The five pieces of straw in Foreman Blackstone's weathered hand looked significantly more ominous than straw had any right to look. They jutted up between his thick fingers like tiny gallows, each one representing a fundamentally different afternoon outcome for one of the identical women standing around his desk.

"I still think this is insane," Ember said, her voice tight. "There has to be another way."

"We've been through this," Ash replied calmly, though her fingers drummed against her thigh. "Grakmul's defensive positioning eliminates conventional approaches. The tunnel system neutralizes our mobility advantages. Strategic demolition remains the most viable—"

"Strategic demolition," Pyra interrupted, her usual enthusiasm notably absent. "That's a fancy way of saying 'blow yourself up,' isn't it?"

"It's a way of saying 'achieve tactical objectives through controlled application of explosive force,'" Ash corrected.

"While you're standing next to the explosives!"

"The proximity issue is admittedly suboptimal."

Blackstone stared at them with the expression of a man watching five people argue about who should jump off a cliff. "What exactly are you discussing here?"

"Nothing," Kindle said quickly. "Just... discussing strategy."

"Strategy that involves one of you not coming back," Blackstone said slowly.

The office fell silent except for the sound of papers rustling in the afternoon breeze. Through the windows, the quarry stretched away in peaceful terraces, giving no hint of the tactical nightmare waiting in its depths.

"People don't always come back from troll fights," Cinder said finally. "That's why they pay us."

"But you're talking about it like—" Blackstone began.

"Like what?"

"Like you're planning it. Like one of you is supposed to die."

"Not supposed to," Ash said. "Statistically likely to, given the parameters of the mission profile. There's a meaningful distinction."

"The hell there is!" Pyra's voice cracked slightly. "Ash, this is crazy even for us!"

"Define crazy."

"Strapping explosives to yourself and running into a tunnel with a troll!"

"That's not crazy," Cinder said dryly. "That's Tuesday. Although usually we try to avoid the 'strapping explosives to yourself' part."

"Usually we have other options," Ember added, her tone suggesting she'd rather be discussing literally anything else.

Ash spread her hands. "The tactical reality remains unchanged regardless of our emotional comfort with it. Grakmul's intelligence and defensive preparations have neutralized standard approaches. Creative solutions require accepting calculated risks."

"Calculated risks," Kindle repeated. "That's what we're calling suicide missions now?"

"We're calling them tactical innovations."

"I hate it when you use big words to make terrible ideas sound reasonable," Pyra muttered.

"All ideas sound terrible until they work," Ash pointed out.

"And if they don't work?"

"Then the failure analysis becomes someone else's responsibility."

Blackstone had been following this exchange like a man watching a very strange tennis match. "Are you people always like this?"

"Like what?" Ember asked.

"Like you're arguing about who takes out the trash, except the trash is going to kill whoever takes it out."

"Trash doesn't fight back," Cinder observed. "Usually."

"That's not the point!"

"Actually, that's exactly the point," Ash said. "Standard approaches treat Grakmul like an obstacle to be overcome through superior force. He's adapted to counter those approaches. We need to think differently."

"Differently like how?"

"Like understanding that sometimes tactical victory requires accepting short-term setbacks."

Pyra's face went pale. "Short-term setbacks. You mean dying."

"I mean temporary inconvenience."

"There's nothing temporary about being dead, Ash!"

"Death is as permanent as you make it," Ash replied, which was technically true if wildly misleading in this context.

Blackstone's confusion was palpable. "What does that even mean?"

"It means she's being philosophical about getting blown up," Ember said tiredly.

"Philosophy seems like an odd response to suicide missions."

"Everything seems odd until you get used to it," Kindle said. "We've gotten used to a lot of things most people would find odd."

"Such as?"

"Such as having conversations about who draws the short straw for explosive death," Cinder said.

The straw in Blackstone's hand suddenly felt heavier. "You're serious about this."

"Unfortunately," Ember said.

"Regrettably," Kindle added.

"Catastrophically," Pyra contributed.

"Tactically necessarily," Ash finished.

"You sound like you're ordering from a menu," Blackstone said.

"If the menu was written by someone with a very dark sense of humor," Cinder agreed.

Another silence stretched between them. Outside, the late afternoon sun painted the quarry in warm gold, beautiful and peaceful except for the knowledge that somewhere in those shadows, an extremely intelligent troll was probably making his evening defensive adjustments.

"There really isn't another way?" Ember asked quietly.

Ash's expression softened slightly. "I've analyzed seventeen different approach vectors. Grakmul has demonstrated adaptive responses to conventional tactics, superior knowledge of the terrain, and defensive preparations specifically designed to counter adventuring methodologies. Direct assault results in tactical stalemate. Siege warfare favors the defender. Negotiation seems unlikely given his behavioral patterns."

