Clara and Maren were already preparing to leave when I came downstairs.
Clara had a small satchel slung over her shoulder, while Maren was fastening the clasp of her cloak. They seemed to have been in the middle of a conversation, but both fell silent when they noticed me.
"Going somewhere?" I asked.
"We have a few leads to follow," Maren replied. "There are people in the merchant quarter who might know something about the Thorn Collective. We intend to speak with them before word spreads that we’re asking questions."
Clara adjusted the strap of her satchel. "And you?"
"House Vellmore."
Maren raised an eyebrow. "Alone?"
"That was the plan."
"You failed to get past their gates last time," she reminded me.
"I remember."
"And now you intend to try again?"
"I do."
She studied me for a moment, apparently deciding whether arguing with me would be worth the effort. "You’re either very determined or very foolish."
"I’ve been called both."
Clara didn’t look amused. "Joe, this isn’t a game. If they catch you snooping around their estate, they won’t simply ask you to leave."
"I’ll be careful."
"You said that before."
"And I survived before."
"That doesn’t mean you’ll survive the next time."
I gave her a reassuring smile, though I knew perfectly well that her concerns were justified. House Vellmore was dangerous territory, and walking through its front gates without a proper disguise would be an excellent way to get myself arrested.
Fortunately, I now had a solution.
"I won’t do anything reckless," I promised.
Clara gave me a look that suggested she had little faith in that statement.
"We’ll meet at The Lantern this evening," Maren said, drawing the conversation back to business. "Whatever we discover, we’ll share it there. If either of us finds something urgent, don’t wait until evening to act."
"Understood."
With that settled, the two sisters left together.
I watched them disappear through the doorway before heading back upstairs. I had no intention of following them, and I certainly wasn’t going to explain my actual plan. The fewer people who knew what I was doing, the better.
Once they were gone, I waited a little longer before leaving the estate myself.
The northern district was wealthier than the rest of Haremdale. The streets were wider, the buildings taller, and the houses were constructed from carefully cut stone rather than timber and plaster. Merchants in fine wool cloaks passed servants carrying baskets, while nobles travelled in carriages bearing the crests of their houses. Even the guards looked better equipped than those stationed in the poorer quarters.
House Vellmore stood near the end of a broad avenue, its estate surrounded by a high iron fence. Beyond the gates, I could see a stone manor with several smaller buildings arranged around a central courtyard. Guards patrolled the grounds, and two more stood at the entrance, their uniforms marked with the Vellmore crest.
I stopped at a respectable distance and pretended to examine the surrounding buildings.
Getting inside without attracting attention would be difficult. Climbing the fence was an option, but it would leave me vulnerable to being spotted. I could try waiting for someone to leave and slipping through behind them, but the guards were clearly trained to watch for that sort of trick.
Fortunately, I had another method.
I opened my System and selected Facsimile.
The skill was still at Rank F, and its limitations were considerable. It allowed me to imitate the visible appearance of someone I had observed, but it didn’t grant me their voice, memories, skills, or mannerisms. I had one hour of use per day, which meant I couldn’t afford to waste it.
I needed to choose my target carefully.
For the next forty minutes, I watched the guards.
Most moved in pairs or remained stationed at the gates. A few crossed the courtyard, while others entered and left the smaller buildings. I paid attention to their faces, uniforms, badges, and patterns of movement.
Eventually, I found what I needed.
A broad-shouldered guard with a square jaw and a faint scar near his ear walked alone through a narrow passage beside one of the estate’s storage buildings. He carried himself with the casual confidence of someone who had spent enough time on the grounds to stop worrying about every shadow.
More importantly, nobody appeared to be watching him closely.
I waited until he disappeared around the corner before moving.
The passage was empty when I reached it. I heard footsteps approaching from the other end, followed by a quiet curse as the guard struggled with the buckle of his belt.
I stepped out of the shadows.
He barely had time to turn before I struck him.
The blow landed against the side of his head. He staggered, reaching instinctively for his sword, but I caught his arm and struck him again. His knees buckled, and he collapsed against the wall before sliding to the ground.
I crouched beside him, my heart beating faster than I would have liked.
For a moment, I checked his breathing.
Still alive.
Good. I wasn’t interested in killing anyone. Unconsciousness was enough.
I dragged him farther into the passage, out of sight from the main courtyard, and removed the small badge attached to his uniform. After making sure nobody was coming, I activated Facsimile.
The System responded with a brief pulse of warmth.
My appearance shifted.
My shoulders broadened. My jaw changed shape, and the faint scar appeared near my ear. Even my hands looked different. When I glanced down at myself, I saw the guard’s uniform rather than my own clothes.
The transformation was unsettling, but it worked.
I fastened the badge to my chest and straightened the uniform. Then I took a breath and walked towards the entrance.
The guards at the gate barely glanced at me.
One of them nodded. "Back already?"
