We don't linger once Gazib disappears back into the crowd.
The noise swallows him, but the space he leaves behind doesn't close. It widens—just enough to be noticed.
Branwen's gaze drifts toward the road to Nashkel, then back to us. Her hand rests near her weapon. She doesn't speak. She doesn't need to.
Others asking questions.
I catch myself watching the crowd now—faces instead of tents, movement instead of color.
Leaving now would mean carrying things forward exactly as they are.
"We stay," I say.
No one challenges it.
The decision doesn't invite debate, only follow-through.
If people are asking questions, then being harder to put down is simply sensible. What protection I have has held so far—but only just.
If I'm going to be noticed, I should at least be better protected when it happens.
Nashkel receives me cautiously.
The streets are active, but not relaxed. Doors stand open without fully inviting entry. Conversations stay low and practical, stopping and starting as people decide how much attention to give one another.
I pass through without drawing notice and find what I'm looking for in a storefront that favors function over display. Armor hangs where it can be reached easily. Nothing here is meant to impress.
Inside, the air smells of oil and worked metal, sharp and familiar, cutting through the dust of the road.
I scan the racks.
Studded leather is nowhere to be found. I linger a moment anyway, more out of habit than hope. It would have been the cleanest step up—better coverage, no added weight, no new liabilities.
The shopkeeper doesn't bother explaining. My glance is enough, and his shrug finishes the thought. What he has is what remains.
Chainmail hangs in neat rows.
Not the sensible option—the only other one. I lift a shirt from the rack and feel the weight settle into my arms immediately, heavier than I'd planned for.
Once it's on, the fit is serviceable. The protection is there.
The rings shift when I move. Enough to announce presence where I'd rather not.
I take a few steps, roll my shoulders, then stop.
It would work.
I'm just not pleased.
The shopkeeper notices without prompting. "Doesn't sit right," he says.
"It's serviceable," I reply.
He nods once. "Mail keeps you alive," he says. "It just doesn't care how."
He reaches beneath the counter and produces a strip of pale fur, thick and coarse, heavier than it looks. He lets me feel it before taking it back.
"Winter wolf," he says. "Takes stitching well once it's treated. Quieter than mail. Tougher than most leathers."
I say nothing.
"You won't find them close to town," he continues. "They favor the Cloud Peaks. Cold ground. High air. And they don't roam alone."
The chainmail settles again as I shift. It would keep me alive—and make sure anyone listening knew exactly where I was.
"I'll take the mail," I say.
I count out the coin without ceremony. It's more than I would have carried a few days ago, lighter than it should feel now.
Some of it came from the reward for the mines—gold pressed into my hand by Mayor Ghastkill with the careful gratitude of someone who needed the problem gone more than he needed to understand it.
I'd told myself then that I wouldn't spend it lightly.
Armor, at least, qualifies as necessity.
When I leave, the weight is no longer hypothetical.
Outside, Nashkel hasn't changed. The same cautious movement. The same unfinished recovery.
The offer stays where it belongs—for later.
Brage comes first.
I find the others where we agreed to regroup. The conversation is already underway, practical and unembellished. Brage's name surfaces once, then again—not emphasized, just acknowledged.
Imoen fills in what she's learned. People are talking, she says—not with any clear direction. Just questions drifting outward. Who passed through. Who left soon after. Who might have been seen and dismissed at the time.
Nothing solid.
In the end, there's nothing to replace what we were already told.
"We'll have to work from what we had," Branwen says. "From what you told me earlier—the attack came from the southwest."
No one argues. It fits the shape of the story as it's held together so far.
One problem addressed doesn't mean the town is finished paying for it.
When there's a pause, I speak.
"Then we start there."
The road ahead hasn't changed. Only the order of things.