Chase placed the key on Ivan's desk, waiting for the inn keep to analyse it. Ivan looked from the key to Chase a few times before he set aside his quill and parchment, and reached for the key. Momentarily lost within the big, beefy hand, Ivan brought the key closer to his nose for inspection. The chair squeaked as Ivan leaned back, his belly a perch of for his arms.

"I expect a question to come with this key." Ivan sighed. "A room number I suppose, but I can do nothing without a name."

"The Cyllindalean ambassador." Chase hooked his foot in a chair leg and dragged it towards him. He sat and rested his elbows on his knees. "And yes, a room number if you will."

"No," Ivan said. "You cannot expect me to hand over a valued guest's possessions just because you demand it. I shall not encourage thievery on my own turf. You were foolish to come here, Lord Chestwick."

Chase sighed. "Perhaps." There were times even Chase stooped to reckless behaviour, but stupidity was a far different crime, however, taking offence would not help his case, nor spur Ivan into giving him the keys. He didn't have time to scour the entire inn, trying out each lock to match his key. He needed a number, a floor, and if Ivan would not give it to him willingly, he was prepared to pull it from him using what ever methods necessary.

"There is no possibility here, it is fact. You were an idiot to bring me the key and expect answers to aid you with your crimes. I permit your crimes because it sheds no shadow upon my establishment, but this" —he spread his hand so that the bronze key shone in the candlelight— "I shall not allow."

Chase inhaled slowly, he leaned back, extended his legs onto the desk, and crossed them at the ankles. Leaning back further, the front legs of the chair lifted and with a flick of his wrist, a dagger was in his hand. He twirled it, flipping it in the air and spinning it on its hilt in the centre of his palm.

"Some say idiocy leads men down foolish paths, others say circumstance." He looked to the wall behind Ivan's head, countless scrolls lay stacked on plain shelves, years' worth of accounts, records, and statements. "I cannot tell you what my reasons are for demanding such a boon from you, but be assured, I am leaving this office—one way or the other—with a room number and a floor. The manner in which I achieve possession of such information rests solely in your hands." He allowed the corners of his lips to flick up ever so slightly. "Choose wisely, Ivan. I would hate to ruin our friendship."

"Don't threaten me, boy."

"Or what?" Chase asked. "Ivan, I'm not a man to be underestimated. The last man to do so, well...it didn't end well for him. I'd hate to have to leave this office in a worse state than it's already in."

Ivan slammed his fists on the desk. "I do not need to hear your preachings. My answer is final. I call your bluff, pretty boy. I do not know what game you think–" his words were cut short as Chase's dagger flew past his left ear. Ivan winced, his hand covering the thin red line that extended from his cheek to his ear.

The chair Chase sat on landed on all four legs with a thud, and in the same movement Chase was standing, leaning over the table, his nose inches from Ivan's. "The next one's in that gut of yours if the next words out of your mouth aren't a set of numbers, and trust me, it's a slow death bleeding from your gut. A cruel death. Painful. I have dealt such a death to men who have annoyed me far less than you. I have watched them bleed, moan in their blood and shit as they lose control of their bowels. Something about death and pain makes men piss and shit themselves, you see?" Chase allowed the words to sink in, watched as Ivan's eyes went from wide saucers to acorns. "A room number, Ivan, and we can continue our business as if this night never happened."

Ivan swallowed, lifting his red fingers from his bleeding cheek. "I'll be ruined," he hissed, but reached for a ledger.

"Trust me," Chase said, sitting down again. "The ambassador will never know I was there. You have my word. As for the story about the key, you can expect the lord to return with a resounding headache. Spin whatever tale you wish, I can guarantee his problems won't start with a wayward key."

Ivan opened the ledger with a grunt, his finger running down a list of names and stopping at Lord Dorian Qu'rup. "Third floor, fourth door on your right, room six." With a heavy hand, Ivan handed Chase the key.

"My deepest gratitude," Chase said, moving towards the door. He stopped at the threshold and looked over his shoulder. "Apologies for the threats too, but you have to understand the nature of what I do."

"I shall not forget it either," Ivan said through his teeth.

Chase did not doubt it, and nodded in acknowledgement. There would be a new tension now—a distrust—but there was little he could do now. The damage was done and the danger exposed. Chase left, closing the door behind him.

