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The silence broke with a neat pop. Gael read without moving his feet, the way men read when the ground is still part of the sentence.
"From John," he said at last, voice like a good beam — straight and meant to hold. "Plain words, no perfume."
He lifted the paper so Ruel could see the strokes and Orna could see the lack of flourishes. Bren watched Gael's shoulders more than the ink; shoulders tell truth earlier than mouths.
Gael read the heart of it aloud, because that was the village way when decisions touched more than one back.
Gael,
If this reaches you, it means Edda found you and the mist agreed. She is mine and loyal. Trust her like the hook you have tested three times.
I have a shop and a small smithy in the capital. It will fly our name —Fizz Holdings— and sell honest work to a place that forgets honest work exists until a hinge breaks.
