Morning in the Seawave Guild always had the same rhythm:
Clerks running like panicked chickens.
Merchants complaining.
Guards pretending they were important.
Officers drinking too much tea.
But today?
There was an electricity in the air.
A tension.
A quiet sense that something was about to snap.
I walked into the Shipping Circle office with my usual calm stride.
Risenne followed, hands behind her back, eyes scanning every corner out of habit.
Dovrin was already there, sweating like a guilty criminal.
"Montig— Risenne— Valden's coming in today."
I nodded.
"Yes."
"And he'll see the logs—"
"Yes."
"And he'll— he'll—"
I held up a hand.
"He'll handle it himself."
Dovrin swallowed hard.
Risenne shot me a sideways glance that said:
You're too calm. And I'm trying to figure out why.
Enter Valden
The door slammed open.
Valden walked in — tall, wide shoulders, confident steps, hair slicked back like he owned the place.
He scanned the room.
His eyes landed on me first.
A flicker of irritation.
Not suspicion.
Just irritation that a newcomer was in "his" space.
"Who's the kid?" he asked.
Risenne answered flatly, "Observer."
Valden scoffed.
"Since when do we need an observer for clerical work?"
"Since yesterday," she replied.
He didn't like that.
Good.
Valden strutted to his desk, humming, flipping papers—
Then he froze.
Actually froze.
His fingers stopped on the page.
His breath hitched.
His eyes narrowed.
And then he turned pale.
Very, very pale.
Risenne stepped closer to me without realizing it.
A tiny movement, subtle, almost unconscious.
Her shoulder almost brushed mine.
Almost.
I pretended not to notice.
She pretended she didn't nearly make contact.
We were both lying.
The Panic Unfolds
Valden suddenly slammed the logbook shut.
"What… is this?"
His voice cracked.
Dovrin stammered, "T-Those are your records, Valden—"
"No. No, no, no. Someone doctored these."
I stepped forward, calm as a pond.
"There was no doctoring," I said. "Just reorganization."
He swung toward me.
"Reorganization!?"
"Who allowed you to touch my work!?"
"Your work was disorganized," I replied.
Risenne watched me like she was studying a fascinating species of predator.
Valden grabbed the logbook, flipping pages desperately.
But every page was clean.
Clear.
Obvious.
Every missing seal pattern laid out.
Every late request clustered.
Every suspicious delay highlighted through nothing but sorting order.
Not a single forged line.
Not a single altered number.
I didn't add anything.
I just made the truth visible.
Valden's hands shook.
"You… you little—"
Risenne stepped between us.
"That's enough."
Her voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Valden backed up instinctively.
And that told me everything:
Risenne wasn't just strong.
She had a reputation.
One she didn't brag about.
One everyone respected.
Interesting.
The Guildmaster Arrives
A guard burst in.
"The guildmaster is on his way!"
Valden's face drained completely.
I stepped aside.
Not out of fear.
For the audience.
Because this wasn't my battle.
This was the system of the guild killing one of its own.
A moment later, the guildmaster strode in.
Calm.
Cold.
Eyes like knives.
"Valden."
"M-Master— this is a misunderstanding—"
"Explain the missing seals."
"I— I didn't— It wasn't— The logs— They've been— tampered—"
The guildmaster turned to me.
"Montig."
"Yes, sir."
"Did you alter the records?"
"No. I sorted them."
Risenne added quietly, "I watched him. He didn't change a single value."
The guildmaster nodded.
"Then these are your logs, Valden. Cleanly arranged. Clearly exposing patterns."
He dropped the book on the table.
Valden's legs buckled.
"Sir— please— I've been loyal—"
"Loyalty without competence," the guildmaster said, "is still failure."
Valden collapsed to his knees.
"I'm being framed—! Someone— someone reorganized the logs to make me look bad!"
The guildmaster raised a brow.
"Your own patterns made you look bad. Montig only placed them in order."
Silence.
Then the guildmaster snapped his fingers.
Two guards grabbed Valden.
"No— NO— WAIT— PLEASE— I DIDN'T—"
His voice faded as they dragged him out.
No trial.
No mercy.
No appeal.
One seat, removed.
Risenne let out a breath she had been holding.
Not fear.
Just… realization.
She was beginning to understand:
Montig didn't create chaos.
He revealed chaos.
And that was much more dangerous.
Aftermath
Once the room emptied, Risenne lingered again.
She watched me reorganize a few stray papers on the desk.
"You knew he was guilty."
"His patterns were obvious."
"Obvious to you," she said quietly.
Her tone had changed.
Less formal.
Less hostile.
More… aware.
She stepped closer.
Not touching.
Still not touching.
But closer.
"Montig… be honest."
I looked at her.
Her eyes were sharp as always — but softer around the edges.
"You're not just observing," she said.
"No."
"You're influencing."
"Yes."
"You're reshaping everything you touch."
"Yes."
Her throat moved as she swallowed.
For the first time, she hesitated before speaking.
"…Should I be worried?"
I smiled faintly.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"Whether you're standing in my way."
Her breath caught for a fraction of a second.
But she didn't step back.
Not this time.
She held my gaze, unblinking.
"Montig," she said softly, almost reluctantly, "I don't know what you're becoming."
"That makes two of us."
A tiny smile ghosted on her lips — quickly hidden.
She turned away.
"Come on," she said. "We have to prepare a report."
But she didn't walk ahead of me like before.
She walked beside me.
Matching my pace again.
Closer than yesterday.
Not touching.
But nearly.
And considering who she was —
that was loud enough.