"Had something to take care of," I replied.
He grunted and stepped aside.
Just like that, I was inside.
I kept my pace steady as I crossed the courtyard. The estate was larger than it had appeared from the street. Servants carried crates between the storage buildings, and a pair of clerks hurried towards the manor with bundles of parchment under their arms. Somewhere nearby, I heard the clatter of tools and the sharp commands of a foreman overseeing repairs.
I had no idea how long I could maintain the disguise without making a mistake, so I needed to move quickly.
My first stop was a small guardhouse near the western side of the courtyard. I entered with the confidence of someone who belonged there and glanced at the duty roster hanging beside the door. Most of the names meant nothing to me, but the list gave me a better idea of which areas were staffed and when the guards changed shifts.
I committed what I could to memory before leaving.
The storage buildings were more promising.
I found one with several desks, shelves of ledgers, and stacks of documents waiting to be sorted. Two clerks were discussing a shipment near the far wall, their attention fixed on a page spread between them. Neither paid me much attention when I entered.
I moved towards the nearest desk and began examining the papers.
At first, the documents seemed ordinary. They recorded deliveries, payments, and shipments travelling between Haremdale and neighbouring towns. But after a few minutes, I began noticing a pattern.
Several shipments had been redirected after local merchants challenged the Vellmore Trading Initiative. Others had been delayed without a clear explanation, leaving the affected merchants unable to fulfil their own contracts.
The payments authorising some of these changes had passed through an office connected to the initiative.
Then I found the name I was looking for.
The Thorn Collective.
It appeared in a series of correspondence entries, sometimes alongside references to intermediaries and payments that had no obvious connection to legitimate trade. One document mentioned a meeting involving a representative of the Collective and an unnamed member of the regional council. Another referred to preparations surrounding the upcoming vote on the magistrate’s position.
I read the entries twice, committing the details to memory.
This was something. Not enough to expose House Vellmore, but enough to suggest that the Collective’s activities were connected to the same network of people influencing trade and politics.
I was still studying a ledger when a voice sounded behind me.
"Cassian? What are you doing in here?"
My fingers went still.
Cassian.
So that was the guard’s name.
I turned slowly.
Another guard stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me. He was older than the man whose appearance I had stolen, with grey beginning to show at his temples.
"Shouldn’t you be reporting to the western entrance?" he asked.
"I was told to check something here."
"By whom?"
For the first time since entering the estate, I felt the full weight of my mistake.
I had copied a face, not a life. I didn’t know who Cassian answered to, what duties he had been assigned, or which orders he was expected to follow.
"I’ll sort it out," I said.
The guard frowned. "You’ve been acting strangely all morning."
"Have I?"
"You tell me. First, you’re late for your post, and now you’re wandering through the storage rooms."
I gave a dismissive shrug, hoping it looked natural. "Perhaps you should worry less about where I walk and more about your own duties."
His expression hardened.
For a moment, I thought he might demand that I follow him to speak with a superior. If that happened, I would have to improvise my way through a conversation I had no chance of surviving.
Then a shout came from the courtyard.
The guard glanced over his shoulder.
I seized the opportunity.
"Sounds like they need you," I said, gesturing towards the noise.
He hesitated, clearly annoyed that I was trying to dismiss him. But another shout followed, and he finally turned away.
"Report to the western entrance," he called over his shoulder. "And stop wandering around."
"I will."
He left without another word.
I waited several seconds before returning the ledger to its place. Then I walked out of the storage building, keeping my pace measured despite the urge to hurry.
My disguise had already attracted suspicion. I couldn’t risk staying any longer.
I crossed the courtyard, passed the guardhouse, and headed towards the main gate. Nobody stopped me, though I caught one guard looking in my direction as I passed. I resisted the urge to look back.
The moment I was beyond the estate’s walls, I turned down a side street and continued walking until I was certain nobody was following me.
Only then did I deactivate Facsimile.
My own face returned, and the sudden change left me with a dull ache behind my eyes. I leaned against the wall for a moment, waiting for the discomfort to fade.
The skill had worked, but I had learned an important lesson.
A convincing face could get me through a door. It couldn’t tell me what to say once someone started asking questions.
I had spent less than an hour inside House Vellmore, yet I had found enough to confirm that the Thorn Collective and the trading initiative were connected in some way. The redirected shipments, suspicious payments, and council references were too consistent to dismiss as coincidence.
Still, I had no direct proof that House Vellmore controlled the Collective, or that either was responsible for the threats against Clara’s family. The documents pointed towards a connection, but a connection wasn’t the same as evidence strong enough to bring someone down.
I would have to compare what I’d found with Clara and Maren’s discoveries. If their leads pointed in the same direction, we might finally have something worth pursuing.
I pushed away from the wall and started towards the meeting place.
Getting inside House Vellmore had been the easy part.
Finding out what the people inside were really doing was going to be much harder.