They did not go back to the dye-works.
Clara had already set up a second bolt-hole two districts east, an upper room over a shuttered print shop that still stank of ink and solvent.
It was the kind of place the capital's screens treated as background noise—ordinary, forgettable, useful. By the time the three runners caught up, the first merchant-house ledger had already opened the slate and started chewing on the numbers.
No one celebrated.
Lara barred the door and took the window. The swordsman claimed the stair without being asked.
The wizard refreshed the mask and then stood near the far wall, power held close and quiet. Clara checked the secondary signals she had built into the packages. Two had landed clean. The third was still moving.
Only then did the emperor speak.
"Vellarin will not sit on those numbers," he said. "They will verify, then they will protect their own contracts. By midday the anomalies will be in at least four other houses.
