The JLTV rattled down the high road with its usual mechanical growl, steady as a heartbeat. The mist thinned as they descended, cliffs giving way to open fields and farm roads where peasants paused mid-harvest to gape at the machine’s bulk. The morning sun caught on the steel, casting long shadows ahead of them, like a herald warning Elandra of what rolled its way home.
In the back, Vane shifted against the ropes. His mouth was gagged, but his eyes burned with unspoken curses. Lyra kept her bow across her lap anyway. She didn’t trust silence, not from him.
"He’ll try something," she murmured.
Inigo, hands steady on the wheel, didn’t glance back. "Not with those knots."
"Knots hold rope. They don’t hold pride."
He allowed a small grunt at that. "Then we’ll bring both to Thorne."
Midday found them passing the first trade villages. Children ran alongside for a stretch, waving, until their mothers scolded them back to the fields. Merchants stopped carts to stare, eyes flicking from the JLTV’s armor to the bound figure visible through the rear slats. Recognition traveled quick; whispers followed in their wake.
Lyra shifted uneasily. "Word will spread faster than us."
"Good," Inigo said. "The guild needs stories more than reports. Stories travel where seals can’t."
By the time they reached the river crossing, a patrol of city guards flagged them down. The captain approached warily, eyes narrowing at the sight of Vane tied in the back.
"What’s this?" he asked.
Lyra flipped the folded parchment from her belt, breaking the seal with a sharp motion. "Platinum prerogative." Her voice carried the authority of the words as if they weighed more than steel.
The captain read, blinked once, and snapped a salute. "Forgive me. Proceed."
He didn’t ask another question. The JLTV rolled on.
Elandra’s walls rose in the late afternoon light, towers gilded by the sun like spears tipped in flame. The gates parted at the sight of the machine, guards stepping aside with more respect than curiosity. By now the city had learned to expect the unexpected when the JLTV returned.
Riko was outside Mcronald’s, chalkboard in hand, when he saw them pass. His eyes widened, mouth opening to shout—but Inigo gave the smallest shake of his head. The boy swallowed his words and instead bolted inside to spread the sight like wildfire.
Straight to the guildhall they went. The machine growled to a halt in the courtyard, and the commotion was immediate. Apprentices gawked. Veterans frowned. Clerks whispered to each other about paperwork that would soon need writing.
Elise was already on the steps. "By the gods," she muttered, eyes flicking from Vane’s bound figure to the expressionless calm of the two Platinums climbing out of the cab. "You really don’t do half measures."
"No refunds either," Inigo said dryly.
They hauled Vane between them, his boots dragging against stone. Every eye followed as they marched him into the guildhall, through the atrium, up the stairs, down the hall. The murmurs swelled with every step.
Thorne was waiting, of course. He always seemed to know when the storm would arrive. His desk was clear this time, map folded, tea cooling in one corner.
Inigo shoved Vane into the chair opposite. The man slumped, gagged, but his glare did the speaking for him. Lyra gave the short version—glass signals, tree trap, net cut, head taken. Efficient, soldier-like.
Thorne listened without interruption. When she finished, he regarded Vane with a long, steady stare. "You cost this city blood. You cost it coin. And for what? A toll? A banner?"
Vane spat through the gag, the sound wet and defiant.
Thorne’s jaw tightened. He looked to Inigo. "Did he say anything?"
"Not with words," Inigo said.
"Then he’ll learn." Thorne stood, signaled with two fingers. Guards entered—guild guards, not city. Quiet men in plain leather, the kind who carried orders like scripture. They hauled Vane up by the arms and marched him out. He struggled once, twice, then went still when the ropes bit harder.
The door shut. Silence returned.
"Clean," Thorne said at last. "Minimal disruption. Wagons reached the northern gate this afternoon without delay. You did what was required."
"And what wasn’t," Lyra said.
Thorne’s eyes flicked to her, sharp. She didn’t flinch.
"You cut the head," he admitted. "I asked only for the net. That’s... acceptable."
Inigo leaned against the desk, folding his arms. "What happens to him?"
Thorne’s face revealed nothing. "That’s not your concern."
"It is," Lyra pressed. "We’re not errand runners. We’re Platinums. You don’t bind a man like that and then toss him in a cellar. Not without telling us why."
A muscle in Thorne’s jaw ticked. For a heartbeat, it seemed he might rebuke her. Then he exhaled slowly. "Interrogation. Then tribunal. Quiet. No spectacle. If he talks, we’ll know who backed him. If he doesn’t..." His shrug was colder than stone. "He won’t trouble the road again."
That seemed to satisfy her, or at least stop her questions. She sat, bow across her knees, and let the silence hold.
Thorne turned to Inigo. "And you?"
Inigo’s gaze was steady, unreadable. "I’m thinking about dinner."
Thorne almost smiled. Almost. "Go. Rest. The city owes you more than coin, but coin is what I can give. Your account has been credited. Double rate, hazard included."
He gestured them toward the door. "Elise will see to the paperwork. And Inigo—Lyra—" His voice lowered. "You’ve proven again what the guild always suspected. You’re not just assets. You’re examples. That frightens people. It should. Use it wisely."
The air outside felt lighter, though perhaps only because the weight of Thorne’s office was gone. Elise caught them on the stairs, folder in hand. "Hazard double," she said, confirming the guildmaster’s words. Then, with a sly grin: "And you’ve got the whole hall whispering already. Platinum celebrity with an actual capture? The bards will need extra ink tonight."
Lyra groaned softly. "I’d rather they sing about the food."
"Give it time," Elise said. "You’re feeding the city two ways now."
Inigo tucked the folder under his arm and pushed through the guild doors. Evening had begun to spread across the plaza, lanterns flaring to life one by one. People turned at the sight of them emerging—Platinums, dust on their boots, calm on their faces. A cheer rose unbidden, quick and raw.
Lyra stiffened, unused to the attention. Inigo only raised a hand once, then kept walking.
"Dinner?" he asked her, quiet enough for only her to hear.
She nodded. "Dinner."