Felix fans out his cards, barely glancing up as he replies to the rotund man beside him, distracted. “Well… a friend lent it to me.”

  The man, also known as The Belly, grins, his pudgy cheeks bunching as his eyes twinkle with sudden interest. “Oh? What’s the rate on that loan, then? I’ve been looking for some coin myself. Perhaps I could do business with your friend.”

  Felix’s eyes finally lift from his cards, calmly and coolly. “He gave me that rate because he knows me. And you are?”

  “My apologies,” the man says. “Bartholomew, owner of the circus.” He extends a plump hand.

  “Felix,” he replies, shaking it. “I’ve heard of your circus. My daughter’s been pestering me to take her.” A brief, fatherly smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

  “Well, it just so happens…” Bartholomew reaches into his storage stone and rummages noisily. With a flourish, he produces a pair of tickets and a pass. “Here. On the house.”

  Felix accepts them with a nod of thanks, sliding them into his coat pocket. Then he leans in and gestures Bartholomew away from the table. “Come, let’s talk over there.”

  They slip into the quieter corner of the betting hall. Felix bends close to whisper. “You can look for Tomick.” He nods across the smoky room to a sharply dressed man exiting one of the back rooms, his hair slicked, his shoes polished to a mirror shine.

  “If you want a generous rate, they take collateral. Sometimes even people.”

  Felix’s lips curl into a cruel, calculating smirk.

  Bartholomew recoils, eyes bulging. “By the Queen’s grace… how can they?”

  “Shh,” Felix hisses, eyes darting around. “First time here, is it? That’s the unspoken rule of this betting house.”

  Bartholomew steadies himself. “The circus is only in Pantmawr for a short tour. I didn’t realise…”

  Felix clicks his tongue, raising an eyebrow. “Things are different in Pantmawr. This city isn’t just a merchant hub. We trade in more than just magical trinkets and enchanted baubles.”

  Bartholomew lowers his voice. “If I may ask… how do they use people as collateral?”

  “They only accept healthy orphans.” Low-risk, easily controlled, and good value for money.

  Bartholomew sighs. “But I don’t have one on hand.”

  Felix smirks and slings an arm around his shoulder. “Mate, you can always find one.”

  Bartholomew doesn’t respond, already drifting into thought. Felix watches him closely, then steps back toward his table. "Thanks for the tickets. I’ll have to go back and win more chips now."

  As he sits, cards in hand, he spies Bartholomew from the corner of his eye. He is already making his way toward Tomick.

  He bit the bait. Now, onto the next step.

  —

  Out behind the orphanage, Risa and Nyx kneel in the snow, gloved hands shape yet another snowman. It’s been days of the same routine.

  “I’m sick of snow,” Risa grumbles, breath puffing into the chill air like steam. “How many more days are we going to sit back here playing pretend?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s build another one.” Nyx replies coldly.

  Risa groans but doesn’t stop. Her hands move on instinct, shovelling and packing snow, crafting odd shapes with an artist’s defiance.

  Pretending to play, they secretly watch every delivery and every helper or merchant who passes by. Two children in the snow seem invisible, just siblings whiling away the last light before dinner.

  At sundown, they always return to the inn with trail masked by a spell, and their snow-wet clothes swapped for dry ones.

  “Any discoveries?” Finn asks that evening, his moustache now removed.

  “Nothing new. Same staff, same delivery men,” Risa says, shrugging. “Why are you so sure the orphanage is linked to the traffickers?”

  “Call it a hunch,” Finn mutters, scratching the now-emptied upper lip. “Cassius escaped through an unguarded side gate and was immediately snatched by traffickers? Doesn’t that strike you as… convenient?”

  Cassius has fully recovered, with barely a scab in sight. Even so, he mostly stays in the room to avoid attention. Aurelien brings him food and fresh clothes, keeps him company, and reads to him from her favourite books. He can’t bring himself to refuse her kindness, so he listens intently for the first few pages, then usually dozes off to the rhythm of her voice. Aurelien only shakes her head and tucks him gently under the warm blanket.

  “Did anything strange happen before you escaped?” Finn asks.

