The shop was, in Jonah’s words, a “charming little hole-in-the-wall.” In reality, it was more hole than charm—a cramped, dirt-filled space no bigger than a closet, with debris scattered across the floor and a thick layer of dust coating every surface. The stone walls were cracked, and the wooden beams holding up the ceiling looked like they had seen better days—a century ago.

  Thorne groaned, his head pounding from the aftermath of last night’s celebration. The tavern had been full of life, the laughter and drinks flowing freely, but now, as the sunlight poured through the grime-covered window, he regretted every single drop of ale he had downed.

  Darius, as always, had taken control of the situation. “Alright, we need to clear this place out if we’re going to get Jonah’s shop ready,” he said, holding a broom like a general brandishing a sword. “Thorne, you handle the back room. Ben, stop eating and start sweeping. Jonah, you—”

  “I know how to sweep, Darius,” Jonah interrupted, leaning on his broom with a smirk. “I don’t need you telling me how to clean my own shop.”

  Darius huffed. “Clearly, you do, because all you’ve done is stand there talking while the rest of us are working.”

  “I’m thinking,” Jonah shot back. “It’s an important part of running a business. You should try it sometime.”

  Thorne chuckled, though the sound turned into another groan as his headache flared up. His broom moved sluggishly across the floor, pushing dust and dirt into a small pile. But his mind wasn’t on sweeping. Invisible Threads. That was the skill he wanted to test.

  Subtly, making sure the others weren’t looking, with a subtle flick of his fingers, he wove the invisible aether threads through the air. He could feel them wrap around the larger pieces of debris—broken wood, larger rocks—and with a soft tug, he guided them into a neat pile in the corner.

  “Thorne!” Darius barked, breaking his concentration. “Stop pretending to sweep and get those rocks out of the corner!”

  Thorne gave him a lazy salute, still using his Invisible Threads to collect the debris. “On it, boss,” he muttered, though he couldn’t help but smirk at his own handiwork. The skill was more useful than he’d thought—silent, effective, and best of all, it let him clean without actually moving too much.

  “You’re not even touching the broom!” Darius continued, completely oblivious to Thorne’s magical assistance. “Do you even know what manual labor is?”

  Jonah grinned. “Leave him be, Darius. I’ve got my hands full keeping Ben from eating everything in sight.”

  Ben, true to form, was sitting in the corner, pulling out yet another snack from seemingly nowhere. He hadn’t done a single bit of cleaning since they’d arrived. In one hand, he held a small loaf of bread, and in the other, a handful of dried fruit. “I’m eating for energy,” Ben signed between bites. “You can’t expect me to work on an empty stomach.”

  Darius threw his hands in the air. “You’ve been eating since we got here!”

  Jonah laughed, wiping the dust from his hands. “It’s Ben. He eats. You’re not going to change that.”

  Ben, in response, simply shrugged and popped another piece of fruit into his mouth, completely unbothered by the chaos around him.

  Thorne cast a glance at Ben, who was still munching on a roll, and silently guided more of the debris into a corner using his Invisible Threads. Magic was supposed to be subtle, but he had to admit, part of him was hoping for a little more chaos—just enough to distract Darius from his micromanaging.

  At the back of the shop, Jonah opened a small crate, a wide grin on his face. “And now, I present to you... my first wares.”

  Thorne raised an eyebrow. “What’s in there?”

  “Potions!” Jonah said proudly, lifting the lid to reveal a row of small glass vials, each filled with a soft, pink liquid. “Courtesy of Ben’s fine brewing skills.”

  Darius stared at the crate, then at Jonah. “Ben made these?” His voice was filled with skepticism. “And you’re planning to sell them? Are you sure that’s... safe?”

  Jonah waved off the concern with a laugh. “Relax! They’re beauty potions, designed to smooth the skin for a few hours. Completely harmless.”

  Ben beamed from the corner, his hands already signing enthusiastically. “They work! Mostly.”

  Thorne’s eyebrow shot up. “Mostly?”

  Jonah uncorked one of the vials and held it up to the light, the pink liquid shimmering faintly. “You’ve got to start somewhere. I figured a bit of good luck potions would help me kick off my new business.”

  Thorne narrowed his eyes, eyeing the vial warily. “I’m not drinking that.”

  “Oh, come on,” Jonah teased, holding out the vial. “It’s just a beauty potion. It’ll smooth out all those frown lines.”

