I gave both of them the whole rundown on my current situation—my assignment to Julius's theater, the discovery that we were about five minutes away from financial collapse, and my brilliant plan to expand our drug operations into the Velvet Chambers to create a supply line that would make us all obscenely wealthy.

Throughout it all, Atticus listened with his characteristic patience while Dregan occasionally interjected with the kind of inventive profanity I hadn't realized I'd been emotionally deprived of until now.

When I finally finished with a breathless "—and that's why I need your help," there was a moment of silence on the other end before Dregan's laugh crackled through the speakers.

"Let me get this straight, lad—you want to expand our business operations? Take what we've built down here in this piss-soaked hellhole and stretch it up to the fancy chambers where you're currently shacking up in a brothel that's got more structural damage than clients?"

"Yes," I confirmed simply, because there was no point in dancing around it. "Exactly that."

Dregan laughed—full-bodied and booming, the kind of laugh that felt less like a sound and more like a physical force, rattling the radio on his end and probably startling anyone unfortunate enough to be standing nearby.

"Saints preserve us, your greed is nearly as insatiable as your appetite for cock! Though I suppose if you're going to be a greedy little shit, might as well be thorough about it. Why stop at controlling one layer when you can fuck your way through multiple levels of the city's criminal infrastructure?"

I opened my mouth to respond with something appropriately witty, but Atticus's measured voice cut through before I could. "Crude humor aside, it could indeed work," he said, and I could practically hear him stroking his chin in contemplation through the radio. "Yolmear's been much more docile recently—barely puts up a fight anymore, just does what we tell him and shuffles around looking defeated. Keeping him under control isn't nearly as difficult as it was in the beginning."

"That's... surprisingly pragmatic," I said, slightly impressed despite myself.

"We've also recruited a significant number of additional prisoners for our operation," Atticus continued, his voice taking on that particular quality he got when discussing logistics. "Between the original crew and the new additions, we've got enough manpower that setting our sights on expansion now wouldn't strain our resources. The infrastructure is solid, the distribution channels are established, and we've got enough product stockpiled that we could afford to divert a portion to the Chambers without disrupting our current operations."

I perked up at this, my entire body practically vibrating with excitement, because this was perfect—better than I'd hoped, actually, since I'd been half-expecting them to tell me the whole thing was a disaster and they were barely holding it together. "So you're saying this is actually viable? We can make this work?"

"Absolutely," Atticus confirmed. "We'll hide out in the warehouse. We can set up base there, establish a secure transport route to the Chambers, create a distribution network that covers both territories. It's ambitious, but manageable."

"The warehouse is perfect," I agreed enthusiastically. "Low visibility, easy to access, plenty of space for operations. This is—gods, this is actually happening." Then a thought occurred to me. "Speaking of making this work... I need to ask you both a favor. A financial favor. Could you provide a fraction of your current finances to help fund the brothel? We need capital for renovations, advertisements, general operational expenses. Nothing excessive, just enough to get us functional."

"How much are we talking?" Atticus asked, his tone shifting into what I recognized as his business voice—careful, analytical, probably already running calculations in his head.

Julius leaned toward the radio, his expression serious now. "Five hundred golden crowns would cover our immediate needs and provide a buffer for unexpected expenses."

There was a pause on the other end, and then both Dregan and Atticus burst into laughter—genuine, almost incredulous laughter that made the radio speakers crackle with the volume.

"Five hundred?" Dregan wheezed between guffaws. "Lad, five hundred crowns is pocket change! We'll give you ten thousand, no problem whatsoever."

My jaw dropped. Actually dropped, my mouth falling open in a way that probably made me look like a gasping fish, because ten thousand crowns was monumental—enough to renovate the entire theater, purchase new equipment, hire staff, fund advertising campaigns, and still have enough left over to operate comfortably for the next several months.

"Where did you even find that much?" I managed to stammer out, my brain still trying to process the number. "That's—that's an absurd amount of money. Did you rob a noble? Multiple nobles? An entire banking system?"

"Found it in the previous high warden's personal stash," Dregan explained with obvious satisfaction. "Turns out the bastard had been skimming off the prison's budget for years, hiding it in a locked vault in his office. We cracked it open a few days ago and discovered enough gold to fund a small army. Figured we'd put it to better use than whatever he'd been planning."

"You're incredible," I breathed, genuinely awed. "Both of you. Absolute legends. I could kiss you right now if you weren't several layers of rock beneath me."

"Save the kisses for someone who appreciates them more than I do," Atticus said dryly. "We'll get the funds moving right away—should be able to arrange the full transport within a day or two. In the meantime, meet us in the warehouse tomorrow night. Let's say... midnight? That gives us time to coordinate everything on our end."

"Tomorrow night," I confirmed, already mentally scheduling around whatever chaos would inevitably occur between now and then. "I'll be there."

