They walked in a loose line, small talk filling the air as Nyra introduced herself in a more friendly way to the four of them. Nyra kept one hand pressed lightly to her side, where a bruise was beginning to bloom beneath her coat. Bartholomew kept craning his neck to inspect lampposts, resembling a bobblehead in ways. By the time they reached the Inn, the stars had thickened above the rooftops like paint flecks.
Inside, the warmth of the common room greeted them with a hug. It was filled with low-burning lanterns, the faint scent of cinnamon, and brewed tea from a teapot someone had forgotten about. A few travelers had already turned in for the night, leaving them in a quiet room.
Willow led Nyra down the short hall with a gentle nudge of her shoulder.
"My room has two beds. You're taking the one by the window."
Nyra blinked, surprised. "You sure? I can take the floor if you'd rather—"
Willow shot her a look over her shoulder. "I get a room to myself anyways, might as well let someone take the other bed while we're at it."
That earned her a small laugh. Nyra gave a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am."
They disappeared behind the door with the soft click of a latch, finding their way to bed. Joren watched them go as Gus unlocked the door and moved his stuff inside.
Bartholomew wandered down the hall a few seconds later, arms full of what looked like three different types of sleep masks and a glass jar labeled emergency yogurt. He paused, turned slowly toward Joren, and whispered, "If I sleepwalk, do not engage. It might be a turnip taking over my brain."
Joren nodded. "Noted."
It wasn't long before the three men found themselves tucked into bed and snoozing away. The last thing Joren heard was the soft creak of a floorboard in another room, and Willow's voice, low and calm, saying something like, "No, don't worry, you can take the extra blanket."
Morning – Inn
Morning arrived with a thin layer of sun stretched across the window glass, soft and slow.
Downstairs, the clatter of dishes had already begun as breakfast was underway. The smell of warm bread drifted upward into the rooms, mingling with citrus peel and something faintly herbal.
Willow was up early, already dressed and packing her bags, her hands moving with practiced ease. In the second bed, Nyra stirred with a groan, one arm thrown over her eyes. Her glasses were somehow still on, though they looked to be upside down.
How did she manage to flip her glasses over in her sleep?
Willow glanced over. "You always sleep like that?"
Nyra made a noise that might've been a mix between "no" and "don't judge me" as she rolled over. Then, after a pause, she sat up, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak.
"I'm hungry. Let's get some food before we head out." Nyra said.
Downstairs, the common room was comfortably alive. Gus was already seated at the long table, halfway through his third piece of toast, while Bartholomew stood by the fireplace, explaining the psychological benefits of cheese fermentation to a deeply confused traveler. Joren sat at the window bench, nursing a warm drink and watching the street outside quietly wake.
Breakfast was over in a flash. Willow slung her bag over her shoulder and tipped her head toward the door. "All right, time to see what disaster flavor the Department's serving this morning."
And just like that, they stepped out into the light.
Afternoon – Halrec District
The railcar hummed softly beneath their feet as it glided east, its tinted windows shimmering faintly against the morning light. Nyra had insisted on the transport line that cut straight through the capital's inner loop, bypassing the slower market routes. They sat across from each other in facing seats.
"We'll reach Halrec by midday," she said, "assuming that it runs on schedule."
They passed through Valtryn District first. Its skyline bristled with spires and watchposts. Towering barracks and drill yards lined the city, each one stark and orderly, marked with banners stitched in deep iron-gray. Soldiers marched in squares below them with impossible synchronization.
Gus leaned forward, watching through the glass. "Do they train for the sound of their boots to echo like that?"
"They train for everything," Nyra said. "Rumor is, if you cough out of rhythm in formation, they make you practice running silently."
Next came Judicar. The streets here were silent but heavy, like every building was listening. Smooth stone courthouses with arched windows sat on slow-moving canals. Ornate designs on buildings carried figures in black with gold inlays, each one holding the scales of justice from one hand. In the distance, a mechanical bell tolled, clean and low, marking eleven on the hour.
Bartholomew pressed his face to the window, nose squished and fog building up. "I once sued myself here to prove a point."
