Morning settled slowly beneath the canopy.
Light fractured through layered leaves, breaking across the deck of the Emberwake in uneven bands. The river moved somewhere beyond sight, quiet but constant.
The dark smear from the boarding had been scrubbed before sunrise.
The wood looked newer there.
Too new.
Roald stood at the stern rail, staring into green shadow.
Footsteps approached — measured.
Isobel did not waste words.
"Last night…"
He didn't turn.
"He was my brother. Lomor."
The name settled into the grain of the deck.
Wilkinson's metal fingers rested against the railing.
"Did you know anything prior to this," he asked evenly, "before we departed your village?"
"No." Roald exhaled slowly. "I didn't. Up until now I was confident he was back at home. Taking care of them."
Liora's voice came quieter.
"And now?"
"He boarded with them."
Not, He led them.
Not , He followed them.
Isobel's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You recognized his movement."
"Yes."
Wilkinson held him there.
"Did he recognize you?"
A flicker.
"Yes."
The canopy shifted above them. Light changed shape across the deck.
"Did he try to finish it?" Isobel asked.
Roald paused.
The gas.
The timing.
The withdrawal.
"No."
That word lingered.
Liora folded her arms.
"So he wanted something."
"Yes."
Wilkinson spoke before speculation could spiral.
"Then we assume competence. Not intent."
It steadied the air.
Isobel stepped closer, precise.
"Can you separate the two?"
Roald met her gaze.
"I can."
A beat.
"If he stands against us, he stands against us."
No anger.
No defense.
Just a boundary.
Wilkinson studied him, then nodded once.
"Good."
The river shifted unseen beneath the trees.
"What do we do if he comes again?" Liora asked.
Roald looked back into the green wall of forest.
"We assume he learned from last night."
"And?" Isobel pressed.
"And we learn faster."
Silence settled — not fragile, but taut.
Above them, the canopy swallowed the morning fully.
They did not light a fire.
Smoke was a declaration.
The Debt Collectors stood where stone broke through forest floor, overlooking the narrow ribbon of river far below. The Emberwake was gone — swallowed by canopy and distance.
Kingfisher watched the current.
"You hesitated."
Not accusation.
Correction logged.
Lomor did not deny it.
"Yes."
Winch shifted her weight. The reinforced spine beneath her coat gave a quiet ratcheting click.
"You projected seven seconds on deck," Kingfisher continued. "We were visible for twelve."
"I know."
"Why?"
A small pause.
"My brother was on that deck."
Wind moved through ridge grass.
Winch stepped forward, positioning herself directly in front of Lomor.
"Winch observed deviation," she said evenly.
"Proximity altered execution."
"For a moment," Lomor replied.
"A moment is sufficient for collapse," Winch answered.
"Winch does not permit collapse."
Her eyes did not leave his.
"You taught that."
Silence.
"It will not happen again," Lomor said.
"Winch will hold you to that."
She stepped back.
Kingfisher inclined his head once.
"Good."
Assessment complete.
Behind them, Springtrap crouched near the ridge edge, staring downriver with unnerving focus.
"You're all focused on the wrong flaw," she muttered.
No one responded.
"The hull curvature is incorrect. It shouldn't handle cross-current that cleanly. It compensates somewhere."
"We were discussing operational deviation," Winch said.
"Yes, yes," Springtrap waved a hand absently. "But the stern reinforcement is asymmetrical. I saw the brace lines when we boarded. That wasn't decorative. It's distributing stress along the lower ribs."
Her grin sharpened.
"It's clever. Ugly. But clever."
"You were nearly seen," Lomor said.
Springtrap blinked.
"Was I?"
A beat.
"Oh. Yes. That part."
Her gaze drifted back to the vanished river bend.
"I'd like to see her lifted from underneath."
"Winch will not allow dismantling," Winch replied calmly.
"Not dismantling. Studying."
The wind shifted.
Kingfisher noticed first.
Far beyond the canopy, through a fracture in the trees, a thin column of dark smoke rose into the pale sky.
Too vertical.
Too dense.
Winch followed his gaze.
"That is not ours."
"No," Kingfisher said.
Springtrap squinted.
"Ours would've been cleaner."
Lomor stepped to the ridge edge.
The smoke thickened.
Urban.
Intentional.
"New variable," Kingfisher murmured.
Lomor's voice remained steady.
"We observe."
Below them, the river fractured the smoke's reflection into broken streaks of black.