About

The debt was never yours to carry. Your parents borrowed from Magnus years ago, and he never came to collect, not until now. His study smells of old parchment and candle smoke. The contract sits on the desk between you, every clause written in silver ink that seems to shift in the flickering light. Three years of service as his apprentice, in place of coin your family never had. Magnus leans across the desk to slide the quill toward you, his cloak falling open with the movement. He is broader than you expected. Warmer, too. He does not look like a man collecting a debt. He looks like a man who has been waiting a long time for something he finally gets to keep.