No candle burned in Lord Dorian Qu'rup's rooms when when Chase entered its dark interior, no burning fire to welcome the man's return. Shadows cast it in a gloom that sent shivers down Chase's back. He took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust, found the closest window, and thrust the curtains open so that moon and starlight streamed in through the large arched windows and basked the room in a cold, white glow.

The room was an elaborately decorated living space, plush couches before a fire mantel and on masterfully weaved rugs. Chase found a few candles in one of the cabinets, some tinder next to them, and lit two to illuminate the rooms. One he set on the round dining table, the other he carried with him as he searched.

Generally, nobles carried a lot of coin on their travels, and he was very familiar with the hidden crevices the inns built. A study off the main room caught Chase's attention. Unfinished letters in a foreign tongue lay sprawled on the flat surface, ink drying in a small pot. The quill stood in its stand, drying whatever liquid remained on the nib. Chase carefully shifted the papers, keeping an eye out for anything interesting, but it was all in a foreign tongue and so useless to him. A folded piece of parchment rested on one of the armchairs. Unfolding it, Chase was surprised to see a portrait of the lord staring back at him. He was even more surprised to see the signature at the bottom.

H Seaward.

Chase folded the parchment twice and hid it in his pocket. Leaving it behind felt wrong somehow, as if tonight's events were bad enough, he did not wish the ambassador to have a hand in Hannah's life too. He wondered on the drawing's origins as he searched the room. Besides for the papers on the desk, there was little of Dorian in the room, and the rest of them too. The one hiding spot was empty, save for a family crest used for sealing letters; a long necked bird surrounded by a spiralling son with two stars in both top corners and two flowers in the bottom corners. The bird held a fish in its one claw, arched in a final display of defiance.

Chase returned the seal. Although likely worth a small fortune, it was far too valuable and distinct. The Lord would know of its disappearance almost immediately. His interests lay in the coin stash that had to be somewhere in the room. He searched the study again, finding nothing strapped to the belly of the chairs, nor the table. He searched the bedroom and came up empty once more, surprised when even the closet revealed nothing.

Chase ran his fingers through his hair, starting to doubt his plan. He had changed his initial plan to steal from Lady Roche in hopes of robbing a far more worthy victim, and instead, found a far more worthy opponent. Depositing himself into one of the armchairs by the dead fire, Chase glared at the fresh set of logs lying in the hearth and ran through all likely hiding spots a nobleman thought of. From experience, Chase knew that men like Dorian Qu'rup liked to keep their wealth near them when they slept. Somehow they thought they would wake at the slightest chink of gold. That was not the case. Chase had once stolen a ring off a sleeping lord's finger without so much as a pause in the man's snores.

If not by his bed, then the coin was usually hidden where he could easily count it—a study. Close to the ledgers as if proof of the tallies within the pages. Chase ran his hand over his face. He must have missed something, and just as he braced his hands on his knees, about to stand, something about the hearth suddenly seemed amiss.

"Rather clean," he whispered, and crept nearer. On closer inspection, there was no sign of recent use—no soot, no charred wood. Unless the maids of the inn were so thorough they scrubbed and emptied the hearth every evening, Chase was of the opinion that Dorian Qu'rup had yet to light a fire in his rooms.

Chase reached into the shoot, patting his hand on the ledge, and let out a satisfied chuckle when he met material. He had to thread half his body into the chute before he was able to pull the large sack out, but once he had, he sat with a large bag in his lap and soot in his hair, staining the sleeves of his stolen attire.

"Crafty son of a bitch." Chase smiled, opening the sack. Inside were dozens of burgundy coin pouches, each with a golden tie at its neck. Chase reached for one, opened it and spilled its contents onto his hand. He sighed. "Fool," he muttered. There was far too much coin in the sack to warrant not leaving with at least a few coins from each pouch.

Chase extracted his own black sacks tied to the inside of his coat and began filling it with coins from each of the pouches. He first counted a few to make sure there wasn't a secured amount in each. Each purse contained exactly twenty-five gold pieces. So Chase took five from every forth one he picked out, and took one entire pouch that felt lighter than the rest altogether."

He left, restoring the room as it once was and replacing all its hidden contents—except Hannah's drawing. All he had to do now was drop off the key, retrieve his dagger from Ivan's bookcase, and hunt down Kole, whose plans for the night had haunted Chase ever since he had seen Sera fighting off the Cyllindalian lord.

This was going to be a very difficult night for her, and Chase felt helpless knowing what it held.