Morning dawned clear and bright over Corinth. Ryelle ate breakfast in the Copper Kettle's common room, watching locals go through their routines of shared laughter, polite conversation, and frequent references to Xellos. Some seemed more fervent than others in their praise of their patron, but all wore the same empty smile.

Evelyne and Th'maine hadn't appeared, likely already preparing their equipment for the next phase of investigation. Roderick and Simon sat with her, both watching the locals with the detached analysis of spies operating in hostile territory for a long time.

"I have concluded," Roderick announced, pushing away an empty plate of remarkably forgettable sausage and eggs, "that I'm not a fan."

"The food?"

"No, though that's an affront to everything I hold dear. But no, it's this place. It's pretty enough, don't get me wrong. Everything's orderly and clean, everyone's polite and respectful..." He picked up his teacup, frowned, and set it back down. "It's like a stage performance. Pretty to look at, full of smiles and laughter, but everything feels scripted and hollow. And those gods-be-damned bells!" The merchant shuddered. "They make my teeth hurt. Can you hear that echo in the ground when they ring?"

"I can." Ryelle sipped her tea, made a face, and set it aside.

"I swear," Roderick grumbled, "it's like a curse that makes people's cooking turn up their toes and expire. It's got no life to it."

"You seem irritated." Simon's comment could have been deadpan or sarcastic. There was just no telling with that man.

"A lesser man would say my finely honed instincts for trade are offended by a settlement where no one seems capable of haggling and no one wants to take risks." Roderick leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together across his middle. "Thankfully, I'm a much bigger man than that, so all I'll say is this place grinds my gears in ways I don't have the vocabulary to express."

Simon grunted. "So eloquently taciturn."

"I've always respected your judgement, my friend." Roderick rose from the table. "Let's make sure we break this one exactly the right way, eh? I've no love for slavery, even when it looks as pretty as this."

The team gathered in Evelyne's room, which had transformed overnight into something between a war room and an arcane laboratory. Maps covered the table, marked with seven red points. Sensor readings lay stacked beside Th'maine's scribbled notes, creating a portrait of Corinth's corruption in ink and crystal resonance.

"The market exchange," Evelyne said without preamble, tapping one red mark on her map. "It's our best option. Public building, merchant traffic throughout the day, multiple entry points. If we're going to examine an artifact up close, that's our target."

Th'maine hunched over the map, his hand tracing lines between the marked locations. "Aye, and it's the weakest node in the network. Not by much, mind ye, but enough that examining it won't set off alarms like prodding the temple or council hall would."

"Define 'up close,'" Roderick said. He'd positioned himself at the room's most advantageous position to observe their preparations, hands tucked into the folds of his voluminous robe. "Because I'm getting increasingly concerned about what happens when we stop being subtle."

"Close enough to understand how it functions. How it's powered, how it connects to the network, what destroying it would actually accomplish." Evelyne adjusted a crystal lens. "We need to know if breaking one triggers a response from the others. If the network can compensate or if destroying them creates a cascade failure."

Simon stood by the door, silent sentinel watching the hallway. "The market opens in an hour. More people means better cover."

"And more eyes to notice us poking around where we shouldn't be." But Roderick was already checking his pockets, making sure he had everything he'd need for the day's performance. "What's the distraction?"

"Weights and measures dispute," Ryelle suggested. "You're a foreign merchant questioning local standards. Gets loud, draws guards, gives Evelyne and Th'maine time to slip below."

"I can absolutely start a fight about weights and measures." Something like Roderick's usual enthusiasm flickered across his face. "Never met a merchant who didn't have opinions about standardization."

They split up an hour later, each playing their assigned roles. Ryelle positioned herself near the market exchange's side entrance, ostensibly examining produce from a nearby stall while her divine senses tracked movement through the building's interior. Simon drifted through the crowd, masked face turning to watch approaches and exits.

Roderick's voice rose above the market's general din.

"Excuse me, but these weights are demonstrably incorrect!" He held up two apparently identical stone weights, waving them at a local merchant. "These are supposed to be standard measures, yes? Both marked as ten-stone weights? Then why does this one balance against twelve stones of copper while that one balances against eleven?"

The local merchant smiled his pleasant, empty smile. "The weights are standardized according to Corinth's measures, which are—"

"Which are inconsistent!" Roderick's indignation was pitch-perfect, carrying across the square. "I've been trading for twenty years, my good man, and I know what standardization means. It means I can use the same weights in every settlement from here to the Contested Marches without wondering if I'm being cheated!"

A crowd began to gather. Not rushing, not shoving, just a general drift of people curious about disruption in their orderly day. Guards materialized from their patrol routes, moving to investigate the disturbance.

Ryelle slipped away from the growing audience, circling toward the market exchange building. The structure stood three stories tall, stone and timber construction marking it as one of Corinth's older buildings. Ground floor held administrative offices. Second floor stored records. The basement...

