By midday, the rain had returned — thin, needling threads that stitched the streets of Emerald Haven into a gray, damp maze. Li Fan stood beneath the overhang of a tea shop, watching the water pool in the grooves of the cobblestones. Wei Shun leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed.
"You're waiting for that note to make sense," Wei Shun said flatly.
Li Fan didn't deny it. Three paths lead to the final key. The words refused to leave his mind, looping like the slow tolling of a warning bell. The thief hadn't just been taunting him; this was a challenge — and challenges came with rules.
Rourou arrived from the western lane, hood drawn against the drizzle. "You'll want to see this," she said, slipping a folded map from her sleeve. She unrolled it across the tea shop's wooden counter. It was an old merchant's chart of the city, annotated in red ink. Three routes were marked from the Eastern Market toward the river docks, each ending at a different district: the Glassmakers' Quarter, the Temple of Mists, and the abandoned Crane Foundry.
"The boy's note mentioned 'three paths,'" Rourou reminded them. "And here they are."
Wei Shun jabbed a finger toward the Crane Foundry. "If I were setting a trap, that's where I'd do it. No witnesses, plenty of space."
Li Fan shook his head. "Too obvious. They know I'll avoid the most dangerous-looking option."
Before they could debate further, a commotion rose from the street outside — a scattering of startled voices, the crash of wooden crates. Li Fan was already moving, weaving through the tea shop's patrons and out into the rain.
A man in merchant silks was sprawled in the mud, clutching his ribs. Two masked figures darted down a side alley, one carrying a satchel that clinked with metal.
Li Fan gave chase, the water splashing up to his knees as he cut through the alleyways. The masked thieves were fast, but he was faster. With a burst of qi, he vaulted over a stack of barrels, landing squarely in their path.
The smaller thief skidded to a halt and bolted in another direction, but the taller one didn't slow. Instead, they flung a handful of powder toward Li Fan's face. The air went acrid, burning his eyes and throat. He staggered, but his arm shot out blindly, catching the thief by the collar.
The mask came loose in his grip — and his breath caught. The face staring back at him was young, far too young, the cheeks hollow from hunger, the eyes defiant.
A girl. No older than fifteen.
She tried to wrench free, but Li Fan's grip was iron. "Who sent you?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Rain ran down her face, but her gaze didn't waver. "The wrong question," she rasped. "Ask who's watching."
Before he could respond, a sharp whistle pierced the air. The girl twisted like a snake, slipping from his grasp in a way no ordinary street thief could. She vanished into the warren of alleys, leaving only the satchel behind.
Inside, wrapped in oilcloth, was a second black parchment. This one held a single, chilling addition to the earlier message:
"One path is already closed."
Rourou caught up moments later, scanning the rooftops. "We're not chasing thieves," she said grimly. "We're chasing pieces on someone else's board."
Li Fan looked at the rain-slicked streets, feeling the weight of unseen eyes. Whoever held the rest of the keys was already moving — and if he chose wrong now, it wouldn't just cost him the game.
It could cost him everything.
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