  Thorne shook his head, taking a step back. “I’ve had enough of Ben’s creations for a lifetime. The last time I tried one of his potions, I had scales on my back for a week.”

  Ben gave a sheepish shrug from the corner but didn’t stop chewing on his bread.

  Jonah sighed dramatically. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  Thorne rubbed his temple, wincing at the dull throb of his headache. “My sense of adventure is still recovering from last night’s celebration.”

  “You’re just being a baby,” Jonah teased, tossing the vial in the air and catching it. “You drank half the tavern last night, and now you’re afraid of a little potion?”

  “I’m not afraid,” Thorne said, glaring. “I’m just... cautious.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Cautious,” Jonah echoed with a smirk. “Sure.”

  Meanwhile, Darius was still sweeping, his broom moving furiously as he tried to herd the group like sheep. “If you’re all done playing around with potions, maybe you could actually help clean this place? We still have dirt everywhere!”

  Jonah chuckled. “Yes, sir, Captain Darius.”

  Ben snorted quietly at Jonah’s comment, though his attention quickly shifted back to his snacks. He pulled out a small pastry, taking a large bite as if he were completely unaware of the chaos around him.

  Thorne, unable to resist, flicked a piece of broken wood toward Darius’s feet with his Invisible Threads, watching in amusement as Darius stumbled over it.

  “Oops,” Thorne muttered with mock innocence.

  Darius shot him a death glare. “I swear, if you keep messing around with that—”

  “Relax, Darius,” Jonah interrupted, still grinning. “We’ll get it done. It’s a small shop. How long could it possibly take?”

  Darius’s eye twitched. “That’s not the point!”

  Thorne leaned back against the wall, watching his friends with a faint smile. The bickering, the joking, the familiarity of it all—it felt... nice. Normal. After the heaviness of the past few days, this moment of normalcy felt like a breath of fresh air. For now, he could forget about the guild, forget about Uncle’s plans, and just be Thorne with his friends.

  Almost.

  The shop was still a mess of dust, debris, and forgotten junk when the door creaked open, and Arletta stepped inside, flanked by two of Uncle’s guards. The boys froze mid-sweep, and Ben’s half-eaten pastry hovered in front of his open mouth.

  Thorne’s heart sank. Arletta. Of all people.

  “Master Thorne,” she said crisply, her sharp gaze scanning the room with poorly concealed distaste. She glanced around at the grime-covered walls and the dirt-streaked floor before her nose wrinkled in an almost imperceptible grimace. “Since you didn’t return to the base, I’ve come to fetch you. Your session with me will take place at the mansion.”

  Thorne groaned, pressing his broom against the floor. “Arletta, I’m helping Jonah clean his new shop. Surely that can wait.”

  Her lips thinned as she cast a critical eye around the tiny room. “This is what’s keeping you occupied?” she asked, her tone flat but not entirely dismissive. “You’ve left your training... for this?”

  Jonah stepped forward with a dramatic flourish. “It’s a work in progress, my good lady,” he said, waving his hand as if he were revealing a royal ballroom. “This shop will be a jewel of the city! And to commemorate the grand occasion, I’m already prepared with my first wares.” He gestured grandly toward a small crate of potions. “Behold—potions! Crafted by none other than the esteemed Ben!”

  Ben, still munching on his pastry, offered a half-hearted wave from the corner.

  Arletta’s eyes flicked toward the crate, her expression carefully neutral, though Thorne caught a slight twitch of curiosity in her gaze. “Potions?” she repeated, her voice deceptively casual.

  Sensing an opening, Jonah’s grin widened. “Yes, potions! Beauty potions, to be precise. Guaranteed to smooth the skin and give you a youthful glow—for a few hours, at least. A fine investment for someone of discerning taste, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Thorne saw it. The tiniest flicker of interest crossed Arletta’s usually impassive face. Her lips pressed together, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she tried to maintain her stoic expression. But Thorne knew better. She was intrigued.

  Jonah leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “And for you, a special price on the first batch.”

  Thorne fought the urge to facepalm. Jonah was going to get them all killed if he wasn’t careful. Ben’s potions were as unpredictable as they came, and if Arletta experienced one of the notorious side effects...

  Arletta paused, casting a quick glance at the crate. “How much?” she asked, attempting to sound disinterested but failing spectacularly.

