Chapter 23 — Masks in the Lamplight
The road back to Norhollow felt shorter than it had on the way out, but Ethan suspected that was only because they weren't trudging through marsh mud anymore. The cool morning air carried the faint tang of woodsmoke, and the horizon was beginning to blush with sunrise.
Cole walked ahead, hands resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword, his eyes scanning the treeline. Sarah paced a little behind him, her bow unstrung but within easy reach. Mira and Lucas were whispering quietly, heads bent close together—too low for Ethan to catch more than fragments of the conversation.
Ethan stayed near the rear, partly to keep watch behind them, partly because his thoughts were still tangled around the ambush. The figure in the marsh wasn't just a problem—they were the problem. The creatures had moved with purpose. The trap had been calculated. And for reasons he couldn't explain, the way that figure had stood there in the fog had set something in his mind on edge… like they already knew him.
The gates of Norhollow came into view as the sun cleared the horizon. The wooden palisade loomed tall, though Ethan noticed again how weathered and patched it was—like the town had built it in a hurry and then repaired it piecemeal ever since.
Two guards stood by the entrance, spears in hand. One of them stepped forward as the group approached, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Back from your job already?"
"Quicker than expected," Lucas said smoothly. He had the knack for sounding just friendly enough to disarm without inviting more questions. "The marsh wasn't as bad as we thought."
Ethan kept his face neutral, even as the lie slipped into the air between them. He hated lying in casual conversation—it was too easy for little details to unravel later—but they couldn't afford for word of the ambush to reach the mayor before they decided how to handle it.
The guard nodded, satisfied enough, and waved them through.
Norhollow looked the same as ever—cobbled streets just beginning to fill with early vendors setting up stalls, the smell of baking bread drifting from the bakery, and the distant clang of the blacksmith's hammer echoing from the far end of town. But as they moved through, Ethan caught subtle shifts in the way people looked at them. A slight hesitation in greetings. Eyes that lingered a fraction too long.
It wasn't hostility exactly—more like curiosity mixed with wariness.
"Anyone else feel like we just walked into the middle of a rumor?" Cole muttered.
"You are the rumor," Sarah replied dryly. "We're newcomers who go wandering out past the safe zones and come back in one piece. People notice."
"Or someone wants them to notice," Mira added quietly.
Ethan stored that thought away.
When they reached the guildhall, it was already bustling. Adventurers were huddled over contracts, comparing rates, arguing about job claims. The scent of old parchment, leather, and faint ale clung to the air.
Guildmaster Thoren was behind the main desk, going through a stack of papers. His dark hair was streaked with gray, and his broad shoulders filled the chair as though he'd been carved into it.
"You're back," he said without looking up. "Report."
Lucas stepped forward, delivering the version of events they'd agreed on: minor sightings of Dark in the marsh, nothing large enough to be classified as a threat, conditions too unstable to justify prolonged scouting without backup.
Thoren finally glanced up, eyes sharp. "You're telling me you walked into the marsh, saw nothing worth killing, and walked back out?"
Lucas didn't flinch. "We saw signs of activity, but not enough to risk deeper ground."
The guildmaster studied him for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Ethan. "You agree with that assessment?"
Ethan met his eyes evenly. "Yes."
Thoren's mouth twitched—whether in amusement or skepticism, Ethan couldn't tell. "Fine. I'll mark it as a low-threat scouting result."
He set the paper aside, but Ethan noticed his hand linger just a second too long before letting go. As though he wasn't entirely convinced… or was filing the truth away for later.
After leaving the desk, they found a corner table in the far end of the hall, away from most of the traffic. Mira leaned in first. "The guildmaster didn't believe us."
"He doesn't have to," Ethan said. "He just has to record what we say."
Sarah tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "You think he's going to tell the mayor?"
"I think," Ethan said carefully, "that Thoren already knows more about what's happening out there than he's admitting. And if the mayor and the guild are working together, we need to know how deep that goes."
Cole drummed his fingers on the table. "So we play nice, smile for the crowd, and quietly dig under their floorboards?"
"Exactly," Ethan said.
They split up for the day to keep up appearances. Sarah went to the fletcher's shop for supplies. Lucas headed to the training yard, where he could trade blows and overhear other adventurers' gossip. Cole made a point of visiting the tavern—half for information, half for the ale. Mira drifted toward the market, where her quiet presence could slip into conversations unnoticed.
Ethan took the long way around town, mapping streets in his head. He wanted to see who was watching them, and who was pretending not to.
By midday, he'd confirmed at least three people were tracking his movements—two men in plain clothes near the western street and a woman pretending to browse vegetables while keeping him in her peripheral vision. They never approached, never spoke, but they didn't lose him either.
Whoever was pulling strings in Norhollow wasn't subtle about keeping tabs.
That evening, the group met again at their rented room above the tavern. Sarah reported that the fletcher had heard rumors of Dark sighted farther north—too far from the marsh for coincidence. Lucas overheard talk of the guild turning away contracts to investigate those areas. Cole claimed the tavern keeper had been warned to "keep an eye on strangers asking too many questions." Mira's contribution was the most chilling: a merchant had mentioned, in passing, that supply runs to certain villages had stopped without explanation.
"Cutting off supplies," Ethan said slowly, "could be a way to weaken settlements before the Dark attack."
"Or it's part of something bigger," Mira said.
Ethan leaned back, staring at the low ceiling. The conspiracy wasn't just theory anymore—it was tightening. And Norhollow, for all its rustic charm, was right in the middle of it.
By the time the lamps outside flickered to life, their plan had shifted. They'd keep up their cover in Norhollow, but every job they took would double as reconnaissance. If the mayor and guildmaster were hiding something, they'd trip over it sooner or later.
And when they did, Ethan intended to be standing there to see it happen.