"So we blow up his house."

"We eliminate his tactical advantages."

"By blowing up his house while one of us is inside it."

"The timing is admittedly tight."

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Pyra's hands clenched into fists. "This is insane."

"Sanity is relative," Ash said. "What matters is effectiveness."

"What matters is not dying!"

"What matters is completing the mission. Individual preservation remains secondary to tactical objectives."

"Easy for you to say when you're not—" Pyra stopped abruptly.

"When I'm not what?"

"When you're not the one who has to watch it happen," Pyra finished lamely.

Blackstone was watching this exchange with growing alarm. "Watch what happen?"

"The explosion," Kindle said quickly. "From a safe distance. While our colleague completes the mission."

"Your colleague who will be standing next to enough explosives to bring down a mountain."

"Standing is optional," Ash said. "Running would be preferable, if circumstances permit."

"And if they don't?"

"Then the mission succeeds and someone else handles the paperwork."

"That's the most morbid thing I've ever heard."

"You haven't spent much time around adventurers, have you?" Cinder asked.

"Not ones who plan their own deaths as tactical maneuvers."

"We prefer 'tactical innovations,'" Ash corrected.

"I prefer not having this conversation at all," Ember said.

"The conversation remains necessary regardless of preference."

"Does it? Really? Because I'm pretty sure we could just walk away."

"And leave Grakmul to continue terrorizing quarry workers?"

"Other people could handle it."

"Other people have tried. Multiple times. With predictable results."

Ember's shoulders slumped. "I hate it when you're right."

"I'm always right. That's why my plans work."

"Your plans are terrifying."

"Effective plans often are." Ash met Ember's eyes. "Which is why we're having this conversation. Now."

"About who has to die for this mission to succeed."

"It's not death. It's temporary inconveniencing followed by unexpected resurgence."

Blackstone quirked one eyebrow at that. "And how exactly do you plan to 'resurge' after being blown up?"

"We have our methods," Ash said mysteriously. "Methods which are neither your concern nor part of this conversation."

Blackstone sighed and held up the straws again, his expression suggesting he'd given up trying to understand their conversation. "Right. Are we doing this or not?"

Five identical faces turned toward him, each etched with different variations of anxiety, reluctance, and resignation. Even Ash looked less enthusiastic about her plan now that the moment had arrived.

"We're doing this," Ember said finally.

"Against our better judgment," Kindle added.

"Against all judgment," Pyra muttered.

"Judgment is overrated," Cinder said. "Usually."

"Ready?" Blackstone asked.

The question seemed to echo in the small office. Outside, the quarry waited in afternoon stillness, and somewhere in its depths, Grakmul continued his preparations, unaware that five identical women were about to flip his entire strategic framework upside down.

"Ready," Ash said, speaking for all of them despite their obvious reluctance.

They each reached forward, fingers closing around the straws.

Ember's legs trembled as she took hold. Her hand shook so badly she nearly dropped the straw before gripping it tightly.

"C-crap, crap, crapcrapcrapcrap... I'm the only one who hasn't died yet... It's gonna be me, I just know it..." she muttered.

"You'll be fine," Cinder whispered. "There's only a one-in-five chance of dying today."

It did very little to ease her nerves.

"Right," Blackstone said again, his expression suggesting he still had no idea what any of this meant but that he'd been hired to do a job and he was going to do it regardless. "Draw."

Then they pulled.

Four long straws. One short one.

Ash stared down at the abbreviated piece of straw between her fingers. "Well," she said, after a long pause. "Shit."

The mining explosives sat in their canvas bag like small, patient harbingers of contained apocalypse. Each stick had been wrapped in waterproof paper and marked with symbols that presumably meant something reassuring to people who understood demolition work.

"Twelve sticks should provide sufficient force to collapse the main tunnel junction," Ash said, hefting the bag for emphasis. "The shaped charge configuration will focus the blast toward the ceiling supports, maximizing structural damage while minimizing blast radius."

"You've thought about this a lot," Kindle observed.

"I've thought about everything a lot," Ash replied. "It's what I do."

The quarry at sunset looked like something from a painting—if the painter had specialized in dramatic landscapes with a slight preference for ominous undertones. The western light painted the terraced stone in warm gold and deep shadow, creating a checkerboard of illumination that would have been beautiful if not for the knowledge that somewhere in those shadows, Grakmul was probably making his evening adjustments to what had become the most sophisticated anti-adventurer fortress in the kingdom.