She caught Evelyne's eye across the square. The artificer carried her satchel like any traveler might carry personal effects, nothing suspicious, just another merchant observer drawn by the argument. Th'maine shuffled along behind her, looking every bit the eccentric scholar distracted by architectural details.

They disappeared into the building's side entrance while Roderick's voice rose another octave, demanding proper weights and fair commerce.

Ryelle positioned herself near a fruit vendor's stall, close enough to watch the building's exits, far enough to avoid drawing attention. Her divine senses stretched toward the structure, questing, finding that same frustrating resistance that had plagued her since entering Corinth.

The vendor offered her an apple with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. She bought it with coins she didn't taste, eating fruit she didn't taste, watching a door that refused to show her what lay beyond.

Ten minutes, Evelyne had said.

The guards were separating Roderick from the grain merchant now, their movements calm and professional. No violence, no threats, just gentle insistence that disputes be settled through proper channels.

Twelve minutes.

A woman exited the market exchange building, carrying a ledger. She glanced at Ryelle with eyes that lingered a moment too long before moving on.

Fourteen minutes.

Roderick was apologizing now, his voice carrying across the square. "Perhaps I was hasty. The journey has been long, and I'm not as familiar with Corinthian trade standards. My mistake, gentlemen."

The guards accepted his contrition with the same empty courtesy they applied to everything. The crowd dispersed, returning to their business with the efficiency of water flowing downhill.

Evelyne emerged first, walking quickly but not running, her face carefully neutral. Th'maine shuffled out behind her, looking like an old man who'd gotten lost looking for a privy and was too embarrassed to admit it.

They dispersed according to plan, each taking different routes back to the boarding house.

Roderick concluded his dispute with exaggerated frustration, purchasing some copper anyway because that's what merchants did—complained loudly then bought regardless. Simon materialized at his side as they left the market square, two figures disappearing into Corinth's orderly streets.

Ryelle waited, letting time pass, buying apples she didn't want from a vendor who smiled and thanked her with the sincerity of a woodcut.

After an hour, when there'd been neither alarm nor pursuit, Ryelle drifted away from the vendor and returned to the boarding house.

Back in their rooms, with the door barred and Simon standing watch, Evelyne unpacked her sensors with hands that still trembled.

"It's worse than I thought. Worse than anything in my readings suggested." She sorted through crystal arrays, checking for damage or corruption. "The artifact itself is beautiful—terrible, but beautiful. Perfect craftsmanship, integration of demonic essence and arcane magic. Whoever made it understood both disciplines at a master level."

"Describe it," Ryelle said.

"A hand carved from something that looks like stone but isn't. Four fingers, thumb, all perfect anatomical detail. An eye set in the palm, iris made from crystal that shifts colors when observed. The whole thing pulses, gentle as a heartbeat, broadcasting constantly."

Th'maine had slumped into a chair, looking older than his considerable years. "Felt it, we did. The pressure of the thing, pushing at yer mind, trying to reshape thoughts into proper patterns. Gentle, so gentle ye'd never notice if ye weren't looking for it. But constant. Always there, always pressing, wearing grooves like water through stone."

"Could you destroy it?" Roderick asked.

"Aye, easily enough. Magitech explosive would shatter it clean. Or sufficient divine power applied directly. Or even brute force if ye hit it hard enough in the right places." The old man shrugged. "But that's one artifact in a network of seven. Destroy one and the others compensate, redistribute the load. The influence weakens but doesn't break."

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Evelyne nodded, pulling out her maps. "They're networked with redundancy built in. We'd need to destroy all seven simultaneously, or near enough that the network can't adapt. Which means coordinating seven separate strikes across the settlement within moments of each other."

"Possible?" Simon asked.

"For Ebonheim? Yes. She's powerful enough, especially within her divine domain or near it. But Corinth isn't her domain. It's Xellos's. His influence, his resistance will strain her abilities, and his divinity remains unknown to me. I can't quantify the resistance she'll face. I also don't know what will happen to the citizens who've been under their influence for so long."

Ryelle studied the map, tracing the pattern of artifact locations. "How long would it take? The actual destruction, once she was in position?"

"Minutes. Maybe less if she doesn't care about collateral damage." Evelyne tapped each marked location in turn. "The question isn't whether she can do it. The question is what happens after. Eight thousand people suddenly freed from influence they don't know they're under, in a settlement that's lost its god. Chaos. Panic. Probably violence as people try to make sense of what's been done to them."

"Some won't believe it," Th'maine added quietly. "Some'll insist they were never controlled, that their devotion was real and true. Others'll lash out, blame everyone around them for not fighting harder. And a few..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "A few might not survive having their minds given back. Too much damage, too many years worn into patterns that can't bend."