"What was the point?" Joren asked.
"That I couldn't be trusted," he replied gravely. He drew a smiley face in the fog. Nyra smacked his hand and told him to clean it off.
They passed under a rune-etched arch as the railcar turned north, and the buildings shifted again. Glass towers and scholar halls gave way to wide, angular vaults of slate and brushed steel. The Halrec District.
The railcar slowed as it approached its final stop for the five of them, the hum fading into a low chime. They disembarked into a plaza of pale sand colored stone, where a wind stirred thin banners hanging between archive towers. At the center of the square, a mosaic of nine interlocked rings was laid on the ground, with a crown above it facing the headquarters. The design was worn from decades of foot traffic, but still perfectly symmetrical.
Willow adjusted her bag on her shoulder, glancing up at the looming facades. "Feels like the kind of place where big things happen."
"That's the idea," Nyra said, stepping ahead with a more formal stride now. "Halrec's built to monitor everything as a neutral party. Every big change happens inside these doors."
Joren's eyes caught on a series of tall, narrow panels etched along the entrance wall. Each one bore names, dates, and incidents that the department helped fix or alleviate. Beneath them, a small inscription read: Memory without bias is the pillar of Continuity.
Must be a mission statement or something. I wonder if each department has something similar...?
He stepped back to rejoin the others, catching the way Nyra's posture changed the moment she passed under the archway. She had the demeanor of a leader now, resembling the look she had when they first met last night.
The moment the doors opened, noise hit them like a wave. The grand lobby of the Department of Continuity and Civic Integrity was in utter chaos. People were darting around, papers were flying, many were yelling like it was the coming of a war.
A woman near the far wall was crying into a file folder. A man passed them mid-run, muttering, "It was flagged last week! Last week!" over and over, like he was in trouble for something he didn't do.
Two officials collided near a central archive cart, sending folders skittering across the floor like autumn leaves. One of them swore, the other kept running. The sculpture of the nine rings still stood in the center of the room, but balance of this department was no longer existent when they arrived.
Willow took a cautious step forward. "What the hell happened in here?"
A nearby clerk finally noticed her and froze mid-shuffle.
"Department Head Braye?" they said, eyes wide. "You—you're ALIVE?"
Several heads turned at once. Conversations cut off. The sound of running footsteps faltered as the realization rippled outward like a dropped stone in still water.
Nyra didn't flinch. "Yes," she said calmly, stepping fully into view. "And judging by the state of this room, I'm the only one acting like it."
A flurry of motion followed. People came running up to her like they were seeing a ghost. Their leader had returned, and in one piece, no less.
"We thought you were gone—" One staff member said.
"Where have you been?" Another yelled.
"Was it the Eastern Branch? Did they hit the convoy?" A woman, this time.
Nyra raised a hand with the kind of calm authority that didn't ask for silence, just simply expected it.
"You've had nearly twenty-four hours to stabilize this department in my absence," she continued. "Instead, I walk into panic, broken protocols, and seven people talking over each other as if you were common people. This is the Department of Continuity, so act like it!"
One staffer looked down at their shoes. Another quickly turned off a flickering monitor.
There was a beat of silence. Then someone else muttered, just loud enough to hear, "And who are they?"
All eyes shifted. Several staff members shot wary glances toward Joren, Willow, Gus, and Bartholomew like they were criminals who abducted Nyra. One woman clutched a tablet closer to her chest. A man near the back took a half step sideways, as if preparing for a defensive countermeasure that wouldn't be fast enough.
The message was clear: outsiders didn't belong here, and in a department built on stability, unknowns were threats.
"They're with me," she said, loud enough for the whole lobby to hear. Her voice was steel wrapped in protocol. "Protected under emergency clause thirty-nine. If anyone here so much as drafts a background request, I'll have your access suspended before the ink dries. These four are my saviors, so treat them with the respect they deserve."
A hush fell over the lobby.
More than one staffer flinched. A few turned pale at the news. Somewhere off to the side, the soft ping of a dropped data slate echoed as someone fumbled it in surprise.
All of the staff had one collective thought.
What did these people save her from?