Chapter 18
Renan doesn't knock.
Just walks in—fully armed, blood on his collar, that flat expression that means someone's already had a bad morning. His eyes slide right past me in Koshin's bed and land on the god at the window.
"Rise and shine. We've got a rat problem."
Koshin hasn't moved. He's been at the window for hours—I woke twice in the night and both times he was there. Watching the dark. Watching me.
"The Faith rat?"
"Getting twitchy. Asking about departure routes. Might be planning to bolt with whatever intel he's scraped together."
Koshin's head tilts.
"Then we accelerate."
"That's the fun answer, yes." Renan leans against the doorframe, checking a blade I didn't see him draw. "We need to move in the next two hours. Catch him before he runs."
Koshin crosses to the wardrobe. Pulls out a long knife. Something that might be a garrote. Lovely.
"She stays here."
Koshin's hand freezes on the blade.
"Don't give me that look." Renan's still leaning against the doorframe, checking a knife I didn't see him draw. "You can't fuck someone and stab someone at the same time. I mean—" He tilts his head, considering. "You probably could, but it seems rude."
"Renan."
"You're going to be distracted. You'll spend the whole mission making sure no one's looking at her wrong instead of doing what needs to be done. And then I'll have to pick up the slack, and I'm not in the mood."
Koshin's jaw goes tight. "The alternative is leaving her here. Unprotected."
"The alternative is leaving her with Discord guards who are extremely motivated not to die when you get back and find out they let something happen." Renan's voice stays light. Almost bored. "She's safer here. You know it. You just don't like it."
Neither of them moves. Renan doesn't back down—just stands there, cleaning his blade like this is a conversation about dinner plans.
And I should stay quiet. Let them figure this out. I shouldn't stick my neck into Discord business because I am the debt, I am the property, I am the—
"I'll be fine."
Both of them look at me. My voice is steadier than it should be.
"I can—" What? What can I? "I don't need a babysitter. I survived this long without one."
Renan's eyebrows go up. Interested.
Koshin stares. That searching look. My skin prickles.
Silence stretches.
Then Renan pushes off the doorframe with a long-suffering sigh.
"Fine. Fine. I'll babysit."
Koshin goes very still. "You're supposed to—"
"Vex can handle the rat. She's been itching for fieldwork." He slides the blade back into his sleeve, already looking bored. "Stop begging. It's embarrassing. I'll keep your mortal breathing until you get back."
"If something happens to her—"
"You'll unmake me slowly over years." Renan's voice is dry. "I remember the speech. Very moving. Had some nice imagery."
Koshin's breathing goes uneven. His fingers flex at his sides. Once. Twice.
"She stays within arm's reach of you."
"Obviously."
"You don't leave her alone. Not for a second."
"Was planning to follow her into the bathroom, actually." Renan's mouth curves. "Should I hold her hand while she pees, or—"
"Renan."
"She'll be fine." All the humor drains out of his voice. Just for a second. "I've got her."
They hold each other's gaze. Something old in it. Whatever they are to each other, it's older than me.
Koshin steps closer. His hand on my face—fingers tracing my jaw, my throat, the pulse beneath my ear. Mapping. Memorizing.
"You stay with Renan." Not a request.
"I—yes."
"You do what he tells you."
"Okay."
"And if anyone touches you—anyone at all—you tell me. Every detail. So I know exactly what to do to them."
His thumb brushes my lower lip. Light. Threatening.
"Okay," I whisper.
He holds my gaze. Longer than he should. Then he's gone—a last warning look thrown at Renan, and the door closing behind him, and the room gone hollow with his absence.
Renan exhales. "Well. That was romantic."
I choke on a laugh. "He threatened to unmake you. Slowly."
"Over years. He specified over years. It's the attention to detail that really makes you feel special." He tilts his head toward the door. "Get dressed. We have work."
The story comes out in pieces as we walk.
Discord territory sprawls—not neat districts but bleeding boundaries, pockets of influence scattered through the city. Renan moves through them with the ease of someone who grew up here, who knows which streets belong to which games.
"Six months ago," he says, "a new recruit showed up. Perfect credentials. Good connections. Too good."
"You knew he was a spy."
"Obviously." He sounds almost offended. "The credentials were flawless. Which is how you know someone manufactured them."
"So you... let him in anyway?"
"No one had tried anything stupid in months. We were bored." Renan shrugs. "Figured we'd see what he'd do. How sloppy he'd get. Turns out—very sloppy. Made it easy to decide what he 'found.'"
