Once Amo was sure that they were alone, they went along the quay to a familiar fisher’s shack and ducked through the door. It was a quiet place, but the quiet was suddenly heavy when all eyes turned on Amo. It was something Amo should’ve expected, but they were caught off guard anyway, straightening and looking between familiar faces. “What?”

The spies of the southlands, all dressed in fisherman’s rags, stared at Amo. One man, looking them over, managed a low, “Holy fuck, Amo. Seriously.”

“Get your jaw off the floor,” Amo snapped, pointing. “That’s an order. I didn’t pick this dress. It’s the only disguise I could get my hands on.”

Nymir, crossing his arms sullenly in the back, huffed, “We thought you were dead. You and Phaeduin both. Is he with you?”

Amo shook their head. “Phaeduin’s dead. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck!” Nymir flinched, echoing the other six spies in the room. He punched a wall. “Meryl and Indirk are missing, too. Went out for supplies yesterday and just never turned up after.”

“Someone I met told me my accent needs work,” Amo grumbled. They glared at the wall, marched over and tore down the banner of the southlands, throwing it in the wood stove one of them was using to make coffee. At the shock of the spy nearest the stove, Amo said, “We need to be more careful. No blue, no silver, and talk as little as possible to anyone outside of here. Listen to people more. Think about how they talk and the words they use. How they move.” Amo gestured to the back. “Except for Nymir and me, you all still look like fucking spies.”

Nymir grumbled, “You look like you’re getting home from a fancy night out. Who’s the lucky gentleman, Amo?”

Turning a bit red at that, Amo crossed their arms and exhaled a prideful breath. “A merchant of some influence, if you must know. And I’ve got results. A list of suspects.” Lifting the paper that Sethian Skin had given them, the list of customers Amo was to avoid, Amo slammed it on the table. The spies gathered around to look at it. “Phaeduin died for this list, too. These are individuals inside Gray Watch who make regular use of dark magic. I’m beginning to doubt that it’s Gray Watch’s military that has the weapons we’re seeking at all. I think it’s some number of these citizens, using evil magic without their rulers’ knowledge.”

The spies leaned over the list, muttering at the names and locations. One said, “I recognize this address. That’s the road that goes to the lighthouse. Watch guards there at all hours.”

“Norgash is on the list?” Another said. “The famous firedancer?”

“If it’s just random people,” a third added, “That would explain why past units never found anything. They were all completely focused on officers in the garrison and infantry, right?”

Nymir said, “We should pack it in and head home.”

Amo snapped their gaze up, growling, “What? We’ve finally got some intel!”

“Plus two missing spies and one confirmed dead.” Nymir gestured to the spies at the table. “And you just said this group isn’t doing a good enough job blending in. If we bring this list back to the spymaster, we can dedicate entire units to each name on the list.”

“And delay results for months at the very least, while our cities keep getting hit by magic we don’t understand.” Amo shook their head. “I’m not leaving this city until I’ve got their magic in my hands.”

Nymir leaned forward on the table, glaring across it at Amo. “You’re leaving now, this very minute, or you’re doomed.”

Amo straightened, looking down at Nymir. “You sound awfully sure of that.” The other spies had also noticed Nymir’s tone, muttering, looking at him carefully. Amo said, “What do you know, Nymir? What aren’t you saying?”

Looking to a side, Nymir grumbled, “You doomed us all the second you walked in that door. They were waiting for you to turn up.”

Amo’s heart beat with a sudden urgency, eyes wide, senses seeking danger. “Who was waiting? What are you…?” Then Amo heard what they hadn’t before: a strange, soft music coming from Nymir’s person. “Magic. He has magic on him. Grab him!”

Nymir took one step back before the spies surged around him. He struggled well, but they had his arms and knocked his legs out from under him. “This won’t help you!” He shouted, “Just leave! You don’t have time!”

Amo vaulted the table and landed on their knees right on top of Nymir, slamming him to the floor. Rifling through his pockets, Amo pulled a glowing disc from jacket. The disc sang. Amo held it up in front of Nymir’s face. “What is this? Did you betray us, Nymir? The fuck did you do?”

“I thought you were all dead!” Nymir shouted angrily. “You, Phaeduin, Meryl, and Indirk! Dead or being interrogated, maybe telling them everything. I did what I thought I need to do to make sure at least one of us survived.”

“Amo!” A spy at the window shouted. “There’s soldiers on the quay!”

“Fuck!” Amo punched Nymir in the face just for the sake of it, then got off him. “Get your arms and scatter out the back! Remember your fallback positions and for fuck’s sake don’t get caught.” Amo threw the glowing disk out a window, grabbed Sethian Skin’s list of addresses and a sword, and knocked over the stove. Coffee and hot coals spilled onto the floor, fire catching fast. The walls began to burn.

“Get off me!” Nymir threw two spies off, kicking one of them hard aside, surging upright. “If you’d run when I told you-“

Scrambling to their feet, one of the fallen spies said, “He’ll tell the Watch garrison all our fallback plans. We’ll have nowhere safe to go.”

Amo marched across the room toward Nymir, blade held up and ready. “You all go. I’ll take care of Nymir. He’s not going to tell anyone anything ever again.”

Backing away, blocking the back exit with his body, Nymir drew a fishing knife from his belt and smiled. “Oh, Amo, I always knew one day I was going to have to fuck you up.”

The fire burned fast through the rotten wood, climbing the walls, burning across the ceiling. Spies pulled knives, swords, and pistols from their hiding spots. They threw their notes and correspondences toward the stove where they caught fire. They broke out windows and leapt from the building. Outside, the unmistakable shouts of soldiers rose, bells ringing from a watchtower on the quay. Then there was strange, low music, a sourceless yellow glow in the center of the room, glowing brighter, louder.

Amo looked over their shoulder and barely glimpsed, through the fire, through the broken glass in a front window, the conjuring movements of a sorcerer dressed in the green of the Gray Watch garrison. Then the magic erupted, blasting the roof off the building and throwing all the walls aside. Amo tumbled through scattered fire, glass, and debris, landing crookedly on a stone stairwell behind the building. The corners of the steps were like hammers pummeling their ribs, their arms, the side of their head.

They rolled off the stairs limply, vision blurry and spotted with darkness. On their knees, Amo swayed off balance, nauseous. Numbly, they grabbed at the ground around them, eventually found a knife and picked it up. Then they looked up to see boots and green tabards marching through the ruined shack toward them.