Chapter 243: Didn’t Steal It

"What are you drinking?"

"A dark draft ale for me," Evren said smoothly. "And a glass of sparkling berry cider for the lady."

The bartender filled the glasses from a row of copper taps, sliding them across the wet wood with a grunt. Evren placed another crisp banknote on the bar and gestured for the man to keep the change.

"Generous," the bartender grunted, scooping the bill into his pocket with a nod of approval. "Enjoy your drinks."

Evren took a sip of the bitter ale, while Zephyra tasted her sweet cider. They leaned against the timber counter, appearing completely relaxed while their heightened senses filtered through the tavern’s chatter.

To their left, three long-haul drivers were cursing about the road conditions further south, complaining that mudslides had blocked the pass near Eagle Gorge. To their right, a pair of drunken bounty hunters argued over the bounty on mutated ridge wolves.

In the secluded back corner of the room, beneath a rusted exhaust duct, sat the real power in the room.

A well-groomed man with slicked-back gray hair and an expensive sheepskin coat sat behind a booth table, counting through neat stacks of paper banknotes. Two muscular guards in tactical vests stood watch behind him, holding short-barreled pump shotguns.

From the whispers at nearby tables, Evren quickly pieced together the man’s identity. His name was Corb, the premier broker and fence for the entire mountain highway sector.

Nothing valuable was salvaged, stolen, or moved along this pass without Corb taking a ten percent cut. In fact, a greasy mechanic in overalls had just leaned over Corb’s table, whispering in an excited tone.

"The crew got a real prize from the waystation parking lot," the mechanic whispered, checking over his shoulder. "Matte-black military chassis with high-grade runic plating, taken straight up to Maddox Pike’s ridge compound."

Corb grinned, sliding a small stack of bills to the mechanic. "Good work, tell Maddox to keep it hidden until my buyers in the next district send an inspection team."

Evren set his mug on the bar, catching Zephyra’s violet eyes. A faint, knowing smile crossed his lips.

"Looks like our ride went up the mountain," Evren murmured.

"Let’s go ask for the address," Zephyra replied in a calm tone.

They turned and walked casually toward the corner booth. The two shotgun-wielding bodyguards spotted their approach and immediately stepped forward, crossing their arms with dark scowls.

"Booth is occupied," the taller guard growled, dropping a hand to his shotgun grip. "Turn around and walk away, kid."

Evren didn’t even slow his pace. Before the guard could unholster his weapon, Zephyra flicked two fingers beneath her sleeves.

Two imperceptible threads of solid shadow shot out across the floor, coiling tightly around the guards’ ankles and locking their boots to the concrete. At the exact same instant, Evren released a localized pulse of his Gravity Domain directly onto their shoulders.

The two guards collapsed backward into the leather cushions with muffled gasps, completely pinned beneath a mountain of crushing kinetic pressure. They could not move a finger, let alone raise their shotguns.

Evren slid effortlessly into the booth seat directly opposite Corb, resting his elbows on the table. Zephyra glided around to the side, leaning down slightly with a whisper.

"Do not reach for the pistol under your holster," Zephyra whispered, resting a single finger against the back of his neck where a needle of solid shadow hovered by his pulse. "It would be a terrible mistake."

Corb froze completely, his hand stopping inches from the concealed holster beneath his coat. Beads of cold sweat instantly formed across his forehead as he stared into Evren’s amused eyes.

"Who are you people?" Corb stammered with a trembling voice. "If you want money, take the cash on the table."

"I have plenty of money," Evren smiled, pushing a stack of hundred-dollar bills aside with a casual finger. "I want to talk about the matte-black truck your men just hauled to Maddox Pike’s compound."

Corb’s face turned completely pale, realizing within seconds that the people who owned that armored rig were far beyond normal frontier travelers.

"I didn’t steal it," Corb wheezed, keeping his hands flat on the wood. "Maddox Pike runs the salvage crews out here, and he set up a compound at the old quarry on Dead-Man’s Ridge, six miles up the switchbacks!"

"How many men does he have up there?" Evren asked, keeping his voice relaxed.

"About fifteen or twenty armed scavengers," Corb answered quickly without hesitation. "They have cranes, cutting rigs, and barrier turrets, but they can’t crack military armor without their master decryptor!"

Evren glanced at Zephyra, who gave a slight, subtle nod to confirm the broker was telling the truth.

"That quarry road is washed out with mud from the storm," Evren noted, tapping the table. "Our truck is up there, which means we need wheels to reach it."

Corb swallowed hard, pointing a shaking finger toward the front exit. "My personal rig is parked right outside in the alley... a modified scout truck with reinforced axles and snow chains."

Evren held out an open palm. "Keys, and tell me how to navigate the trail in this rain."

"The dashboard navigation system has the quarry saved under preset routes," Corb blurted out, digging into his coat with trembling fingers. "Just follow the private trail past the old timber mill!"

Corb placed a brass key ring with a remote runic fob into Evren’s hand. Evren scooped them up and tossed another crisp bill onto the table.

"Consider this a rental fee," Evren said, standing up from the booth. "If we find a single scratch on our truck when we get up there, I’m coming back for your sheepskin coat."

Zephyra dissolved the shadow threads and released the two guards, who slumped over the table gasping for air. Corb sat frozen in place, nodding frantically in terrified agreement as the two stepped away.

They walked out of The Iron Cask, pushing through the thick basement door and emerging into the cool mountain rain. In the narrow gravel alley beside the building sat Corb’s lifted scout truck, painted dark olive-green with thick off-road tires.

Evren clicked the fob, unlocking the doors with a chirping beep. They climbed into the warm cabin, and Evren turned the key, listening as the stout turbocharged engine roared to life with an aggressive rumble.

The dashboard display lit up with a green topographical map, immediately highlighting a saved waypoint labeled DEAD-MAN’S RIDGE — QUARRY DEPOT.

Zephyra glanced at the glowing navigation screen, fastening her seatbelt with a faint, lethal smile. "Six miles up the switchbacks, and the route is already marked."

"Convenient," Evren smirked, shifting the truck into four-wheel drive and stomping on the gas. "Let’s roll out."