I stop walking.
"You've been feeding him false intelligence because you were bored?"
"Entertainment and strategy aren't mutually exclusive." His mouth curves. "He thinks he's stealing secrets. We're the ones picking which secrets he steals. Everyone wins. Well—" He tilts his head. "He doesn't. But that's the fun part."
"And Faith—"
"Has been making decisions based on whatever we felt like telling them." He picks at something under his nail, unbothered. "Last month we convinced them War was stockpiling weapons in a temple basement. There is no basement. Watching them dig was extremely satisfying."
My feet stay planted.
All those stories about Discord's chaos, their unpredictability—I thought it was exactly what it looked like. Wild and reactive and dangerous.
"You're not actually insane."
"Oh, we're definitely insane." Renan's smile shows teeth. "We're just also petty. And patient. And easily entertained by other people's bad decisions."
"That's..." I search for the right word. "Horrifying."
"Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"It was to me."
The tavern's busy enough to disappear in. Renan finds a table near the back, angles his chair toward every entrance.
"He'll be here in twenty minutes," he says. "You're my new recruit. Nervous. Eager to prove yourself. Hungry for coin and bored with the straight life."
"And you're..."
"Careless. Drunk enough to let things slip. Trying to impress the pretty new blood."
I snort. "Drunk and careless. Real stretch for you."
His mouth quirks. "I'm a man of many talents."
The tavern fills around us. Merchants, dockworkers, a few faces that look more dangerous than the rest.
"There." Renan's voice drops. "Just walked in. Blue coat, left hand."
I don't look directly. Let my gaze drift, casual, landing on him for only a second.
He's unremarkable. Average height, average build, the kind of face you'd forget an hour after meeting.
"He'll approach us," Renan murmurs against the rim of his cup. "Let me do the talking until I bring you in. Then just... be yourself."
"Terrified and confused?"
"Hungry and clever." His eyes meet mine. "Play up the survival instinct. The willingness to do anything to get ahead. He'll recognize it."
The spy approaches three minutes later. Smooth, confident, the right amount of deference.
"Renan. Didn't expect to see you here."
"Einar." Renan's voice has gone loose, sloppy at the edges. "Have a drink with us. This is—shit, what'd you say your name was again?"
I let myself look nervous. Let my hands fidget on the table. "Lira."
"Lira." Renan grins. "Fresh blood. Still learning the ropes."
Einar's eyes assess me. Quick. Professional. I make myself smaller. Let the hunger show.
"New to Discord?"
"New to everything." I duck my head. "Renan's been... helping me understand how things work."
Renan laughs, too loud. "Helping. That's one word for it." He leans back, waves for more drinks. "She's got potential, this one. Quick on her feet. Knows how to read a room."
Einar's interest sharpens. "That so?"
"Mm. Smart, too. Been picking up the important bits fast." Renan drops his voice, the way drunk people do when they think they're being subtle. "Like where the weak points are. What moves War's planning. You know."
"Do I?"
"Come on." Renan waves a hand. "We're all on the same side here. What's it hurt if she knows about the eastern routes? Or the thing with Coin's—"
"Renan." Einar's voice is careful. "Maybe we shouldn't—"
"She's fine! She's one of us now." Renan claps my shoulder, too hard. I let myself flinch. "Right, Lira? You're not going to go running to anyone with what you hear?"
I shake my head quickly. Wide eyes. Eager.
"See?" Renan beams. "Loyal as a hound, this one. And she's got a gift for moving through places without being noticed. Picked up six purses yesterday without anyone blinking. I'm thinking she might be useful for that thing. The War cache."
Einar's whole body has gone still.
"The War cache," he repeats.
"The one near the eastern docks. You know." Renan's being sloppy on purpose now, theatrical. "Where they're keeping the—ah, I probably shouldn't say. Forget I mentioned it."
"Of course."
But his eyes are already cataloging. Already planning how he'll report this. I can see it happening—the calculation, the hunger for useful information.
Renan keeps talking. Keeps spilling carefully constructed secrets, just drunk enough to be believable, just careless enough to be exploited. And Einar absorbs it all, certain he's the clever one, certain he's getting away with something.
When he finally excuses himself—eager to go report, I'm guessing—I let out a breath.
Renan's drunk sloppiness vanishes the moment the door closes.
"Not bad," he says. Clear. Sober. "You've done that before."
"Done what?"
"Made yourself small. Made people underestimate you." His gaze is measuring.
My jaw tightens. "I don't know what—"