The implications settled over the room like fog.

"We have what we came for," Roderick said finally. "Evidence, understanding, a plan for how it could be done. Time to report back and let Ebonheim decide."

A knock at the door froze them all.

Simon's hand went to his sword. Ryelle moved to where she could see the door while staying out of direct line from the hallway. Evelyne palmed a small magitech device that probably packed more destructive force than its size suggested.

"Yes?" Roderick called, voice steady.

"Merchant Sedley? I'm Counselor Marks from the trade commission. Might I have a moment?"

Simon checked the window, searching for additional threats in the street below. Found none. Nodded once.

Roderick opened the door.

The man who entered carried middle age with the dignity of someone important enough to matter but not important enough to threaten. Well-dressed without ostentation. Smiling with practiced warmth. Everything about him screamed minor official performing routine duties.

"My apologies for the intrusion. I understand there was some confusion at the market this morning regarding trade weights?"

"A misunderstanding, nothing more. I'm not familiar with Corinthian standards."

"Of course, of course. These things happen." Counselor Marks produced a ledger, flipping to a marked page. "I wanted to ensure your trading permit was in order and answer any questions you might have about local regulations."

Questions followed. Reasonable questions. How long did they plan to stay? What goods were they trading? Had they found Corinth's hospitality satisfactory? Standard administrative inquiries, delivered with bureaucratic pleasantness.

But his eyes never matched his smile. They catalogued details, marked faces, measured responses with the attention of someone doing more than filling out forms.

"And your associates?" His gaze swept the room, lingering on Th'maine's ancient tomes and Evelyne's equipment. "Scholars? Surveyors?"

"Geological survey," Evelyne said smoothly. "Assessing trade route viability for future expansion."

"Fascinating. And have your surveys been productive?"

"Quite. Corinth sits at an excellent junction point. Well-positioned for eastern trade."

"We're proud of our settlement's location. Xellos chose well when he guided the founders here." Something shifted behind Counselor Marks's smile. "How much longer will your surveys require?"

"We're nearly finished. Perhaps another day or two."

"Excellent. I look forward to seeing your findings. Always valuable to have outside perspectives on our home." He closed his ledger, tucking it under one arm. "Do let me know if you need anything during your remaining stay. Corinth prides itself on accommodating visitors."

He left with the same empty courtesy he'd brought, footsteps fading down the hall.

Th'maine waited until the sound disappeared entirely before speaking. "That one's touched deep. Not full conversion, but enough demon-taint to taste across the room. He's one of the coordinators, mark my words."

"He knows," Evelyne said flatly. "Knows we're not just merchants, knows we're investigating. That whole visit was a warning dressed as hospitality."

Simon returned to the window. "Four watchers now. They're not hiding anymore."

Ryelle felt her hunter instincts flare, reading threat in the calculated exposure. Predators only revealed themselves when confident in their position.

"We leave tomorrow morning with Hector's caravan," she decided. "Tonight we stay alert, stay together, and don't give them any excuse to act."

Evening found Ryelle walking toward Corinth's eastern fields, against her better judgment but unable to shake the need to warn Rhys. The man had helped them, shared information at personal risk. Leaving without offering him a way out felt like abandoning wounded to enemy territory.

She found him in his field, not alone.

A merchant stood beside him, engaged in pleasant conversation about crop yields and weather patterns. The man's clothes marked him as successful—good fabric, well-maintained, prosperous without ostentation. Everything about the scene read normal.

Everything except the wrongness radiating from the merchant like heat from coals.

Ryelle approached, divine senses screaming warnings her eyes couldn't see. The merchant turned to greet her, smile warm and welcoming.

"Good evening! Come to inspect the famous Corinth farmland?"

Up close, the wrongness intensified. His features sat too perfectly arranged, as if someone had designed a human face without quite understanding the imperfections that made faces real. His eyes held depths that went wrong directions, reflecting light in ways flesh shouldn't.

Mayakara.

"Just out for a walk," Ryelle said carefully.

"Lovely evening for it." Those wrong eyes studied her with unsettling focus. "You're one of the merchants from Ebonheim, aren't you? Such diligent traders. So thorough in your observations."

Rhys had gone pale, hands clenched at his sides.

"We like to understand the markets we enter."

"Understanding is valuable. Though sometimes people mistake observation for interference." The merchant's smile never wavered, never changed. "Important to remember that every settlement has its own ways. Its own order. Visitors should be careful not to disrupt that order through excessive curiosity."

The threat lived in spaces between words, polite phrasing wrapped around sharp edges.

"We're just merchants. Trading goods, assessing opportunities."

"Of course you are. And tomorrow you'll continue being merchants, heading west with your caravan, carrying knowledge back to your goddess." He said it like stating facts already accomplished. "Safe travels. I'm sure Corinth will see you again, when circumstances align better."

