The night was alive with sounds—the distant hum of carriages, the faint crackle of lanterns, and the occasional bark of a stray dog. Jack leaned against the rickety railing of his balcony, staring out at the city he had once resented.
It wasn't the same anymore. Or maybe he wasn't the same.
Three weeks ago, Jack would have spent nights like this buried under self-pity, cursing the stars for his misfortune. But now, he had something Neville and his enemies didn't expect—a plan.
He turned the worn blade Victor had lent him over in his hands, the dim light glinting off its uneven edge. He hadn't mastered its use, but each night spent training under Victor's gruff supervision made him feel a little less helpless.
"One day," Jack muttered, clenching the blade tighter, "one day, I'll make sure no one pushes me around again."
But for now, survival would have to do.
The marketplace was a different beast at dawn—quieter but no less ruthless. Vendors set up their stalls, their sharp eyes scanning for potential customers or rivals. Jack wove through the maze of carts and crates, his destination clear.
Martin, the grizzled trader, barely acknowledged Jack's presence as he approached. Jack had closed a deal with Martin about a week and a half ago. He would be getting supplies from him, repair them, try to get them marketabke enough then return them.
"You're early," Martin grunted, wiping grease-streaked hands on a dirty rag.
Jack shrugged, his expression calm. "Early bird gets the worm, right?"
"That's not how this market works, kid."
"Maybe not yet," Jack replied, his tone sharper than he intended. He placed a small bag of coins on the table. "Here's the payment for last week's shipment. I need more inventory by tomorrow."
Martin eyed the bag, then Jack. "You've got guts, but don't let them get you in trouble. This city isn't kind to upstarts."
"Good thing I'm not asking for kindness," Jack said, turning on his heel before Martin could respond.
Back at the house, Jack found Clara hunched over a ledger, her brow furrowed in concentration. She looked up as he entered, the corners of her mouth lifting in a tired smile.
"Good news?" she asked.
"Mostly," Jack said, pulling up a chair beside her. "Martin's agreed to keep supplying us, but he's getting impatient. We'll need to secure a better deal soon."
Clara nodded, closing the ledger with a soft thud. "And Garrett's order?"
"Handled. He paid in full this time."
"Good. That should keep us afloat for another week or two."
Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not enough. If we're going to expand, we'll need to take bigger risks."
Clara's expression darkened. "Don't let your ambition cloud your judgment, Jack. Neville's not going to let you climb without trying to knock you down."
"Let him try," Jack said, his voice steady.
But even as he spoke, the weight of her words lingered.
That evening, Victor led Jack through another grueling training session. The courtyard echoed with the sound of wood against wood as they sparred with practice sticks.
"Your footwork's still sloppy," Victor barked, sidestepping Jack's clumsy strike. "You're leaving yourself open."
Jack gritted his teeth, swinging again. This time, Victor parried and countered with a swift jab to Jack's ribs.
"Ow!" Jack stumbled back, clutching his side.
"Pain's a good teacher," Victor said, tossing his stick aside. "But only if you learn from it."
Jack glared at him but didn't argue.
"That's enough for tonight," Victor added, his tone softening. "Go clean yourself up. You've earned it."
Jack nodded, too tired to protest.
The bathwater was cold by the time Jack sank into it, his mind racing with thoughts of the future. The memory ball from his mother had given him the tools to succeed, but it was the one from his father that lingered in his thoughts.
Every time he practiced, he could feel the memories seeping deeper into his consciousness—flashes of techniques, instincts he didn't fully understand yet. It was frustratingly slow, but progress was progress.
He leaned his head back against the rim of the tub, letting the water wash away the day's grime. Just as his body began to relax, a soft knock broke the silence.
"Jack?" Clara's voice was tense.
Jack sat up, his heart racing. "What is it?"
"It's Victor. He says there's someone outside the gate."
Jack climbed out of the tub, hastily throwing on a shirt. By the time he reached the gate, Victor was already there, sword in hand.
The visitor stood just beyond the threshold, cloaked in shadows.
"State your business," Victor demanded, his voice like steel.
The figure stepped forward, revealing a familiar face.
"Garrett?" Jack's brow furrowed. "What are you doing here?"
Garrett glanced nervously over his shoulder before speaking. "We need to talk. Inside. Now."
Victor hesitated, his grip tightening on his sword, but Jack nodded.
"Let him in," Jack said.
Once inside, Garrett wasted no time.
"You're in trouble," he said, his voice low. "Neville knows about your deals with Martin and me. He's already moving to cut you off."
Jack's jaw tightened. "How does he know?"
Garrett hesitated, then sighed. "He's got people everywhere. You should've known this would happen."
"What do you want me to do? Roll over and let him win?"
"No," Garrett said, his eyes hard. "You fight. But you need to be smart about it. Neville's got more resources than you can imagine. If you're not careful, he'll crush you."
Jack glanced at Victor, who gave a small nod.
"Thanks for the warning," Jack said, his voice calm despite the storm brewing inside him. "But I've got this."
Garrett didn't look convinced, but he stood to leave. "Just don't say I didn't warn you."
After Garrett left, Jack turned to Victor and Clara.
"This changes nothing," he said, his voice firm. "We keep moving forward. But we do it on our terms."
Victor smirked, a glint of approval in his eyes. Clara, however, still looked worried.
"Just promise me you'll be careful," she said softly.
"I will," Jack said.
But as he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't shake the feeling that the game had just gotten a lot more dangerous.
End of Chapter 8