  “Five silver per vial,” Jonah declared confidently, crossing his arms as if it were the deal of a lifetime.

  “Five silver?” Thorne muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Jonah was aiming way too high.

  Arletta, however, didn’t flinch. She stood perfectly still, though her eyes gleamed with something between interest and skepticism. “Five silver,” she repeated, raising one brow.

  Before the silence could stretch too long, Thorne felt a familiar tingle in the air—the aether was shifting. His senses picked up the subtle manipulation of aether between Arletta and Jonah. Both of them were using merchant skills.

  Jonah was definitely activating his Persuasive Pitch skill, a favored ability he often used in markets. He probably thought it was enough to seal the deal. But Thorne could feel Arletta countering with her own skill, something more advanced.

  “One silver per vial,” Arletta said smoothly, folding her arms.

  Jonah blinked, clearly thrown off by her counteroffer. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His eyes widened as his words seemed to get stuck in his throat.

  Thorne’s eyes narrowed. That was aetheric interference. Arletta was using a social skill that physically prevented Jonah from arguing back. He strained, his face turning a shade redder as he tried to speak. Jonah’s haggling, was no match for Arletta’s experience.

  After several agonizing moments, Jonah managed to stammer, “Two silver!”

  Arletta tilted her head slightly, her eyes twinkling with faint amusement. “Half a silver,” she said, her voice light, but there was no question of who held the upper hand.

  Jonah sagged in defeat. “Deal.”

  Arletta’s lips curved into a slight smile. “I advise you to level up your social skills, Jonah. The other merchants in the city will eat you alive with skills like yours.” She glanced at the crate of potions. “Consider this a learning experience. Maybe our little battle of wills helped you gain some... experience?”

  Jonah, still looking a bit dazed, blinked several times. Then, in a rush, his eyes lit up, and he grinned. “I leveled up!”

  He turned to the others, his grin stretching ear to ear. “Guys, that sale just leveled up three of my skills!”

  Darius looked at him, unimpressed. “That’s great, Jonah. Are you going to sweep now?”

  Jonah ignored the broom entirely, practically bouncing with excitement. “Three skills! Can you believe it? Persuasive Pitch, Barter, and Sales Charm—all leveled up!”

  “Sales Charm,” Thorne muttered, shaking his head. “That’s one word for it.”

  Arletta raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her amusement thinly veiled. “You’ll need more than charm if you plan to succeed in business. But I’m glad you learned something.” She nodded to one of the guards, who stepped forward to collect the crate of potions.

  Thorne stood frozen, watching as they took the potions. His stomach twisted with dread. If Arletta drank one of Ben’s potions and it ended with scales or worse, she’d undoubtedly blame him for bringing her here.

  Ben signed cheerfully from the corner, “She’s going to love it!”

  Thorne wasn’t so sure. He could already picture the fallout if something went wrong.

  She gave Jonah a final look—half-amused, half-predatory. “I’ll let you know if your potions deliver on their promise,” she said smoothly. “But be prepared. If they don’t, I’ll be back... to negotiate again.”

  Jonah’s grin wavered. “I’m sure they’ll be... fine.”

  As the guard stepped back with the potions in hand, Arletta turned her gaze back to Thorne, her face slipping back into its usual mask of authority. “Now, Master Thorne, we need to return to the mansion. Your lessons will continue there.”

  Jonah, catching the title, raised an eyebrow in exaggerated curiosity. “Master Thorne?” he asked with mock surprise, flourishing an exaggerated bow. “Why, I had no idea we were in the presence of such nobility.”

  Darius wasn’t far behind, his brow furrowing. “Master?” he mouthed, clearly confused.

  Thorne glared at them both, wishing he could disappear into the floor. Please, not now.

  “Shut it,” Thorne muttered, his face heating with embarrassment.

  Jonah straightened from his mock bow, but the mischievous grin stayed on his face. “Lead on, Master Thorne,” he teased with a flourish of his hand.

  Thorne rubbed his face with both hands, wanting to disappear. “I hate you all.”

  Arletta, completely ignoring the boys' antics, simply gestured for Thorne to follow. “Shall we?”

  Thorne sighed, casting one last glance at the potions. Please don’t explode.

  With that, he followed Arletta out of the shop, feeling dread curl in his stomach as the colorful potions clattered ominously —and the distant sound of Jonah and Darius laughing behind him didn’t help.

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