  Cassius nods slowly, searching his memories. “About a week before… a man came into our room. Said he was adopting one of us.”

  “Weird thing was he chose the naughtiest boy,” Cassius continues. “The kid had only been there a few weeks. Always causing trouble, like breaking things, yelling… yet the helpers brought the boy to the man. Then he was gone with him.”

  “Was the boy special in anything, or has he a good brain?” Risa presses.

  Cassius shakes his head. "No. He wasn't strong or smart."

  “And shortly after that, you made your escape and were captured,” Finn concludes.

  “Yes.”

  “Anything else?” Finn prompts.

  Cassius hesitates. “The helpers… they bullied me. Gave me bad food. Made me stand for hours. Wouldn’t let me sleep.”

  His voice falters. His head dips.

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  Finn reaches out and pats his shoulder. Risa pulls him into a hug. Nyx watches silently from the side, holding Cocoa, his eyes unreadable.

  After a moment, Finn asks, “When they took you, do you remember anything about where they brought you?”

  Cassius shakes his head. “They kept my eyes covered. Locked me in a cage… I hate cages now.” He clenches his fists. “But… I remember water dripping. Echoes. It sounded like a cave.”

  Finn’s mind spins. “So… the visitor could’ve been the trafficker. The helpers handed over the most troublesome child to get rid of him. And you—they bullied you, hoping you’d run… straight into the traffickers’ arms.”

  Risa gasps. “They’re working together. The helpers pick the targets. The traffickers pose as adopters or wait outside the unguarded gate. It’s perfect.” Then she frowns. “But why haven’t the knights noticed?”

  “Good question,” Finn nods.

  “Maybe they only do it rarely,” Cassius suggests.

  “Or… they’ve got ties to the knights,” Risa adds.

  Finn turns to Nyx. “What do you think?”

  Nyx tilts his head. “Do the knights get food if they bring the kids back?”

  Finn blinks. “Most likely no.”

  “Then why would the knights help them?” Nyx replies plainly.

  Finn nods grimly. “They try, maybe. But when days turn to weeks, and weeks to months… the case fades. These are orphans. No family. No power. No one keeps searching forever—not even a knight.”

  “What’s more, they have been meticulous in executing their plans because not all children disappear after being adopted; some also run away themselves like Cassius.”

  Cassius’s fists clench, face drawn. The truth is bitter, but it fits.

  “We’ve got nothing so far. Shall we keep building snowmen?” Risa asks, weary.

  Finn shakes his head. “No. We won’t find more out there. Only risk exposure.”

  “So… we just wait for ‘The Belly’?” Risa frowns.

  “We can’t. We need to act.”

  He pauses. “The record…”

  The next night.

  The orphanage sleeps. Children toss in their beds, soft snores filling the darkened rooms.

  Finn and Risa slip in through the side gate, masked by enchantment. Quiet. Invisible. They move like shadows, careful not to stir a single floorboard.

  Cassius had drawn them a crude map to highlight the office of Headmaster Farnham, the curfew times, and the number of staff. No trained mages. No swordsmen.

  They walk past a row of headmaster portraits, all sharing the same last name. The newest is Cedric Farnham, slim and bespectacled, his gaze following them down the hall.

  Finn had insisted on going alone.

  “I’ll just slip in, find the headmaster’s records, and slip out.”

  “I want to come this time, please~” Risa clasped both hands and pleaded persistently, eyes wide.

  He sighed. “Fine. We have to be quick.”

  Now, they crouch outside the headmaster’s door. It’s locked by not just a mechanical lock, but also a magical spell.

  Risa frowns. “According to Cassius, this is the only room sealed with arcane protection.”

  “That means what we’re after is inside,” Finn whispers.

  He pulls out a curious device: a brass contraption of gears and spindles.

  “What’s that?” Risa asks.

  “It’s a lock decipherer.” Finn places the gadget on the lock. It latches on with a click. The device ticks and clatters, making several rapid adjustments as it searches for the right magical sequence.

  “Never heard of it. Where’d you get it?”

  “Merchant market,” Finn replies with a grin. “I modified it so I could actually use it.”

