Kieran

The main hall of the Aegis guildhall was, as usual, a chaotic blend of clanking steel, the sharp scent of polished leather, and loud, unending arguments.

"I'm just saying, Kieran," Sarah drawled, leaning back against the heavy wooden table with her arms crossed over her chest. The former knight lazily flipped a small dagger in the air, catching it by the hilt with effortless precision. "If you don't get us a real contract soon, I’m going to start charging you for keeping my blade sharp."

Kieran scoffed from his seat, resting his boots comfortably on top of his desk. He threw his head back, his midnight-black hair wildly tousled as he let out a dramatic sigh.

"I AM trying, alright?" Kieran snapped back, a sharp grin tugging at his lips despite his annoyance. "Do you think high-paying monster hunts just grow on trees in Avalon? I was up at dawn negotiating with those fat cats from the merchant guild!"

"And you blew it," Logan chimed in smoothly without looking up from his parchment. The blonde strategist calmly took a sip of his tea, adjusting his quill. "Because you're getting greedy, Kieran. You set our baseline fee fifty gold pieces higher than the standard crown rate."

"Greedy?!" Kieran stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the stone floor. His dark blue eyes flashed with fierce protectiveness as he slammed his palm onto the desk. "Those nobles are greedy! They sit in their plush red-brick mansions while we risk our necks fighting manticore nests in the dark. They’re paying for top-tier service, Logan! Aegis doesn't work for chump change!"

From the corner near the forge, Arven’s heavy hammer came down on an anvil with a loud CLANG, sending a shower of orange sparks into the air. The burly blacksmith didn't even turn around as his booming voice echoed through the hall.

"The boy's got a point, Logan. Good steel costs money. Good blood costs more."

"Thank you, Arven! At least someone here appreciates my brilliance," Kieran smirked, tossing a copper coin in the air. "Besides, word on the street travels fast. Some desperate noble is bound to walk through that door any second now, ready to pay whatever I ask—"

CREAK.

The heavy oak doors of the guildhall slowly swung open, letting in a draft of cool breeze from the bustling street outside.

Kieran’s eyes lit up. He immediately lowered his boots, his confident smirk spreading wide across his tanned face.

"See? Right on time!" He stepped forward with a lazy, arrogant grace, sweeping his arms out in a welcoming gesture as he prepared to deliver his usual pitch to a wealthy client.

"Welcome to Aegis! Step right in, don't be shy. What brings a fine, highborn lady like you to our humble..."

The words died on his tongue. Kieran froze mid-step, his dark blue eyes locking onto hers. The cheerful, money-hungry grin on his face faltered, replaced by a sudden, jarring wave of confusion.

She wasn't looking at him like a client looking for mercenaries. She was staring at him with a look so raw, so full of heartbreak, relief, and unspoken history that it felt like a physical blow to his chest. A strange, phantom ache tugged behind his ribs—a feeling he couldn't explain and instantly resented.

Logan’s sharp eyes flicked between her and Kieran, noticing his leader’s uncharacteristic silence. Sarah narrowed her eyes, her hand instinctively hovering near her dagger, sensing the weird tension in the air.

Kieran cleared his throat, shaking off the unexplainable chill running down his spine. He tilted his head, his smirk returning—though this time, it was sharper, guarded, and laced with genuine suspicion.

"Well, well..." Kieran drawled, taking a slow, deliberate step closer as his eyes swept over her expensive attire. "You look like you've just seen a man rise from his grave, princess. Did you come all the way here just to stare at my face?"

The grand ballroom of the Avalon Palace was a stifling maze of shimmering silk, perfumed air, and clinking crystal glasses. For a mercenary accustomed to the reek of damp earth and monster blood, Kieran felt entirely out of his element, though you’d never guess it from looking at him.

Dressed in a tailored black vest over a crisp white shirt, his dark tousled hair brushed back just enough to look intentional, Kieran looked less like a hardened street-born sellsword and more like a dangerous rogue prince. Beside him stood Logan, looking infuriatingly comfortable. The blonde former noble casually swirled a goblet of wine, blending seamlessly into the high-society crowd without so much as trying.

"Must you look like you own the place?" Kieran muttered under his breath, maintaining a razor-sharp smirk while barely moving his lips. "It’s sickening."

"It’s called etiquette, Kieran," Logan replied smoothly, taking a delicate sip without turning his head. "Something you might master if you spent less time wrestling beasts and more time learning how to properly hold a dinner fork."

"Tch. Remind me why I’m the one doing the heavy lifting while you get to drink the King's vintage?"

"Because I am the brain who mapped the layout, and you are the nimble thief who can slip past the guard rotations unnoticed," Logan murmured, his sharp eyes flicking subtly toward the grand archway leading to the royal estate's private gardens. "Remember the plan. The document is hidden somewhere near the conservatory. Do not mess this up."

"Yeah, yeah. Just get the thing and get out. Easy enough," Kieran scoffed lightly.

With a slick nod, Kieran stepped away from his strategist, seamlessly switching on his effortless charm. He passed through the crowd, flashing a quick, devastating smile to a group of swooning noblewomen and tipping a phantom hat to an elderly duke. In seconds, he melted into the shadows of the arched doorway, stepping out into the cool, quiet night air of the palace gardens.

Damn it... where the hell did Logan say it was? Kieran thought, his dark blue eyes scanning the manicured hedges, marble fountains, and stone benches. The muffled sound of the ballroom orchestra faded behind him as he prowled deeper into the greenery. Under the second stone gargoyle? Or behind the fountain? Suddenly, the rustle of a dress made his instincts flare.

Kieran froze. Someone’s here.

Instantly smoothing his expression into a lazy, confident grin, he turned around, prepared to flirt his way out of suspicion or tease a stray noble lady back to the ballroom.

"Lost your way from the dance floor, love—?"

The words caught in his throat the moment his dark blue eyes met hers.

Huh.

Kieran blinked, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before he caught himself. She was clearly a noble. Her luxurious gown and posture gave that away instantly. But it wasn't her status that stopped him in his tracks.

It was her eyes.

Why was she looking at him like that? There was no disgust, no arrogant disdain typical of the highborn, nor was it the usual giggly admiration he got from smitten ladies. It was... heavy. Painful. Like she knew him.

A strange, unnatural tug pulled at the back of his chest, making his stomach twist in a way he couldn't explain. He inwardly shook his head, brushing the weird sensation off. Whatever. Just a bored noble girl.

Restoring his crooked, charming smile, Kieran took a slow, relaxed step forward, resting one hand casually near his belt.

"Well, well. It seems I’m not the only one escaping the suffocating heat of the ballroom," he drawled, his deep voice carrying a playful tilt. "You shouldn't be wandering around dark gardens all by yourself, princess. People might think you're up to no good... or looking for trouble."

He tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with sharp curiosity.

"So... what’s a lady like you doing out here, staring at a simple guest like you've seen a dead man?"