Chương 17: Chapter 14: Cassandra Sorrel

Cassandra Sorrel never knew another home but Brindleford. She had been born in the city, raised in the old stone orphanage on Ashwick Lane, and slipped through its alleys and narrow streets long before most children were trusted to cross a road alone. Her earliest memories were of cold floors and colder nights, of thin blankets and thinner meals, and of the matron's voice cracking through the hall like a whip. She'd been six when she learned the world didn't care about children like her.

She was eleven when she decided she'd stop caring about what the world expected in return. The night she ran away from the orphanage, the rain had come down in sheets, cold enough to make her teeth chatter. She hadn't owned shoes thick enough to handle the mud, and by morning her feet were raw and bleeding. She slept beneath a wagon behind a tannery, shivering through the stench until dawn. Her life didn't improve much after that. Brindleford was a large city, and it wasn't kind to the weak.

Street children were everywhere. Some darted through crowds lifting purses. Others lingered near bakeries or butcher stalls, hoping for scraps. Most learned early how to spot guards from a distance and disappear before trouble arrived. And there were always the other offers.

"Pretty thing like you earns coin faster on her back," one woman had told her once, breath thick with cloves and cheap wine.

"You come to my house, I'll give you food and a bed." Cassandra had run so fast she nearly slipped on the wet stones. It wasn't the work that repulsed her. She couldn't judge people who had no other way to live. It was the men that made her shudder. The way their eyes slid over her, measuring and hungry. The ones who whispered to brothel-keepers, asking for 'younger ones'. She remembered the night she saw a girl, younger than herself, dragged inside by the wrist, crying. Every instinct she had screamed no.

She would rather starve first. It was near the wharves that she finally found something like family. A loose band of older street kids caught her rooting through the trash behind a fishmonger. One of them, Tarrin, lanky and sharp-eyed, tossed her a stale roll.

"Eat that before the rats do." They took her in because she was quick, quiet, and didn't complain. They shared food, shared warnings, shared hiding places. And they taught her things no orphanage ever would. For the first few days, they called her Cassandra. Then Tarrin heard one of the younger boys shout it across an alley while they were running from a fishmonger's apprentice with a broom, and he nearly tripped over his own feet laughing.

"Cassandra?" he said later, when they were wedged beneath a half-rotten stairway with their stolen scraps between them.

"Saints, girl, that name takes too long to say when someone's chasing you."

"It's my name," she said defensively.

"It's a noblewoman's name," another girl said, grinning through a mouthful of bread.

"Sounds like you should have gloves."

"And a little dog," Tarrin added. Cassandra glared at them, which only made it worse.

"Cass," Tarrin decided right there and then.

"Short. Quick. Doesn't get us caught."

"I didn't say you could change it."

"No," he said, tossing her another piece of bread.

"But you answered." She opened her mouth to argue, then realized she had. After that, Cassandra became Cass in the alleys and markets and hiding places of Brindleford. The name fit there in a way the old one never had. It was quick enough to hiss from a doorway, easy enough to throw over a shoulder, and small enough to carry without feeling like something stolen from a life she had never been allowed to live. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Tarrin taught her how to pick pockets in crowded markets, how to bump a target just hard enough to distract without drawing attention.

"Eyes down," he told her.

"Elbows in. Walk like you belong." She learned fast. By thirteen, she could lift a purse without ever touching a blade. By fourteen, she was better than most of them. For a while, life worked in a predictable rhythm. Then the guards cracked down after a visiting noble from Valdarin's capital, Highreach, lost his purse. Tarrin was caught near Fountain Square. Cass saw it happen from across the street. He didn't fight. He just met her eyes and gave the smallest shake of his head. Run. So she did.

When she returned to their hideout that night, it was empty. Some had scattered. Some were taken. Some never came back. Losing Tarrin carved something hollow into her chest that never fully healed. Eventually, the city relaxed again. Cass quickly grew restless, and for years after the incident, she worked alone. Courier jobs. Lookout work. Quiet thefts when she had to. She never got caught. She never let herself need anyone again. She was skilled. Fast. Smart. But job to job wasn't a life.

That was when she learned about the Adventurer's Guild. Not just the stories. The real parts. Coin and stability. Work that mattered. She waited another year before walking through its doors. They took one look at her hands, her stance, the knives she carried, and accepted her as a probationary adventurer. Her early jobs were small, but she found a place where she felt like she belonged. Eventually, she hit Level 5 and earned her Rogue class and a Copper badge. Copper was a start. She met Max about two weeks later.