"Just don't fuck it up, lad," Dregan said with gruff fondness. "We're investing in your ability to turn that brothel into something profitable, so try not to accidentally burn it down or get everyone arrested in the first week."

"I make no promises," I replied cheerfully. "But I'll do my best."

Atticus's voice came through again, slightly hesitant in a way that suggested he was about to bring up something unusual. "One more thing—and this might sound kind of weird, so bear with me. The cage on the bottom floor of the prison? It disappeared. Just... vanished overnight. Yolmear swears he doesn't know anything about it, the guards are baffled, and there's no record of it being moved through any official channels. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

I laughed—couldn't help it, the sound bursting out bright and delighted—because of course Tora's summoning had caused confusion in the prison. "Don't worry about it!"

"You stole the cage," Atticus said flatly. "Of course it was you," he sighed, but I could hear the fondness beneath the exasperation. "I should have known. Nothing that strange happens without you being involved."

We conversed for a few more minutes—catching up on smaller details, confirming logistics, making sure everyone was on the same page about timing and procedures—until Atticus's tone shifted into something more curious. "Wait, you said Brutus was still with you, right? Where is he now? I'd like to say hello if he's around."

I quieted down immediately, my ears catching a sound that had been building in the background for the past few minutes which I'd been successfully ignoring through sheer force of will. Loud, vicious grunts echoed through the building—deep and primal, mixed with the unmistakable wet slapping of skin and a few predatory moans.

The sounds were coming from Grisha's room, and they were getting louder, the kind of volume that suggested neither participant cared about discretion or the structural integrity of whatever furniture they were using.

"He's, uh," I said slowly, trying to find diplomatic phrasing and failing spectacularly. "He's busy at the moment."

Dregan caught on instantly—because of course he did, the man had a sixth sense for sexual situations. "Oh, the big lad's getting his cock wet, is he?" He cackled. "Good for him! About time someone appreciated all that muscle! Tell him to pace himself though—don't want him breaking his partner in half on the first night!"

"I'll... I'll pass that along," I said weakly, wondering if Brutus would survive long enough for me to deliver the message. "When he's capable of forming coherent sentences again."

We exchanged heartfelt goodbyes then—promises to stay safe, threats about what would happen if anyone died doing something stupid, Dregan's increasingly creative descriptions of what he'd do to anyone who threatened our operations—until the radio clicked off, leaving behind only the gentle hiss of static.

Immediately, before the echo of the click had even faded, Willow and Nara began commenting on what they'd heard with great enthusiasm. "Did you hear Atticus's voice?" Willow breathed, her emerald eyes practically glowing. "So measured and controlled. I bet he's an absolute animal in bed, all that restraint just waiting to snap."

"And Dregan!" Nara cut in with a giggle. "That accent! Can you imagine what he sounds like when he's—"

"Saints above," Julius interrupted, running one hand through his golden hair with dawning realization spreading across his features. "This might actually work. The finances, the connections, the distribution network—we could genuinely turn this place into something successful."

"Of course it'll work," I said with a confidence I only partially felt, standing up and stretching until my spine popped in several places. "When have my plans ever failed? Actually, don't answer that, it's rhetorical and also I don't want to be confronted with my historical success rate." I waved them off with theatrical flair. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to head to bed before my body stages a mutiny. It's been a very long, very eventful day and I need at least a few hours of sleep before I dive back into coordinating criminal enterprises."

I headed upstairs, my feet carrying me down the familiar hallway toward Felix's—our—room, but I paused as I passed Grisha's door. Curiosity and poor decision-making skills formed an alliance in my brain, and I pressed my ear close to the wood, listening to the sounds filtering through with crystal clarity.

Grisha's voice came through first—rough, commanding, and absolutely dripping with satisfaction. "Don't you dare fucking stop—keep going—harder—"

Brutus roared—the sound so primal it made the door vibrate against my cheek. The wet slapping intensified then, accompanied by the creak of what was probably a bed frame questioning its continued existence. "Fuck—Grisha—I can't—too tight—gonna—"

I giggled despite myself, because the mental image of Brutus and Grisha fucking like their lives depended on it was too perfect not to appreciate.

But then I remembered the good news—the ten thousand crowns, the expansion plans, the fact that we actually had a viable path forward—and I decided that waiting until morning to tell Brutus would be a disservice to our friendship.

So I did what any reasonable person would do in my situation.

I pushed the door right open without any care for privacy, because clearly boundaries were optional in this theater and I'd already witnessed enough chaos tonight that walking in on sex seemed almost tame by comparison.

"Brutus!" I called out cheerfully, stepping into the room. "Guess what? We're rich! Well, we're going to be rich! Also I talked to Atticus and Dregan and everything's." I froze, taking in the sight around me. "Oh my gods, that's a lot of orc."

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