect the highest standards.”

  The official nodded. “Naturally, my lady. We have the freshest imports.”

  Silk smiled. “Good. And the special selection?”

  The official hesitated. “That… is still being finalized.”

  Silk’s smile didn’t waver.

  But Finn saw it.

  A flicker of steel in her eyes.

  “See to it that it is ready before morning,” she said lightly. “After all, a competition of this magnitude must be absolutely flawless.”

  The official bowed his head. “Of course.”

  Silk turned gracefully, glancing around the kitchen with quiet amusement.

  Then, as if sensing his presence—her gaze flicked directly to where Finn was hiding.

  Finn didn’t move.

  Didn’t breathe.

  Silk’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

  And then, she left.

  Marla let out a breath. “Okay, that was creepy.”

  Finn’s jaw tightened.

  “Come on,” he muttered. “We need to check the ingredients.”

  Because whatever Silk was planning…

  It was already in motion.

  The pantries were well-stocked with fresh meats, fine wines, rare spices—everything needed to prepare a feast fit for a king.

  But Finn wasn’t interested in the obvious.

  He was looking for what didn’t belong.

  And then—he found it.

  A small wooden crate tucked beneath a shelf, barely noticeable among the stacks of imported goods. Finn crouched down, running a hand over the side.

  The label read: Crestwell Imports – High Quality Exotic Goods.

  But when Finn lifted the lid—his blood ran cold.

  Inside were two small vials nestled between sacks of saffron and dried basil.

  The liquid inside was clear. Almost invisible.

  Finn didn’t need to open them to know what they were.

  He had seen this before.

  A rare slow-acting toxin. Tasteless. Odorless.

  And lethal in just the right dose.

  Finn closed the lid carefully, his mind racing.

  Silk wasn’t just setting him up to fail.

  She was setting him up to kill.

  Marla crouched beside him, peering into the crate. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

  Finn inhaled. “Very.”

  Grog frowned. “Someone poisoned the feast?”

  Finn nodded. “And guess who’s supposed to cook it?”

  Marla cursed. “Silk wants you to serve this to the king.”

  Finn’s hands tightened into fists.

  If he served a poisoned dish, he’d be executed.

  If he refused, Silk would turn him in anyway.

  A perfect trap.

  And Finn had less than a day to escape it.

  #

  Back in their rented room above The Rusty Anvil, Finn paced the floor, hands on his hips, thoughts racing.

  “Alright,” Marla muttered. “Let’s list our options. One: We swap the ingredients before the feast starts.”

  Finn shook his head. “Too risky. If we get caught tampering with supplies, we look guilty.”

  Grog crossed his arms. “Two: Tell the guards.”

  Finn exhaled. “Silk controls the game. If we accuse her without proof, we’ll just be arrested.”

  Marla sighed. “Three: We run.”

  Finn stopped pacing.

  Marla raised a brow. “Don’t tell me you’re actually considering playing along?”

  Finn exhaled.

  Because the truth was—he wasn’t sure.

  They were trapped.

  Either he won Silk’s game…

  Or she won hers.

  Marla rubbed her temples. “Finn, you’re good. But you’re not a miracle worker.”

  Finn hesitated. Then, slowly, he smirked.

  “No,” he murmured. “But I am a chef.”

  Grog blinked. “That means?”

  Finn turned, eyes gleaming.

  “It means we don’t run.”

  Marla groaned. “You’re gonna pull some wild plan, aren’t you?”

  Finn’s smirk widened.

  “Wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”