"He should emerge in approximately seven minutes," Ash said, checking her notes one final time before tucking them into her pack alongside enough magical explosives to remove a small mountain. "His behavioral pattern suggests he prioritizes mirror alignment first, then structural reinforcement, then general maintenance. Total surface time: twelve to fifteen minutes."

"That's not much of a window," Ember observed, watching the quarry entrance through a borrowed spyglass.

"It's sufficient. Assuming your distraction performance proves convincing."

"Oh, it'll be convincing," Pyra said, though her usual enthusiasm was notably forced. "I've been practicing my 'angry adventurer' voice all afternoon."

"Your regular voice is your angry adventurer voice," Cinder pointed out.

"My regular voice is my 'enthusiastic about everything' voice. My angry adventurer voice has more shouting and fewer superlatives."

"Fewer superlatives seems unlikely," Kindle said.

"I can do fewer superlatives! Watch: 'Grakmul, you moderately problematic creature, prepare for adequately dramatic combat!' See? Practically subdued."

"That's not going to convince anyone," Ember said.

"Then it's fortunate that Grakmul's experience with the Iron Circle suggests they favor direct confrontation and loud tactical discussions," Ash said. "Pyra's natural enthusiasm, properly channeled, should trigger his established response patterns without requiring significant performance modifications."

She adjusted the pack straps, settling the weight of the explosives against her back. The charges had been rigged with a simple timer mechanism—nothing fancy, just enough delay to get them positioned properly before the impressive finale.

"Secondary tunnel entrance should put me approximately forty meters behind his primary defensive line," she continued, more to herself than to the others. "Tunnel structure suggests a main junction about sixty meters deeper. Plant the charges there, set the timer, and withdraw to a minimum safe distance."

"Which is?" Blackstone asked.

"Considerably farther than I'll be able to travel in the available time," Ash admitted.

The weight of that statement settled over them like a shroud. Even Ash's careful analytical tone couldn't disguise what she was saying.

"You don't have to do this," Ember said again.

"I do, actually. Not because of the straw—probability theory renders that largely meaningless. I have to do this because the plan requires someone capable of maintaining analytical focus under extreme stress, and among our current personnel, I remain the most qualified candidate."

"There," Cinder said, pointing toward the quarry. "Movement near the main entrance."

Through the spyglass, a massive shadow had emerged from the tunnel entrance—Grakmul himself, moving with the ponderous grace of something that had been carved from stone rather than born from flesh. Even at this distance, his size was impressive, and the deliberate way he approached his defensive modifications suggested the sort of methodical intelligence that had frustrated previous adventuring teams.

"Right on schedule," Ash observed. "Behavioral patterns remain consistent."

She shouldered her pack and checked the secondary explosive charges clipped to her belt—backup systems, in case the primary placement proved insufficient. The weight felt heavier than it should have, carrying as it did the mathematical certainty of her immediate future.

"Positions," Ember said quietly.

Pyra, Cinder, Ember, and Kindle spread out across the quarry's upper rim, preparing for the sort of display that would be visible from considerable distance. The plan called for them to simulate the Iron Circle's preferred approach—direct confrontation, coordinated magical assault, and enough obvious preparation to trigger Grakmul's established defensive responses.

"Remember," Ash called to them, "maintain the performance until you hear the explosion. His attention needs to remain focused on the main entrance until the charges detonate."

"We've got this," Ember assured her, though her voice was tight. "Just... try not to get yourself killed unnecessarily."

"Unnecessarily seems like an odd qualifier for a suicide mission," Ash replied.

"You know what I mean."

"I do." Ash's expression softened slightly. "And I'll be as careful as tactical requirements permit."

"That's our Ash," Kindle said, forcing a smile. "Careful even unto—"

"Don't," Pyra interrupted. "Don't finish that sentence."

"Right. Sorry."

Ash turned toward the secondary tunnel entrance—a narrow opening barely visible among the quarry's western terraces, unmarked and overlooked by most of Grakmul's defensive preparations. The explosive charges in her pack clinked softly with each step, a metallic percussion that counted down toward the moment when strategic theory would meet explosive reality.

Above her, flames erupted in patterns visible across half the quarry. Pyra's voice carried across the stone terraces, bellowing challenges that mixed genuine anger with theatrical flair. The distraction had begun.

The tunnel entrance swallowed her into darkness that smelled of stone dust and the sort of deep, geological silence that suggested she was walking into the earth's bones. Behind her, the sound of her sister-selves' distraction performance echoed off the quarry walls, a complex symphony of flame and fury designed to capture the attention of one very intelligent, very territorial troll.

Ahead lay sixty meters of narrow tunnel, a junction that needed to be destroyed, and the sort of tactical innovation that only became possible when you were willing to pay any price for success.

Ash hefted the pack of explosives and began to run.

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