  “Interesting. Think it’d work on the arcane lock bound to Evelyn’s property too?”

  “Highly doubt it,” Finn says. “That one’s cast with a much higher-level spell. Besides, this is the first time I’m actually testing this thing after the modifications.”

  The gears whirl, clicking and twitching as the tool probes the spell. Moments pass. Then—

  Click.

  “It worked!” Risa says, catching her breath.

  Finn grins and thinks, “My skill is not yet rusty.”

  The lock breaks.

  Finn gently pushes the door open. It creaks softly on its hinges. Risa slips in first, and Finn follows close behind. Once inside, they quietly shut and re-lock it, careful not to disturb the silence.

  The headmaster’s office is colder than expected, the kind of chill that settles in old stone walls and refuses to leave. The room is orderly, almost obsessively so. A broad oak desk commands the centre, its polished surface facing a worn leather couch. On the wall opposite, bookshelves crowd the space, packed with tomes, scrolls, and stacked ledgers. A faint scent of ink, wax, and old paper hangs in the air.

  “If you were the headmaster,” Finn whispers, stepping closer to the desk, “where would you hide your secrets?”

  Risa doesn’t hesitate. Her eyes sweep over the room, calm and sharp. “The desk. Always the desk.”

  "Finn casts a dim flash spell, just enough to give them a muted glow—without leaking through the door seams.”

  They crouch down beside the desk. Finn opens the drawers one by one, careful and quiet. Pens, ink bottles, a cracked seal stamp. But nothing that stands out.

  “Nothing here,” he mutters. “Let’s search the shelves. Quickly.”

  They split up, each taking one side of the room. Time isn’t on their side. No one’s expected to visit the office at this hour, but luck isn’t something they like to gamble on.

  Finn trails his fingers along the spines of the books, eyes flicking over the titles, looking for anything that might hint at financial records or orphan logs. Nearby, Risa lifts loose parchments, skims cover pages, and sets each one neatly back where it came from. Every rustle of paper, every creak of the old wood beneath them, seems louder than it should in the silence.

  After a while, Risa sighs softly and glances over. “Finn, I can’t find anything useful. You?”

  “Same,” he replies, frowning. His gaze falls back to the desk. “But I’ll give this another look.”

  He crouches again, this time letting his fingers glide slowly along the edges and inside the corners of the bottom drawer. Then he notices something.

  A tiny rough patch under the paint. Peeling. His brow furrows as he digs a little deeper with his fingertips. The edge gives. He lifts a thin, splintered plank from the bottom of the drawer, revealing a hidden compartment beneath.

  A bundle of parchment lies within.

  “You found something?” Risa hurries over, her voice hushed but brimming with restrained excitement.

  Finn lifts the stack and begins flipping through the pages. Names. Dozens of them. Each followed by a date, a sum of money, and at the end of every line—a cross.

  The entries are sorted by date, stretching back over five years. The latest entry makes his breath catch.

  “Cassius,” he murmurs. “Five thousand coins.”

  Risa leans closer, her face pale in the faint glow. “Is this… a record of the missing children?”

  He nods, expression hardening. “Looks that way.”

  “They’ve been doing this for years.” Her voice is tight. “We need to bring this to the knights. Now.”

  “Not yet.” Finn slips the stack of parchment into his storage stone. He draws out a piece of paper and a pen. His hand moves quickly across the page as he writes:

  If you want the list back, meet us alone at the barrier-sealed house on the outskirts of the city after sunset, three days from now. Bring seventy thousand coins. If you don’t, the list goes to the knights.

  “Is it all right for us to do this?” Risa asks, her voice full of concern.

  “This is what it means to fight fire with fire,” Finn says, smiling to reassure her.

  He places the note where the hidden compartment had been, then carefully fits the wooden plank back in place and slides the drawer shut. The message sits atop, perfectly positioned to wait for the headmaster to discover once he realises the arcane lock has been disarmed.

  “All set,” Finn whispers.

  They retrace their steps, moving with the same cautious silence they entered with. Back through the corridor. Past the empty halls. Out through the side door.

  No alarms. No footsteps behind them. No unexpected turns.

  Tonight, at least, the night is kind.