Auren ran out onto the street, feeling a stinging in his eyes that had nothing to do with the wind. This time, he wasn't running to anywhere.
He was running away.
Regret churned in his stomach like he'd swallowed a white-hot coal. But he couldn't bear to go back—not to her. Not right now.
Before he knew it, he was climbing the steps to the Office. His body had brought him here on instinct.
'Might as well', he thought. Half eager to bury himself in work, half resigned to the fact he'd likely be buried by it.
"Morning, Master Merrilin," he called out, voice forcibly jaunty as he stepped inside.
The old man raised an eyebrow. "So early, boy? I didn't expect you for another hour—at least."
"What can I say, Master Merrilin? I'm a young, eager soul."
"Hm. Have you been crying, boy?"
"What?" Auren touched his face, surprised to feel the dampness. "Ah—no, of course not, Master Merrilin. Just... hay fever, that's all."
"Hm. I see." The old man's gaze lingered. "Well, you're going to be needed today."
Auren blinked. Then placed a hand over his chest in mock awe. "You mean I'm actually going to be a cleric's assistant?"
Master Merrilin wrinkled his nose.
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, boy. Go help Elend in the back—poor lad's doing three back-to-back shifts." He turned, pausing at the doorway. "And one more thing. Viscount Haldran will be stopping by today. I expect you to act accordingly. Don't disappoint me."
Auren stiffened slightly, nodding. The Viscount himself? That was rare—but not unheard of.
It was common practice in Varentholme: a show of humility by the nobility, appearing at random sites within their own corporations.
But everyone knew it was more about being seen than anything else.
Moving into the back room, Auren spotted Elend practically collapsed across a desk, his fingers tapping listlessly on a typewriter. The moment he saw Auren, his eyes lit with something like hope—or desperation.
Like a drowning man spotting someone to join him in his fate.
"Ah, Auren! Come, come. I've got something you can help with."
Auren took the desk beside his, a half-smile threatening to rise—until Elend dropped a heavy stack of papers in front of him. That smile died swiftly.
"These are all the receipts and paper trails from the paid businesses last month. Go through them—if anything's off, let me know."
"The past month? If I'm doing that, what are you doing?"
Elend sighed and gestured to his own stack—twice as thick. "Unpaid businesses. Want to swap?"
"Ah." Auren clutched his smaller stack protectively. "No… actually, I think I really prefer this arrangement."
He flashed what he hoped was a charming grin before diving into the paperwork—just in case Elend took him up on the offer.
It wasn't high-risk work. That's probably why they gave it to him. These debts had already been paid—this was just follow-up, making sure the trail matched up.
On paper, at least.
Hours slipped away as Auren worked. It was easier than usual to lose himself in the routine—probably because he wanted to forget why he'd arrived early.
Who he had left behind.
The guilt burned, but he suppressed it with his own unjustified anger.
The shop bell jingled. Auren's head jerked up, blinking the blur of focus from his eyes.
Two figures entered the room. One familiar: Master Merrilin.
The other…
Unmistakable.
Not tall, but commanding. A thin frame wrapped in a tailored silk suit. Grey hair slicked back, tucked behind his ears. A long Blackwood cane inlaid with gold rested easily in one hand.
Viscount Haldran.
Auren stood. So did Elend. Both bowed slightly.
"As you were," the Viscount said lazily. His voice, soft but heavy with arrogance, left no room for question.
Auren sat again, eyes falling to the document he'd been scanning for the last five minutes. Something about it still felt…off.
It looked fine. Everything lined up. But it wasn't right. He knew it wasn't.
Then he saw it—a faint glimmer across the paper. He brought the document closer.
There. Again. A thin trace above the pay amount—like a shimmer. Like an echo.
Auren's breath caught.
'Magic?'
His heart seemed to be beating louder than usual. 'What is this?'
"Something the matter, boy?" The Viscount's voice cut through the silence. Auren looked up. Haldran was watching him now, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
"This document," Auren said carefully, "I...think it's forged."
The Viscount raised a brow and took the paper from his hands. "Is it now?"
Auren felt Master Merrilin's eyes bury into him like nails. But he couldn't stop. Not now. He felt almost...compelled to answer.
"I believe the document itself is real," he explained. "But the amount has been magically altered. Viscount," he added quickly.
A moment passed. The amusement in Haldran's expression deepened slightly.
"Magically, you say? Damien—"
Auren turned, startled to see another man had joined them—tall, formal, standing silently in the doorway.
Damien stepped forward, taking the document. "Yes, sir. This is one of yours."
The Viscount turned back to Auren. "So, boy—do you stand by your accusation? Because an accusation against my business is an accusation against me."
Auren swallowed hard. 'He's enjoying this.' That smug tilt to his lips—this was a game to him. That smiling….again and again, he was always faced with so many damn smiles.
"I meant no disrespect, Viscount," Auren said, voice steady, with only a hint of defiance, "but yes. I stand by it."
Haldran nodded. "Damien. Summon an analyst. Immediately." He turned to Auren. "If you're wrong, you'll be beaten. If you're right… well. We'll see."
The air grew heavier. Even Elend had stopped typing, his weary eyes flicking nervously between Auren and the Viscount.
Minutes crawled by. Then the bell rang again.
A new man entered—older, in a comfortable, loose-fitting suit. His deep red hair was streaked with grey, and tired eyes scanned the room. He bowed slightly.
"You summoned me, sir?"
"I did," Haldran said. He passed the document over. "Check for forgery—magical forgery."
The analyst frowned, but said nothing. He pulled a monocle from his pocket and studied the paper carefully.
Auren's heart slammed in his chest. His breath was shallow.
'What if I'm wrong? What was that shimmer? Was it real?''
Then the monocle came down. The analyst looked up.
"Well?" Haldran asked.
"Yes, sir," the analyst said, sounding mildly stunned. "There's a magical alteration, I have no doubt it is a forgery."
Silence.
Auren exhaled heavily, realising he had forgotten to breathe in his worry.
"How so?"
"The spell is subtle. A masking enchantment over the pay amount, altering it."
The Viscount turned back to Auren. Something gleamed in his eye now. Approval, maybe.
With a flick of his fingers, he tossed something small and metal. Auren caught it, clumsily.
"You have skill… or luck. Either will serve you well."
Then he turned to Merrilin. "It seems you hire well."
Master Merrilin bowed deeply. "Thank you, Viscount."
Without another word, Haldran turned and left, Damien and the analyst trailing behind him.
The moment the door shut, tension cracked and released like a pulled thread finally snapping.
Auren let himself breathe again.