Chương 7: Chapter 6: The Inconvenient Truth

On the way to the rendezvous, Jack stopped short at the mouth of the dockside alley. Fog had pressed in from the harbor, thick enough to dull sound and distort distance. Lantern light bled into it in soft halos, turning edges uncertain and faces indistinct. The docks smelled of brine and wet wood, old rot stirred up by the tide turning somewhere out of sight. Aldric nearly walked into Jack. Seraphine caught herself a step behind him. Jack turned.

"Sera," he said quietly, "give me the ledger. Both of them. And every paper you took from the desk." For a fraction of a second, she didn't move. Confusion crossed her face, then something sharper. Fear, restrained but real. The kind that came from realizing the balance of a situation had shifted, and she might not be the one holding the knife anymore.

"Jack-" she started. He didn't raise his voice.

"Just so we're clear about who Harris is," he said, steady, "and what he's capable of. He's a fixer. A dangerous one, he won't like the complications from tonight. If you want to survive, we need to control the narrative." Seraphine searched his face for a tell that wasn't there. No anger. No doubt. Just a decision.

"I need you to trust me," Jack said quietly. Slowly, Seraphine reached into the satchel and handed over the first ledger. Then the second. Then the folded papers, notes, half-formed ciphers, charcoal-smudged margins. Jack took them without comment and re-tied the sack himself, cinching it closed with a knot that wouldn't slip. Seraphine exhaled, uneasy, then nodded once. Aldric placed a steady hand on her shoulder, offering a small, reassuring nod. They moved on.

Harris waited at the rendezvous point without pretense. He stood on a raised loading platform overlooking the docks, a few feet above the waterline, where the stone jutted out like a shallow balcony over the harbor. From there, the mist rolled beneath him instead of around him, swallowing the lower piers and leaving the lantern-lit water below blurred and indistinct. Ships drifted in and out of view like half-remembered thoughts, their hulls creaking softly as the tide shifted.

Harris faced the harbor, hands folded behind his back, coat unmoving despite the damp breeze. He wasn't watching for them. He was biding his time, wearing a posture meant for anyone who might be looking, just a man enjoying the view. The docks below were quiet but not empty. Shadows lingered at the edges of the fog, where men could stand without being seen, where a word or a gesture might carry farther than a shout.

The platform itself bore old scars: iron rings worn smooth by years of use, grooves in the stone where cargo had been dragged again and again. It was a place built for exchange. For things to change hands without ceremony. Harris didn't turn when they approached. He didn't speak. He waited to see who would. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Jack closed the distance first. He didn't slow down. He didn't explain. He threw the sack.

Harris caught it one-handed, deft and practiced. He loosened the tie and glanced inside. The change was immediate.

"This wasn't part of the plan," Harris said flatly, the seedy voice from earlier all but forgotten. Jack didn't turn around.

"Things got complicated," he said over his shoulder.

"Follow me." Harris looked up, clearly ready to argue, but Jack was already walking away. For a moment, Harris's eyes shifted to Seraphine. Anger flickered across his face at the loss of control as he looked at Seraphine. She met his gaze and nodded reassuringly, as if to say trust us, before turning to follow after Jack. They walked in silence. Just the sound of boots on damp planks and water shifting against the pilings as they moved along the edge of the docks. Harris said nothing. Neither did Jack.

The boathouse waited where they had left it, half-collapsed and forgotten. Its door hung crooked on rusted hinges, swollen from years of damp. The smell of rot and old salt rolled out as Jack pushed it open. Inside, the man lay where they had left him. Bound. Breathing. But Awake. He was smart enough not to make a scene, but his eyes darted between the people in the room, tracking, waiting to see what happened next. Harris stepped forward and gestured once, silently, for an explanation. Seraphine spoke.

She spun the tale cleanly and efficiently, crafting it in the best possible light without lying, only choosing which truths mattered and which could wait. She framed decisions as necessity. Intervention as caution. Then he laughed, the sound quiet and brief, echoing out through the building's various holes and into the fog, where it was lost amid the clutter of the docks.

"Well done," he said.

"Most people freeze when a plan breaks." He didn't sound angry. He sounded impressed.

"You identified the problem," Harris continued.

"Neutralized it. Preserved the objective. And you didn't leave anything unattended." His voice lingered on the last words. His eyes flicked briefly to the sack.

"No loose ends," he paused.

"Well, there is one." He smiled thinly, glancing at the group.

"You understand what I do," he said.

"That's rare. Rarer still that your willing to deal with the consequences." The last sentence made Jack shift uncomfortably.

"You could have made this mess smaller," he went on.

"You chose to make it cleaner." He turned back to Jack and said, "It's time you finish the job." Jack didn't raise his voice.

"I'm not here to do your wet work," he said evenly.

"He's your problem to solve. I just kept him from becoming mine." He gestured to the captive.

"You paid us to keep your secrets. This is just another secret. And that's exactly what we'll do. The rest is up to you." No threat. No demand. Just a boundary. For a long moment, Harris said nothing. He looked at the captive again, really looked this time. Then back at Jack. Something settled across his face. Relief, edged with irritation. Not because the work remained undone, but because Jack had refused to be owned by it.

"Wise," Harris said quietly.

"And inconvenient." He stepped closer to the captive, crouching just far enough away to be heard, but not touched.

"You were paid to steal something," he said flatly.

"You stole the wrong thing." Jack didn't know if it was intentional, but Harris let the distinction slip. Jack glanced at Seraphine and saw it register there as well, a flicker of awareness, quickly contained. She'd heard it too. The man tried to speak around the gag. It came out as a desperate, muffled sound. Harris stood, straightened his coat, and turned back to them. Aldric's voice cut in, measured but firm.

"What will you do to him?" Harris didn't hesitate.

"We will make him an offer he can't refuse."

"And if he does?" Jack asked. Harris smiled faintly.

"He won't. From what you've told me, he doesn't know much, only that we're hiding something. And in a city like Greyhaven…" He shrugged.

"Who isn't?" His tone hardened.

"You will not be involved in what happens next. You should leave. Now." Jack took a step back, then stopped. He pushed once more.

"Who is all of this for?" he asked.

"After tonight, I think we deserve to know. After tonight, we might need to know friend from foe." The strike came without warning. Not at Jack. Harris moved in a single, efficient motion, driving his fist into the captive's temple. The man went limp instantly, head lolling against the floorboards. Silence rushed back in. Harris turned slowly, eyes cold now.

"Questions cause accidents," he said.

"I warned you before. Incompetence breeds downfall." He adjusted his cuff, already finished with the moment.

"You may consider yourselves… acquaintances of the House of Draymoore." As they turned to leave, Harris spoke once more.

"There will be more work," he said.

"Work where hesitation gets people killed. Now go." As they parted ways, the implication was clear. With the forces at work tonight, there was little room for error.