The guild headquarters lay wrapped in silence that night, a fortress of stone under the faint glow of lanterns. The long halls breathed an air of discipline and order, every shadow stretched sharp by the moonlight seeping through tall windows. The guards patrolled with the rhythm of clockwork—measured, steady, predictable.
But within that order, mischief was brewing.
Hazzy pressed his back against the wall, a tray of pilfered food balanced precariously in his hands. Bits of bread, dried meat, some sweets, and a jug of juice he had "borrowed" from the kitchens. He tiptoed down the hallway, grinning from ear to ear.
"First stop," he whispered to himself, and rapped his knuckles gently on Ash's door.
Inside, Ash groaned at the sound, half-asleep. "What the hell, Hazzy? It's the middle of the night."
The door creaked open anyway, and Hazzy's head popped in. "Food. Get up, you big lump. You're coming with me."
Ash rubbed his eyes. "Is this about training?"
