The Iron Fist Brotherhood operated out of a warehouse that smelled of fish oil and desperation.
Kael stood in the shadows across the street, observing. Chen Wei fidgeted beside him, still testing the limits of the contract by trying to take small steps away. Each time, invisible pressure pulled him back. After the fourth attempt, he stopped trying.
"They'll want to know why I'm bringing you," Chen Wei said. His voice carried an edge of panic. "They'll think I've been compromised. They'll kill us both."
"Then make your introduction convincing." Kael's eyes tracked the warehouse entrance. Two guards, both carrying clubs. Low-level muscle. Behind them, through gaps in the wooden slats, he could see at least a dozen more figures moving about. "Tell them I have information about sect patrol routes. That I'm a deserter looking to sell what I know."
"Are you?"
"No. But they'll believe it because you'll believe it when you say it." Kael glanced at Chen Wei. "The contract enforces your conviction. When you lie for me, it won't feel like lying."
Chen Wei's face went pale. "That's—that's not possible."
"Test it. Try to tell me the sky is green."
Chen Wei opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. The words wouldn't form. "I can't—"
"Because you know it's false. But if I tell you the sky is green, and you accept that as true within the context of our contract..." Kael's tone remained clinical, like a teacher explaining basic mathematics. "Then you'll be able to say it with complete conviction. The contract rewrites your perception of truth within its parameters."
"That's insane."
"That's binding. Now stop wasting time. We're going in."
Kael stepped forward. Chen Wei had no choice but to follow.
The guards noticed them immediately. The larger one—scarred face, missing two fingers on his left hand—raised his club. "Wei? Thought you were dead. Heard Razor caught up with you."
"He did." Chen Wei's voice was steadier than Kael expected. The contract was smoothing out his fear, optimizing his performance. "Would be dead if this one hadn't fixed me up. He wants to talk to Boss Feng."
The guard's eyes shifted to Kael. Suspicious, calculating. "Who is he?"
"Deserter. Azure Sky outer sect. Says he's got information worth paying for."
"Sect doesn't send deserters. They send corpses."
"Then I'm a corpse that kept walking," Kael said. His tone was flat, bored. "I don't care if you believe me. I care if Boss Feng wants to know when the next patrol rotation changes. If not, I'll sell to the Silk Veil instead."
The threat of competition did it. The guard's expression shifted from suspicion to calculation. "Wait here."
He disappeared inside. Kael used the time to study the second guard—younger, nervous, kept glancing at Chen Wei. Probably owed him money or favors. Another data point filed away.
The first guard returned. "Boss says he'll hear you. But if you waste his time, you'll wish you'd died at the sect."
"Noted."
They were led through the warehouse. The space was larger than it appeared from outside. Crates stacked to the ceiling, some marked with merchant seals, others blank. Smuggled goods, probably. A dozen men lounged around a central area where someone had arranged makeshift furniture—broken chairs, a table that listed to one side, oil lamps providing dim light.
At the table sat a man Kael immediately identified as Boss Feng.
Not from appearance—he was unremarkable, middle-aged, slightly overweight. But from the way every person in the room oriented themselves around him. Power had its own gravity.
"Deserter, huh?" Feng's voice was surprisingly soft. "Interesting timing. Sect just had some kind of incident yesterday. Execution went wrong. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Kael's expression didn't change. "I deserted three weeks ago. Whatever happened yesterday had nothing to do with me."
"Three weeks is a long time to hide in the outer district."
"I'm good at hiding."
Feng studied him. Kael let himself be studied. The key to a successful lie wasn't elaborate details—it was confidence and consistency. He projected both.
"What information are you selling?" Feng asked.
"Patrol routes. Shift changes. Which guards take bribes, which ones don't. Where the sect stores confiscated contraband before it gets officially recorded." Kael paused. "And I know which elder is skimming from the confiscation records."
That got attention. Feng leaned forward slightly. "Which elder?"
"Information like that has a price."
"Name it."
"Food. Shelter. Protection from sect hunters." Kael's voice remained flat. "And I work for you. Not as muscle—I can't cultivate. But I can think. I can plan. I can identify opportunities others miss."
Feng's eyes narrowed. "Why would a sect deserter want to work for me instead of running to another city?"
"Because running takes resources I don't have. Because staying invisible in the outer district requires local protection. Because—" Kael paused, then delivered the line that would seal it, "—I watched the sect execute people for sport yesterday morning. Whatever they are, I'm not one of them anymore. I'd rather work for honest criminals than hypocritical cultivators."
Several of the gang members chuckled at that. Even Feng's expression softened slightly.
"Honest criminals," Feng repeated. "I like that. All right, deserter. You get three days. Prove you're useful, you stay. Prove you're not..." He didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
"Understood."
"Chen Wei, you're responsible for him. He causes problems, it's on you."
Chen Wei's jaw tightened, but the contract forced him to nod. "Yes, Boss."
They were dismissed with a gesture. Kael followed Chen Wei to a corner of the warehouse where bedrolls were scattered. The accommodations were barely better than the tunnels, but they served the purpose.
"You just volunteered me to be your keeper," Chen Wei hissed once they were alone. "If you screw up, Feng will gut me."
"Then I won't screw up."
"And this information you promised? The patrol routes? Do you actually know that stuff?"
"Some of it. The rest I'll figure out." Kael sat on one of the bedrolls, testing its structure. "I need you to do something for me tonight."
"What?"
"Introduce me to three people. Specifically: someone who gambles, someone who's injured, and someone who wants something they can't afford."
Chen Wei stared at him. "Why?"
"Because I need to make more contracts. And those are the three types of people most likely to accept desperate deals."
"You're going to do to them what you did to me."
"Yes."
"They won't understand what they're agreeing to."
"Neither did you. But you're alive because of it." Kael's tone remained flat, clinical. "In three days, Boss Feng will test me. I need resources—information, leverage, people I can rely on. Contracts provide all three."
"You're insane."
"No. I'm efficient. There's a difference." Kael lay back on the bedroll, staring at the warehouse ceiling. "Now get some rest. We start tomorrow at dawn."
Chen Wei didn't move. "What are you planning?"
"To survive the month. Everything else is secondary."
"That's not an answer."
Kael turned his head, meeting Chen Wei's eyes. His marked hand pulsed softly in the dim light. "Yes, it is. You're just not used to people being honest about their priorities."
He closed his eyes. Around him, the warehouse settled into evening rhythms. Gang members gambling, drinking, telling stories. Normal people living normal criminal lives.
Kael catalogued every voice, every conversation fragment, every relationship dynamic. Information was currency. And he needed to become very wealthy, very quickly.
The voice in his mind whispered approval. "Four more contracts today. You're ahead of schedule."
Kael didn't respond. But he felt it—another memory dissolving. This time, a teacher from his childhood. Someone who'd been kind to him once. Her face was blurring, features becoming indistinct.
He tried to feel something about the loss. Found nothing.
Just data. Just optimization. Just the price of survival.
Chen Wei eventually lay down on his own bedroll, still muttering about insanity. Within minutes, exhaustion claimed him.
Kael remained awake, mind working through permutations. Three days to prove useful. Forty contracts to complete. Twenty-nine days remaining.
The mathematics were challenging. But achievable.
He just had to be willing to pay the cost.
And paying costs, Kael was discovering, was becoming easier every time.