He walked away, leaving Ryelle and Rhys standing in the field's cooling dusk.

"That's one of them," Rhys said quietly. "The coordinators. They maintain the network, fix problems, ensure everything runs smooth." His hands still shook. "He wanted you to know they're watching. That they're not worried about what you've learned."

"Why aren't they worried?"

"Because what can you do? Tell Ebonheim that Corinth's under mind control? Launch a military assault? Corinth's too well-established. Trade relationships, alliances, agreements. Attacking Corinth would be an act of war." He took a shuddering breath. "They'll let you leave, then continue as if nothing's happened."

Rhys's laugh held no humor. "They're confident because they've already won. We're not prisoners—we're livestock that doesn't know it's penned."

Ryelle pulled the wooden token from her pouch, the one carved with Ebonheim's symbol. Pressed it into his palm. "Western gate. If things change, if you need to run, show this. Someone will be watching."

He looked at the token like it was made of hope and heartbreak mixed. "My family won't come. They love it here. Love him."

"The offer stands anyway."

"Yeah." He pocketed the token carefully. "Go on now. Get out while you can. And if your goddess decides to do something..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Ryelle left him there as darkness gathered, a man trapped in paradise that had forgotten how to let anyone leave.

The boarding house's common room buzzed with evening activity when she returned. Travelers eating dinner, locals sharing drinks, the innkeeper moving between tables with practiced efficiency. Everyone playing their parts in Corinth's performance of normalcy.

She climbed to find her companions already packing.

"We're leaving tonight?" She asked, though the answer lived in Evelyne's efficiency and Roderick's grim expression.

"We're blown." The merchant's jovial mask had cracked, showing fear beneath. "Three different people found excuses to check on us in the past hour. Questions about our rooms, our comfort, our plans. Always smiling, always polite, always watching."

"Dawn's safer," Simon said from his watch post. "Too many witnesses with the caravan. They won't move openly against merchants traveling with legitimate trade."

Th'maine nodded agreement. "Their power here depends on appearing reasonable. Attack merchants unprovoked and word spreads. Better to let us leave, confident we pose no real threat."

"Do we?" Ryelle asked. "Pose a threat?"

"That depends on what Ebonheim decides." Evelyne secured her instruments in padded cases. "We're bringing her proof, understanding, tactical analysis. What she does with it... that's above our authority."

They settled into uneasy vigil as night deepened. Simon and Ryelle split watch shifts, trading positions by the window where they could observe the street below. Shadows moved between lamplight, figures that might have been guards or demons or just late-walking citizens.

Impossible to tell. That was the genius of Corinth's corruption—it turned everyone into potential threats, made paranoia indistinguishable from reasonable caution.

Dawn came grey and cold, clouds still holding rain that refused to fall. They joined Hector's caravan in the staging area, loading their few possessions with the other merchants preparing to depart.

"Quick visit," Hector observed, checking harnesses. "Didn't find what you were looking for?"

"Found exactly what we were looking for," Roderick said. "Which is why we're leaving."

The caravan master's weathered face creased with something that might have been understanding. "Corinth unsettles a lot of first-time visitors. Too perfect, folk say. Makes them nervous when everything works too well."

They joined the line of wagons rolling toward Corinth's western gate. Ryelle walked beside the rearmost cart, divine senses ranging ahead and behind, cataloguing threats real and imagined.

The guards at the gate were different from the ones who'd waved them through days ago. These checked cargo manifests with genuine scrutiny, asked questions with pointed interest.

"Successful trading?" The sergeant, a woman with eyes too sharp for her pleasant smile.

"Adequate," Roderick replied. "Corinth's markets are well-organized."

"And your surveys?" Her gaze fixed on Evelyne. "Find what you needed?"

"Comprehensive data. Corinth is well-positioned for future expansion."

"Will you be returning?"

The question hung weighted with implications.

"Perhaps. When trade routes develop further."

The sergeant studied each of them in turn, her smile never changing. Then she stepped aside, gesturing the caravan through.

"Safe travels. May Xellos guide your paths."

They passed through the gate, wheels creaking against cobblestones, leaving Corinth's walls behind.

Ryelle looked back once.

Figures watched from windows and rooftops. Not hiding, not threatening, just observing with the patient certainty of predators who knew their prey would return eventually. Corinth's streets glittered in the morning fog, lovely and terrible in their uniformity.

An hour west of Corinth, Roderick finally spoke.

"They let us go."

"They want us to report back." Simon's masked face tracked the roadside. "They want us to tell Ebonheim that attacking Corinth would cause too much trouble."

"Wouldn't it?"

"That's up to the goddess to decide." Evelyne's voice carried steel. "She sent us here to learn, and we've learned. It's her decision now, but I know which way I'll advise."

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