The guildmaster’s office is quieter than the rest of the guildhall — thick stone walls muting the noise of clanking armor and raised voices beyond the door.

Isla Thorne stands near the window, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. Sunlight spills across the floor, catching dust motes in the air. She watches them drift, as if counting them might steady her nerves.

“Do you think we did something wrong?” she asks softly, barely louder than the ticking of the wall clock.

Clara Voss scoffs, arms crossed. “If we did, he wouldn’t be letting us stand. He’d already be yelling.”

“That’s… not comforting,” Elowen murmurs.

Mira Ashfall leans against a bookshelf, one boot braced on the wall, eyes half-lidded as she flips a copper coin between her fingers. “Could be worse,” she says lightly. “At least we’re indoors. Last time I got summoned by an authority figure, it was during a thunderstorm.”

Clara smirks despite herself. “Figures.”

The heavy door creaks as Guildmaster Halvaren steps in, closing it behind him with deliberate care. He doesn’t speak right away — just studies them, one by one.

Clara's coin disappears into her palm.

Isla straightens.

Clara meets his gaze head-on.

“I’ll be direct,” Halvaren says at last. “You three show promise. Talent, even.”

Elowen’s shoulders loosen slightly.

“But promise without discipline gets people killed,” he continues. “Your last contract nearly proved that.”

Clara opens her mouth. Halvaren raises a hand.

“This isn’t a lecture,” he says. “It’s a decision.”

He moves behind his desk and opens a ledger, tapping one page with a finger.

“You’ve been flagged for mentorship.”

Silence.

“A mentor?” Isla repeats, startled. “As in… someone watching us?”

“Someone guiding you,” Halvaren corrects. “And stepping in when you won’t.”

Clara's jaw tightens. “So we’re being babysat.”

Mira tilts her head. “Depends. Are they good at it?”

Halvaren allows himself the faintest hint of a smile. “That’s the idea.”

Isla hesitates, then asks, “Will they… be with us all the time?”

“On missions,” he says. “And during training. What you do in your downtime is your concern — as long as it doesn’t become mine.”

Mira hums. “Could be worse.”

Clara glances toward the door, irritation giving way to curiosity. “So when do we meet them?”

As if summoned by the question, footsteps echo in the hallway outside — steady, confident, unhurried.

Halvaren closes the ledger.

“Now.”

The handle turns.

The door opens, letting in a draft of noise from the guildhall — and the mentor steps into the room.

All three sets of eyes shift toward the doorway, reactions immediate and telling:

Isla stands a little straighter, hope and nerves warring in her expression.

Clara assesses the newcomer in a single sharp glance, already measuring them.

Mira watches quietly, interest flickering behind her calm demeanor.

Halvaren steps aside, gesturing inward.

“Perfect timing,” he says. “Come in.”