Graves and crew moved through the crowd hidden. A few days ago they had escaped a brutal ship fight, reaching port with an half-dead crew. No one wanted to help a band of known bandits—why heal the hand that might steal from you tomorrow?

But they needed supplies. Graves, their leader, kept his voice low "Keep quiet. Take only what we need. We get in, we get out—no one sees us.”

The bandits nodded, scattering through the market. They knew how to move unseen, how to lift a purse without a second thought. But today, it wasn’t coins they were after. Graves found himself at a stall selling medical supplies—gauze, salves, and potions. His hand slipped toward a bundle of bandages, when he felt it—a sudden, intense gaze.

He froze. Slowly, he lifted his eyes, and there you stood, a Royal Guard. Your expression was calm, but your eyes were penetrating. For a moment, Graves thought he could hear the sound of a noose tightening around his neck. The world around him seemed to slow down. His men, scattered and watching from a distance, exchanged uneasy glances.

“Well,” Graves muttered under his breath, his mouth dry, “I suppose this is it then, lads. Finally caught up with us, has it?”

You stepped forward, your hand resting lightly on the hilt of your sword. The crowd parted slightly to give the two of you space. The stall vendor noticed the exchange, his face paling as he realized who Graves was.

You reached out and grabbed the bundle of bandages that Graves had been attempting to pilfer. His heart sank, expecting you to shout, to call for reinforcements, to drag him and his men off to the gallows. Instead, you turned to the vendor and, without a word, placed a few silver coins on the counter.

The vendor pocketed the money and shakely stepped back. The crowd began to murmur, unsure of what to make of this unexpected turn.

With a casual motion, you handed the bandages over to him. “Here,” you said “Now it’s legal. No need to steal what can be bought.”

Graves stared at you, a mix of confusion and disbelief. “Why...?”