The observation hull swung into view like a polite knife.
Ren's fingers tightened around the rail until the bracelets bit the skin.
The metal hummed a familiar, grounding note under his palm.
The Guild's craft glided alongside, trimmed and polite.
The man on its prow—Sorren—bent once in a bow measured to the degree.
"What a coincidence," Sorren called, voice smooth as oiled brass.
"Travelers with curiosities. The sky is a small place for strangers."
Ren kept his chin level.
The pendant lay quiet under his shirt.
He did not move to show it.
Lin tipped a hat and smiled like a man who enjoys the smell of markets.
"Greetings. The clouds are friendly today," he said.
Sorren's smile sharpened.
"We represent the Cloud Merchant Guild. Protection for safe passage—reasonable fee. No trouble, only formalities."
Kira's hand went to the edge of their craft.
"Protection from what? Your invoice?" Her tone was a blade wrapped in salt.
"Protection from pirates, weather, unforeseen phenomena," Sorren purred.
"And from things that should not be handled by amateurs. We offer assistance to keep trade routes clear."
He inclined his head toward Ren's collar.
"Especially when relics are present."
Ren's jaw moved once.
"Did you find anything… interesting?" Sorren's voice dropped, honeyed and deliberate.
"Any samples? Any artifacts?"
Lin's laugh came too quick, an easy shield.
"We collected air and some bad notes of singing. Nothing to interest respectable collectors."
Sorren's gaze slid slow as tide across Lin's hands, across Kira's tools, and stopped at Ren.
"A pity. There is robust demand for rare focus pieces. Fossil scales are of particular interest to those who study—shall we say—synchrony."
Kira barked, sharp.
"We don't trade the names of our dead, merchant."
Sorren's brows rose in a carefully innocent arc.
"I only ask. A question among colleagues. The skies are full of rumor and goodwill."
He gestured; a crewmember stepped forward with the politeness of a blade sheathed in velvet.
Ren remembered Li's lean frame at the dock.
He kept those thoughts like ballast and did not answer.
"How fares the journey?" Lin offered as a counter. "Your charts look busy."
"We map what must be mapped," Sorren said.
He flicked a wrist and the observation boat's foreglass rotated—an edged telescope like a curious eye.
"The lanes require care. We watch for anomalies. We also watch for those who handle anomalies poorly."
Kira's fingers tightened on a wrench.
"We survived the singers. That's not a poor handing."
"Survival is not proof of safety," Sorren said, voice soft and insinuating.
"It's an opportunity for study."
Sorren's crew moved with economy—no needless motion, boots soft, eyes like calibrated knives.
Ren's pulse ticked, matching the tiny rhythm he'd learned to notice.
"You appear tired." Sorren leaned forward.
"Such strain on your people—perhaps we can assist for a reasonable fee. Or perhaps you can spare samples. The Guild funds research. We could offer trade in return."
Lin's voice stayed casual.
"We'll pass. The Sussurro is in good hands."
Sorren's smile did not change.
His hand moved to tap something at his belt: a small, clock-faced object that made a faint tic-tac.
Kira's nostrils flared.
"You're planting a sense of hospitality and calling it insurance."
"We prefer to call it preparation," Sorren said.
"We only want to know that nothing will bite our lanes later. If you have been exposed to unusual emissions, our records must note it. For safety, of course."
Ren watched, silent.
Lin stepped forward with a scholar's politeness and a smuggler's smile.
"We will not trade artifacts. We will not trade secrets. But cooperation keeps the sky open, does it not?"
Sorren inclined his head and let the exchange rest as a question.
As Sorren's vessel detached and drifted away on a thread of polite wind, one of his crew tossed a small, folded note across the gap.
Lin pocketed it with a careful hand, smile still in place.
When the Guild boat shrank into the white and the telescope's gleam faded, Lin's smile thinned.
He swore under his breath.
"Tracking node," Lin said, voice low.
"Not a map—an energy residue tracer. They sniffed the surge when the singers came near. That tic-tac was a detector."
Kira's knuckles whitened on the rail.
"So they know we emitted. They know something interesting flared."
Ren's hand went to the pendant by instinct.
The fossil scale pressed warm as memory.
"What now?" Ren asked.
"We lose them," Lin said.
"We change course, burn ballast, and vanish from the lanes they watch. If they mark our output, they'll follow the scent until it fades or they catch us."
"Or fight us to take the relics," Kira snapped.
"They'll bring buyers or breakers."
Lin's mouth twisted.
"Either way, being marked changes everything. They weren't merchants; they're observers—collectors with law behind them."
Ren tasted iron again, the echo of battle.
Lin worked the ropes with calm fists.
"We have forty-eight hours," he said, not as speculation.
"They'll triangulate residuals, share intel. We need a plan: evasive maneuvers, false traces, and—if necessary—a route they won't expect."
Kira spat a laugh that was all grit.
"False traces? You mean throw them off with a decoy? I can rig something noisy."
"Noise helps," Lin agreed.
"But their observers will be careful. We need stealth and speed."
He glanced at Ren.
"And you need to not be a beacon for the next two days."
Ren's jaw set.
He thumbed the leather-wrapped map hidden at his chest.
"You think 48 hours is enough?" Ren asked, voice low.
"We have to try," Lin said.
"The Echo will give us a mission if we accept. Rewards are stout, but failure is worse. They will come if we dawdle."
Ren looked out at the thinning horizon.
He squared his shoulders and pulled the pendant inside his collar until it lay hidden.
Kira hitched her bag up like a harness.
"Make every move count," she said.
"If they take you for study, they'll yank the wrong threads from your life."
Lin's eyes were hard but honest for a breath.
"We lose a tail or we fight an educated foe. Both have costs. Decide quickly."
Ren braced both hands on the rail.
The Echo's presence hummed at the edge of his mind.
The words pulsed like a drumbeat.
He read them aloud, voice steady.
LOW-LEVEL THREAT IDENTIFIED: HIGH CLOUD MERCHANT GUILD (FACTION: OBSERVERS). OBJECTIVE: APPREHENSION FOR STUDY/RESOURCE EXTRACTION. MISSION ISSUED: [EVASIVE ESCAPE]. REQUIREMENT: LOSE PURSUIT IN 48 HOURS. REWARD: 15 PADs. FAILURE: FORCED ENCOUNTER + HIGH RISK OF EXPOSURE.