The rooftops of the Shrouded district were uneven and close together, like they had grown without planning.
Ivor moved across them barefoot.
Cold wood pressed against his soles as he stepped from one roof to the next. He kept low, weight forward, landing where the boards were strongest. His body remembered the distances. When he dropped to the next roof, it was silent, knees bending just enough to take the sound. Like a cat settling instead of landing.
Below him, narrow streets cut between rows of wooden houses. The buildings leaned inward, close enough that voices carried whether people wanted them to or not. That was why most conversations stayed hushed. A laugh too loud could travel through three homes. An argument could become everyone's business.
Only a few lamps burned at street level. Weak light. Yellow and tired. Shadows were safer here. People preferred them. Darkness was warmth for them.
Water ran along the sides of the street in thin, dark channels. Waste mixed into it where the ground dipped. The smell was the worst in some places.
Two patrolmen passed beneath him.
Black uniforms. Dirty boots. Their steps were steady but careless. One spoke quietly about nothing important. The other laughed once, then stopped when the sound echoed too far.
Ivor waited until their backs turned, then crossed the gap and dropped down behind a stack of crates. His hair slipped loose as he moved, dark strands falling across his eyes.
He followed a side route instead of the one his father usually took. It was longer, but distance had never bothered him.
He was halfway through the turn when his body stopped. The pressure behind his eyes sharpened. His skin prickled. Fine hairs lifted along his arms.
The smell hit him all at once. Sharp. Familiar.
He knew it. His heart pounded once but he braced himself, shifted his weight back, then took one careful step forward and leaned just enough to look around the corner.
The alley was narrower than the last street, the walls close enough that the light barely reached the ground.
And there in the middle of it stood a beast.
A hybrid wolf, upright on two legs, shoulders broad beneath a rough cloak. Its fur was dark and patchy where the dark collar pressed into its neck. Thick cuffs ringed its wrists, etched with dull markings that caught the light when it shifted.
It carried three sacks.
Two were slung over one shoulder. The third hung from the other, lighter, swaying slightly with each breath. One corner of the cloth had slipped. A thin strand of hair caught against the rough fabric. Pale. Human.
Ivor didn't move.
Neither did the beast.
Then the wolf's ears twitched.
Its head turned slowly. Its eyes found him immediately.
They held.
The beast's gaze was not wild. Not hunting. It was flat, strained, pulled tight around something it couldn't release. For a brief moment, its grip on the sacks shifted, claws flexing as if it might set them down.
But then the moment passed and the wolf turned away.
Ivor eased back against the wall, the rough wood pressing into his shoulder. He stayed there, breathing shallow, waiting for the space to open again.
The smell thinned. Not gone. Just farther away.
When his muscles finally loosened, he moved. Completely ignoring the encounter he just had.
He stepped back into the street the beast had crossed, careful not to hurry, and continued on the route ahead.
The pressure behind his eyes did not fade.
It followed.
Soon, the outline of the Shrouded Labor Pen number 3 came into view.
It sat low and wide between leaning wooden houses. Most buildings in Shrouded were timber and patchwork, but this one had a concrete spine running through it. Thick gray supports rose at the corners, anchoring the structure in place, while layers of dark wood were bolted around them. Old repairs showed where boards had been replaced, but the concrete remained solid and untouched.
The air carried the familiar smell of damp wood.
Ivor avoided the front gate.
Two guards stood there.
He moved along the perimeter instead, to a section where wood met concrete unevenly. One plank had split long ago. Another sagged just enough to leave a gap. The concrete behind it was rough, cracked near the edge. He climbed with practiced ease, fingers finding familiar holds, and slipped over the wall without a sound.
He landed inside and waited for any movement.
He'd been coming here for nearly two years, helping his father with work. Carrying water. Clearing channels. Fetching tools. Kids like him were expected to contribute. Ivor moved on, already knowing where his father would be.
The inside of the pen opened up wider than the streets outside.
Rows of enclosed sections stretched across the floor, stacked in long columns broken by narrow walkways. Each section was fenced with low iron partitions, just tall enough to remind the beasts of the boundaries. Dim lights hung overhead, spaced far apart. Shadows pooled between the rows. The place was built to hold numbers, not comfort.
Nearly three hundred labor beasts were housed here.
Some lay still. Others shifted in their restraints. A few were awake, heads lowered, eyes following movement without lifting.
Ivor slipped between the rows with practiced ease.
When a guard's gaze drifted too close, he slowed and bent as if adjusting a latch or clearing debris from the floor. He kept his head down. Small movements. Familiar ones.
He stopped at the inner most sections.
Inside, a white bear lay on her side.
Her fur was matted along one shoulder, darkened where old wounds had reopened. A heavy collar circled her neck, its surface worn smooth from use. Thick cuffs bound her limbs, showing the limit of her freedom.
Ivor stepped inside the section and crouched beside her.
"Grunty," he said softly.
The bear opened one eye. Then the other and let out a low grunt in acknowledgement.
Ivor reached out and ran his hand through the fur along her neck, careful to avoid the wounds. "You're hurt again," he whispered.
The bear breathed out through her nose and gave another quiet grunt.
Ivor nodded once. He stood and pointed toward the small ventilation opening near the roof, no wider than his shoulders.
Grunty lifted her head and looked at the opening. Then she looked back at him.
She shook her head and lowered herself again, eyes closing.
Ivor hesitated.
"Please, Grunty."
The bear huffed, a sound caught somewhere between annoyance and resignation. After a moment, she pushed herself up and moved beneath the vent, settling her weight carefully.
Ivor climbed onto her back and steadied himself, hands gripping her fur as he rose just enough to peer through the opening.
Beyond it, the space widened into a small hall.
A single wooden desk sat at the far end. Garron leaned back in the chair behind it, one boot hooked around the leg of the desk. A faint light burned above him.
Ivor's father - Kael, stood a few steps away.
Garron looked him over slowly, not rushing.
"Mana crystals are expensive," he said, voice even. "You know that right?"
Kael lowered his head slightly. "I know."
Garron leaned forward.
"For someone like you," he continued, "they're rarely worth the trouble."
Garron's mouth curved, just barely.
"That boy of yours," he said, eyes lifting at last, "he's… problematic. Is he worth the risk?"