The call didn't end when Aldric expected it to.
He stood on the quiet side of the street, evening light thinning into dusk, Leora beside him with her arms folded loosely against the breeze. The city hummed—cars passing, voices drifting, a distant siren—but the voice on the phone felt closer than all of it, like it had leaned directly into his ear.
"Five days," Fox said calmly, as if discussing the weather. "I'll have a ticket waiting. Open date. Xylanthia to Castria and back. First class, of course."
Aldric didn't respond immediately.
He had learned—painfully—that silence was sometimes the sharpest reply. People revealed more when you let them fill the space themselves.
Fox chuckled softly on the other end, amused, not threatened.
"You're careful," Fox continued. "Good. That's why I called you and not someone louder. Or cheaper."
Aldric finally spoke. "You're buying me a ticket to another continent for a problem you're not fully explaining."
"Yes."
"And you're comfortable with me saying no."
"I wouldn't have called if you were the kind of man who would."
Leora glanced at him, curious now. Aldric gave her a small, reassuring nod—one minute—and turned slightly away, lowering his voice.
"I'll go," Aldric said. "But not immediately."
Fox hummed. "I expected as much."
"Five days," Aldric went on. "Then I leave. You're a powerful man, Fox. You know what's happening in Castria right now."
A pause.
Not long. Not dramatic.
But real.
Then Fox laughed—warm, genuine, almost fond.
"I do," he admitted. "And I know you'll figure it out without me spelling it out. I won't involve myself in that situation. But I suspect…" his voice lowered slightly, "it may end with you understanding who's behind it. And why the LCO would suddenly find your name very interesting."
Aldric closed his eyes for half a second.
That confirmed more than Fox probably intended.
"Deal," Aldric said simply.
"Excellent." Fox sounded pleased. "I'll send the details. Travel when you're ready."
The call ended.
No theatrics.
No threats.
Which, Aldric knew, made it far more dangerous than either.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and turned back to Leora.
She was watching him carefully now, head tilted, reading his face the way she'd learned to do—quietly, without pressing.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
"For now," Aldric said, and meant it in the narrowest sense possible.
They started walking again.
The neighborhood softened as they moved deeper into it—smaller houses, warmer lights in windows, the smell of food drifting from open kitchens. Leora talked as they walked, about trivial things at first: a classmate who'd panicked during a mock trial, a professor who always drank his coffee cold because he forgot it existed.
Then, slowly, she told him things she hadn't told many people.
About moving between continents as a child.
About learning early how to listen more than she spoke.
About how law, to her, wasn't power—but shelter.
Aldric listened.
Not like a lawyer.
Like a person.
When they reached her place, she stopped at the gate and smiled up at him.
"Thanks for today," she said. "For… earlier. And everything else."
He nodded. "Get some rest. Tomorrow won't be quiet."
She laughed softly. "When is it ever?"
She went inside.
Aldric waited until the door closed before turning back toward the street.
That was when the engine growled.
A black van rolled slowly into view, tires whispering against asphalt. It didn't speed. Didn't rush.
It stopped directly in front of him.
The passenger door slid open.
Ms. Vos sat inside, coat off, posture relaxed—but her eyes were sharp, alert, carrying the weight of someone who hadn't slept since learning a truth that couldn't be unlearned.
"Aldric," she said evenly.
He wasn't surprised.
That, in itself, unsettled him.
She met his gaze. "I need your help."
The van idled.
The street lights flickered on.
And somewhere, far beyond Castria, a chain that had been tightening for years finally began to pull.