“Lucky,” he murmurs.
I don’t answer.
I pick up the discarded trowel instead. Using my foot and a bit of sweat, I manage to bend it into a more accommodating shape. Not as good as new, but functional. That will have to do.
By the time I finish the section, the light has changed. The silver haze deepens toward evening, shadows stretching long across the garden paths, turning the neat rows into something sharper, more unforgiving.
“Courier’s here,” someone calls from the edge of the servant quarters.
My head snaps up.
I wipe my hands quickly, ignoring the way the dirt smears deeper into my skin, and move toward the back entrance. Not too fast. Never too fast. Fast movements draw attention.
The courier waits just inside the doorway—a human, older, wrapped in a worn cloak that smells faintly of road dust and rain.
He doesn’t look at me directly.
“Coin?” he asks.
I nod, slipping the small pouch from beneath my sleeve. It’s lighter than it should be.
It’s always lighter than it should be.
He takes it, weighing it in his hand.
“Message?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
He hesitates.
My stomach tightens.
“What?” I press.
He exhales slowly.
“Quotas increased,” he says. “Twofold.”
The words hit like a physical thing.
“No,” I say before I can stop myself.
He shrugs. “Orders from Orthani.”
Of course they are.
“How are they supposed to?—”
“They’re not,” he cuts in quietly. “That’s the point.”
My grip tightens around the edge of my sleeve.
“Your family’s holding,” he adds after a moment. “For now.”
For now.
“Next run is in two weeks,” he says. “If they last that long.”
I nod, even though my chest feels too tight to move.
