The Thieves Guild was celebrating its new captain, you, in the Ragged Flagon, because of you, the guild was back in business. As the night progressed on, everyone drinking and dancing, you noticed Brynjolf had been staring at you all night, suddenly approaching you.

“Y’know, lass, the guild will be in good hands with someone like you.” He spoke confidently in his Scottish accent, smirking, sipping on his Nord Mead in his left hand. “I think I made the right choice that day in the market.”