He was arguing politely and cluelessly with a market vendor over the price of a dagger he clearly didn't understand.

"That costs ten silver, not thirty," Cass said, stepping in. Afterward, she caught his sleeve.

"You're new," she said.

"Yeah."

"You'll get eaten alive in this city if you keep being that trusting." He looked embarrassed, which she found oddly endearing. She began to work with him then, taking small jobs that tested him. Night watches. Courier runs. Jobs with clean exits. He didn't complain. He listened. When things went wrong, he adapted instead of freezing. That earned him a little trust. Then came the warehouse job. It was supposed to be quiet and easy. A spice merchant wanted a stolen ledger back without involving the guards. Easy coin.

Cass took point, with Max watching her back. They slipped in just before dawn, rain softening their steps along the cobblestone road. Inside, the warehouse smelled of salt, damp rope, and old wood. Cass moved through the shadows, making her way up into the rafters, counting guards by the rhythm of their boots and breathing. Two on the floor. One near the back door. Easy. She dropped behind a stack of crates and moved. The ledger was exactly where it should have been. She was halfway to a window when she heard it.

Steel scraping stone. She spun, knife already in her hand. A man stepped out of the shadows, wearing a mark she didn't recognize. Not a guard. A professional.

"Fast," he said.

"But you're not alone tonight, girly." Another figure shifted near the door. Cass didn't hesitate. She kicked a nearby lantern. Glass shattered and oil flared. Smoke swallowed the floor as she sprinted, vaulted crates, and scrambled up the wall. A hand grabbed at her ankle. She slashed without looking and felt the resistance give. She quickly climbed onto the beam and began to run. One of the men followed closely. He was too good, matching her pace, blades flashing.

Steel grazed her shoulder, cutting through her leathers and opening a small red line on her skin. She reached the window and jumped. The fall would've likely broken her legs. Max broke her fall instead, catching her in his arms, then stumbling forward from the weight and momentum, dropping her to the ground. She rolled and slammed into empty crates in the alley as a spell cracked against the wall where she would have landed. Max stood between her and the warehouse, sword up.

"You okay?" he asked without turning his head. She nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for the save."

"Good." The pursuer burst through the window and landed in the alley, graceful as a cat. Max charged and met him head-on. He wasn't elegant, or fast like her, but he didn't panic. He blocked cleanly, stepped in, and drove the man back just long enough. Cass moved. Knife to hamstring. Elbow to throat. Then they were both off and running. They didn't stop until bells rang behind them.

"That," Max laughed breathlessly, "was not a quiet job."

"You followed the plan," she said.

"Mostly." She studied him. Most people ran away when things went wrong. Max ran toward the problem instead.

"Next time," she said, "don't drop me."

"Deal." He grinned at her, and she couldn't help but be caught up in his earnest joy. That was when she stopped thinking of him as a liability, but instead as someone worth standing beside. A few days later, Max brought Elias to their table in the Guild Hall.

"We worked a job together a few days ago," Max explained.

"He's good, and we could use a mage." Cass looked from Elias to Max.

"You've known him for a few days." Max shrugged.

"Long enough to know he's good." She agreed to one job, helping recover a shipment of stolen alchemical goods from a warehouse the smugglers were still using. Before they entered the smugglers' warehouse, Elias studied the narrow aisles, blocked side doors, and crates stacked seemingly at random around the floor.

"They aren't protecting the goods," he said.

"They're leaving us one clear path because they want us in the middle. Someone warned them we were coming." He was right. When the smugglers closed in, Elias split the floor beneath one group, breaking their charge, then spread ice across the only open escape route. The fight ended with half the smugglers unable to reach them in time and the other half unable to retreat. He didn't boast afterward or act as though proving himself had settled anything.

Cass didn't trust him yet, but she found that she didn't really mind him either. Borin joined them not long after. He was older, quieter, and carried himself like someone who had already survived things worse than adventuring. He didn't talk much, but when he did, they listened. Max trusted him immediately. Cass trusted Max enough by then to allow it. Before she realized it, the four of them were taking jobs together frequently. She didn't call it a party.

But slowly, stubbornly, she found herself caring about them. And for the first time in years, the future didn't feel like an alley narrowing around her. It felt like a road opening.