Chapter 52: Morning Broth and a Gentleman's Tavern

The morning mist still clung to the cobblestones of the safehouse courtyard as the first pale light broke over Port Vandermir. When Zevryn descended the steps into the main common area, he found a quiet, efficient rhythm already underway.

Reniah was standing by the counter, moving with practiced quietness as she assisted Xel with the morning preparations. Zevryn hadn't issued a single command for her to help, yet she had slipped naturally into the domestic partnership alongside the former guild assassin.

Zevryn walked over without a word and pulled out his chair at the heavy oak table. He sat down, his pale eyes sweeping over the two of them before he spoke.

"Sit," Zevryn instructed, his voice cutting cleanly through the morning quiet. "You two will eat with me."

Xel paused for a brief second, showing a flicker of professional surprise, before nodding respectfully. Reniah hesitated, casting a timid glance downward, but obeyed. They plated their portions and sat down at the table across from the drow master, sharing a meal in an uncanny, quiet solidarity.

As they finished, Zevryn turned his steady gaze toward the young girl.

"Ren," Zevryn said, his tone dead serious. "You will have grueling training ahead of you. Morning sword lessons with me, and the assassin arts alongside the orphan class in the afternoon. Can you keep up?"

Reniah did not speak, as she couldn't, but her dark eyes flared with an intense, unyielding resolve. She nodded firmly, her jaw set with absolute determination.

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Zevryn gave a single nod. "Good."

He slid a folded piece of parchment across the wood toward the butler.

"Xel. Secure everything on this list. We need proper equipment for both the morning fencing curriculum and the afternoon assassin drills."

Xel glanced over the list, committing the items to memory with a sharp glance. "It will be done, Master."

"One more thing," Zevryn added, leaning back slightly. "Do you know where Alejandro de Silva takes his stroll?"

Xel didn't even have to pause to think. "Alejandro de Silva? The gentleman swordsman? His usual haunt is the gentleman's tavern near the upper-tier pier bazaar. It caters exclusively to mid-to-high society elites who enjoy their dueling talk with expensive spirits."

Zevryn rose from his seat, adjusting the collar of his coat. "I'll be leaving out today."

Leaving the safehouse behind, Zevryn navigated toward the upper-tier district near the harbor. The air here smelled less of brine and low-tide filth and more of polished mahogany, expensive pipe tobacco, and sea-salt perfume. Tucked away near a classy bazaar was the gentleman's tavern, a refined establishment with stained-glass windows and polished brass fixtures.

Stepping inside, Zevryn’s sharp gaze immediately picked out a familiar silhouette sitting by a sunlit corner booth. Alejandro de Silva was nursing a glass of amber liquor, dressed in an immaculate embroidered doublet.

Zevryn walked over, his footsteps entirely silent against the thick carpet, and stopped by the table.

"May I?" Zevryn asked smoothly.

Alejandro looked up, his expression brightening into a wide, theatrical smile. He gestured to the empty seat opposite him. "Ah, my friend! I have been thinking of our last encounter ever since. When can we finally have our rematch?"

Zevryn offered a cold, calculated smile, taking his seat as he rested his hands lightly on the table. "I didn't come here to trade blows today, Alejandro. I have a proposal."