The Gilded Cage was not a shop; it was a statement. It was a grand, pre-Shattering opera house that had somehow survived the cataclysm, now converted into a secret, high-end market for the city's supernatural underworld. A neutral ground where Mizan Guardians in plain clothes might rub shoulders with Denier agents, so long as business was the only thing on their minds. The air inside was thick with the scent of expensive incense and the low hum of hushed, dangerous bargains being made under opulent, gas-lit chandeliers.
Liam felt intensely out of place. His simple, practical clothes stood in stark contrast to the elegant and often bizarre attire of the other patrons. He instinctively stayed close to Ronan, who moved through the crowd with the easy confidence of a shark navigating its home waters.
Their first two acquisitions were straightforward. They found a dealer in tactical artifacts tucked away in one of the old theater boxes. A shrewd woman with eyes that darted everywhere, she sold them three fist-sized, jet-black Hush Stones for a hefty sum of Marks and a small handful of Relic Shards. Next, they visited a reclusive artisan in a sound-proofed room backstage. An old man hunched over a workbench, he presented the Focusing Lenses of True Sight. The spectacles were a masterpiece of silver wire and precisely ground quartz. When Liam put them on, the chaotic energy of the market suddenly seemed less oppressive, the world snapping into a sharper, more defined focus. The price was steep—nearly half of their remaining Shards—but Liam knew they were essential.
The final item was the true challenge. The Curator held court in the theater's grand private suite, overlooking the entire market floor. He was an ageless man, impeccably dressed, surrounded by glass cases displaying priceless Pure Relics.
"The Iron Compact," The Curator said, his voice smooth as silk as he examined the sealed envelope Ronan had given him. "Captain Borin rarely sends his fledglings on such important errands." He gestured to a velvet-draped mannequin in the corner. On it was the Veil of Obscured Fates, a cloak of deep grey that seemed to shift and ripple like smoke. "It is a beautiful piece, is it not? A true paradox. It promises a future by erasing all paths to it."
"We're prepared to pay," Ronan said, placing his pouch of remaining Relic Shards on the polished table.
The Curator didn't even glance at them. "I have more history than I can catalog, Weaver. I do not need more Shards." He smiled, a thin, knowing expression. "But you… you are a different kind of currency. Your reputation precedes you. They say you can touch the threads of destiny."
Ronan's posture stiffened. "What do you want?"
"A small market correction," The Curator said. "The head of the Shipwrights' Guild, a man named Valerius, is scheduled to sign a major trade pact in three days. This pact will ruin one of his competitors and shift the balance of power in the docklands." He slid a small, innocuous-looking brass cog across the table. "I want you to ensure that on the day of the signing, this specific cog finds its way into the workings of the grand clock at the Merchant's Exchange, precisely at noon. The clock will stop. The signing will be delayed. A different future will unfold."
It was a classic act of subtle sabotage. A perfect use for Ronan's [Fate's Knot].
"Why?" Ronan asked.
"My reasons are my own," The Curator replied smoothly. "A favor for a favor. Your skill for my artifact. That is the trade."
As Ronan weighed the dangerous proposition, Liam felt a sudden, prickling chill on the back of his neck. He subtly activated his [Personal Rhythm] sense. Most patrons in The Gilded Cage had a rhythm of greed, caution, or ambition. But from a shadowy balcony across the main floor, he felt a rhythm that was cold, empty, and unnaturally still. A rhythm he had felt before, in the echo at Lord Harrington's gate.
Someone was watching them.
Ronan saw the look on Liam's face. He knew they were exposed. He made his choice. "You have a deal," he said to The Curator, taking the brass cog.
They left The Gilded Cage moments later with the Focusing Lenses, the Hush Stones, and the shimmering Veil of Obscured Fates. But they had paid more than just money. They were now indebted to one of the city's most powerful neutral players, and they carried the chilling certainty that the Blank Page Legion's eyes were already upon them. Their preparations were complete, but their enemies were closer than they had ever imagined.